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Prologue
“Being a plus-sized model offers both challenges and benefits.” Gina Toriello repeated the words she used so often she’d memorized them. “But,” she added a practiced smile, “I like to think I use what nature gave me to remind other girls who have more curves than lines”—pause for laughter from the studio audience—“that we have our own special kind of beauty.”
The host ofEarly Morning L.A., a redhead of a certain age, with more lines than curves, rose, leading the audience in applause. “Well said, Gina. And thank you for getting up so early to spend time with us today.” She stepped toward the front of the stage, her skinny rump in the pencil skirt sending a clear message she hadn’t had a full meal in years. Botox injections, indicated by the fact parts of her face never moved, kept her hollow cheeks from being a mass of wrinkles. “After this message, our guest will help us to make one of her favorite snacks. Homemade potato chips with onion dip. Yum.”
Gina bit the inside of her lip as the production assistant hustled her over to a side stage to stand behind a portable fryer. A basket of russet potatoes and a container of sour cream along with a peeled onion and a few spices said it all.Fat girls eat junk food.Fact was, she rarely ate a potato chip or any dip, except maybe hummus. Despite what people thought, her form was not the result of stuffing her face with empty calories. She did enjoy good food, but she also worked out on a regular basis, and her definition of “good food” did not include items guaranteed to ruin her complexion.
As the camera focused on her, she made a mental note never to darken the door ofEarly Morning L.A.again and added Corinne Angley, her underfed host, to her enemies list. However, she was a professional. So, while smiling broadly and making friendly conversation with the hungry woman who practically drooled over each crispy potato slice, she chanted calming mantras in her mind and counted down the seconds until she could head for the gym and constructively work off her angst in a kickboxing session. Or maybe head for the stables and take her sorrel mare, Miss Honey, for a gallop. People claimed horses were afraid of predator-type shifters, but since she’d been riding before anyone knew of her cat, she’d never seemed to have a problem.
“So, tell me, Gina,” Corinne asked, her eyes focused on the trio of golden chips cooling on a paper towel while Gina added the premeasured spices from the row of tiny bowls to the larger one and stirred in sour cream, reading aloud the recipe she’d never seen before as she did so. “How’s your love life?”
And wasn’t that the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. She had no damn love life. At least not one she’d be able to discuss without using words forbidden on regular TV. Just the night before, she’d shown her latest lover to the door. Like the others, he’d been drawn by her fame, and stuck around to spend her money. She’d rather be alone than put up with another pretty boy who thought she could help him get started in modeling or movies.
“Oh, you know.” She shrugged and winked at the camera. “I like to keep some things private.”
Corinne bent and sniffed the bowl of dip. A shifter move if Gina had ever seen one, but this woman was 100 percent human. She’d stake her life on it. If there were shifters afraid to eat, she’d never met one. They needed fuel for their bodies, no matter what size.
“Of course,” the woman said, swallowing hard and standing straight again. “But our viewers would love to know if your…special circumstancesaffect your relationships.”
Setting down the knife she’d just used to dice some onion, Gina stepped away from the table. All her attention went to keeping her fangs from descending, her claws from appearing, and a new-made corpse from flying across the room. The woman could be referring to her being a shifter, or the fact she was a shifter raised by humans, any number of things. But her intent was clear.Fat girls can’t find dates.
“Special… Oh, yeah. I’ve seen the gossip rags at the supermarket checkout. That I never date a guy more than once or twice then toss him aside.”Translation: I get lots of dates.“You don’t believe I’m that fickle, do you, Corinne?”
Cornered, the host shook her head. “Of course not. That’s why I wanted you to have a chance to clear up the rumors.”
Gina flashed her best fake smile. “Having been in a couple of hit movies and on the cover of some magazines can intimidate some guys, but I’m not looking to settle down, anyway. Not yet. When would I find the time for home and family?” Grinning with closed mouth, in case of fang, she waited for the applause to die before going on. “How’s your love life, Corinne?”
“I…” Corinne stuffed a single potato chip with less than a millionth of an ounce of dip into her mouth and closed her eyes in ecstasy that probably made her forget her utter lack of love life. It was all Gina could do not to shove the whole bowl in her face. Not only did she prefer to make her calories count, a few slices of unwashed potato cooked in oil that, from the rancid odor, had been in the station kitchen for a few years, held little appeal. If she liked her better, she’d invite Corinne out to lunch and show her what a real meal tasted like. Hell, even a sea-salt-dusted potato chip cooked in fresh oil or a french fry. Nobody should have to live hungry just to be the right size on some chart or keep up appearances. People, and shifters, came in all sizes and shapes, and all of them could be beautiful. Skinny, fat, tall, short…inner beauty mattered more, and it shone through any outer appearance if a person took a moment to look.
Ms. Corinne was ugly. Her loneliness and resentment of the “beautiful people” made her that way. What a job! Interviewing people who lived the life she thought should be hers.
As a model, Gina often mingled with the high-fashion variety, and their resentment at her eating a sandwich while they made a carrot stick last all day both disgusted and made her pity them. And as to love life? None of them seemed to be any happier just because their ribs were countable through their shirts. They were not embracing their nature-bestowed beauty. They were struggling to be something else.
Slamming the door of her Tesla, she dropped her head onto the steering wheel. The fat girl torment from skinny girls was nothing new, and the audience had been very sweet to her. The question-and-answer session she’d instigated after the cameras shut down had been a delight. But, the love life thing? Seeing herself on gossip mags at the supermarket was bad enough. At the peak of her career, she didn’t have time to settle down, even if she’d ever met anyone she wanted to make a home with. And her BOB—battery-operated-boyfriend—did more for her than the men she did date. Maybe being a shifter raised by humans had made her expectations weird.
As she settled back in the seat, the dash indicated a phone call from Juniper, and she said, “Answer.” If anyone could cheer her up, it was her fellow plus-size-shifter model. They’d been through so many of the same challenges. And joys.
“Gina! I just saw you onEarly Morning L.A.”
“Awful, wasn’t it?” She backed out of the spot and headed toward her apartment in West Hollywood. A hot bath and a cold cloth over her eyes might help with the headache throbbing in her temples. She’d have to put the gym and horseback riding off until she got that under control. More pounding would not help.”
“I don’t know how you didn’t kill that skinny bitch on the spot. Snap her in half.” Juniper’s chuckle, more melodic than most hyenas’, cut off abruptly. “Hey, where’d you learn to drive?”
Ignoring the traffic comment, which was not directed at her, Gina turned up the hill onto her street. “I would have liked to snap her in half. It wouldn’t have been any trouble. Did you see her glom onto that chip? And honestly, the oil was rancid. I only pretended to eat one myself.”
“Starvation makes the best sauce?” Juniper laughed again. “Listen, I called because of that love-life comment.”
“Another reason to kill that stupid woman.”
“Right. But also…I think it’s time we take a more positive stance on dating.”
“Huh?” She stopped to let a coyote cross the street, waving to her neighbor as he stepped to the side of his home and shifted to a naked elderly man then disappeared inside. “Are you saying I have a bad attitude toward men?”
I’m saying we need to call Gerri Wilder at the Paranormal Dating Agency. Maybe go out with one of our own kind…or something similar…for once.”
She began to protest then stopped. “Isn’t she known for permanent hookups? I work two hundred hours a week and have three movies to film in the next two years.”
“Geez, I’m talking about a date with a nice guy. Kind of a palate refresher after our last few experiences. I don’t think she forces you to marry anyone on the first date.”
