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They had me do a quick change in the adjoining washroom, keeping the champagne satin and black lace bra, but switching out the matching panties for a pair of skimpy black lace boy shorts, which showed a hell of a lot of cheek. Luckily, I had decentcheeks.
“Oh, so perfect,” one of the wardrobe girls gushed when she saw me, and I told myself it was kind of cute and not at all weird that they cared so much what I’d be wearing under my clothes, since no one was going to seeit.
Then one of the makeup girls walked in with a makeup palette, her little tool belt filled with brushes and sponges, and started painting over a bruise on my thigh with her magic makeup that made it look like I had nopores.
And that’s when it hitme.
Theseweremyclothes.
Like, all ofthem.
Because apparently I was about to be filmed in Jesse Mayes’ music video wearing nothing but panties and abra.
“Is there time for me to use the washroom before I go down?” I asked anyone who would listen, hot panic rising like bile in mythroat.
“Sure,” the makeup girl said. “Just try not to smudge themakeup.”
I dashed into the bathroom and shut the door, just in time for the first heave. I grabbed onto the beautiful marble sink and wretched, as quietly as I could, my stomach clenching as I dry-heaved. Thank God nothing came up. Kind of glad now that I never actually got to eat any of thatsushi.
I swallowed, heaved, swallowed again, and focused on getting control of my breath. Aerosmith was rocking “Sweet Emotion” on the sound system in the next room, so at least I knew no one could hearme.
I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed, long, slow and deep. Then I dug through the pockets of my discarded jeans and found my phone. I called Devi with fumbling hands, a toxic blend of nerves, anger and humiliation broiling in mygut.
“Is he as hot as you remembered?” she answered, and I could hear the self-satisfied smile in hervoice.
“Hotter. Devi. What thefuck.”
“Huh? Are you okay?” Alarmed. She sounded alarmed now and I would’ve felt bad if I wasn’t still swallowing down thebile.
“Did youknowthey want me to do this thing in panties and abra?”
“Oh,” my best friend said. “That.”
“Yes,that,” I hissed. I would’ve straight-up yelled at her for the first time in our lives if I wasn’t afraid all the pretty people in the next room might hear me. I tugged at the skimpy lace of the boy shorts which now felt several sizes smaller than when I first put them on, trying, and failing, to cover more of myass.
“Katie, Jesus. Seriously, are you okay? You sound allfrothy.”
“Yes, because I’m foaming at the mouth. You never told me I’d be doing this thingnaked.”
“One. Panties and a bra does not equal naked. You wear less at the beach. That sexy-ass string bikini ofyours?”
“That’sdifferent.”
“How is itdifferent?”
Ugh. I hated it when she out-argued me. Which she did all the time. Hence, me standing here in sexy underwear that wasn’t even mine. “I don’t know. It justis.”
“It’s not. And two. I didn’t get around to telling you they’d changed the plan because I knew you’d freak out and bail and I really, really think you should dothis.”
“What do you mean, they changed theplan?”
“That party scene thing? They called yesterday to say they’d altered it a bit, so your scene with Jesse will now be a one-on-one thing. Like, just the two ofyou.”
Just the two ofus?
What was she talkingabout?
“Devi, what the hell did you sign me upfor?”
