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“Can I steal you a moment? Part of the braid in the back came out. I love Kerry, but she doesn’t always do a top-notch job like you do. Would you mind fixing it?”
Shoving her sketch pad in her tote bag, she stood up from the black, semi-dirty stage and nodded. Just the distraction she needed. While she wouldn’t vocally agree with Jezebelle’s assessment of Kerry—Mia hated confrontation with a passion—she smiled in appreciation that Jezebelle came to her.
Most of the actresses and actors did their own hair and makeup, but on occasion, they asked for help. She didn’t mind helping, and she loved makeup—along with dressing up. Probably one of the reasons people always came to her for assistance. They knew she’d make them look beautiful and perfect. She was always a stickler for the perfect makeup. The right touch of blush. The beautiful display of eye shadow. Enough mascara to make the lashes shine. And the lipstick. Always matching the perfect color to reflect the outfit with precision.
Of course, she didn’t like to rememberwhyshe was so good at makeup.
She loved working for one of the local theaters that featured Off-Broadway plays. Costumes, hair, and makeup were her forte. For as long as she could remember, she loved dressing up. Finding fun outfits, most of the time from thrift stores, and creating a masterpiece one could find from a high-end store. People never saw the difference and even complimented her on her outfits. But hey, when you didn’t have enough money—and you refused to ask your dad for some—what else was a person supposed to do? She loved thinking outside the box. Finding different clothes and creating a beautiful ensemble always brought a bit of happiness that she had lacked while at home.
Although, her actual title was designer. Once production was set upon, she helped create the designs for each costume. She was usually involved from the initial creation right through rehearsals because even then issues could pop up. She needed to be available to fix anything at the drop of a hat. Sometimes, depending on the performer, they wanted something switched. This color for that color. That top for this top. She wasn’t big on drama—definitely not on confrontation—so depending on the issue, she’d change or stick to her guns. Of course, she wasn’t the only one making the decisions. She usually talked it over with others in the production before putting her foot down with one of the performers.
While hair and makeup wasn’t in her actual job description, everyone knew what a spectacular job she did, asking for her help now and again.
They walked back to one of the dressing rooms that needed a massive cleaning. Jezebelle shared a room with three other actresses, and with all four of them, they clearly had trouble maintaining order. Clothes were strewn about. A pile of dresses hung over an armchair. Shoes galore were littered across the floor. The vanity was toppled high with makeup and other such stuff they needed for their roles.
Jezebelle sat down in front of a large mirror, her shoulders ramrod straight. She was always working on her posture, even attempting the age-old lesson of walking around with a few books on the top of her head. She did it well. Mia tried it once at home—with no one to witness—and she failed miserably at it.
Mia started to rework her braid into a stylish coif.
“So, how’s Brick?”
“Did you purposely pull this braid out?” Mia asked with a chuckle.
The Corner Bar had been their occasional hangout before Gabby met Dane, but since meeting him, it had turned into their normal hangout. They ventured there at least two times a week, if not more. Mia had gotten in the habit of inviting some friends from the theater to grab a drink after work sometimes. It helped to keep her mind—and eyes—off Jaxson. Sort of.
Since the moment Jezebelle landed eyes on Brick, the sexy muscular, tattooed bartender, she never turned down an invite. Although, she was painfully shy around him. She rarely ordered her drink without stuttering her words.
Jezebelle’s shoulders slumped, then she stiffened and straightened. No way she’d let those imaginary books fall off her head. A slow smile spread across her face. “I would never ruin my hair on purpose. I was only curious.”
“Oh, Isobelieve you.” Mia tugged on her braid playfully as she laughed. “Not.”
Through the mirror Mia saw Jezebelle lick her bottom lip, a trait she displayed only when she was nervous. Taking the stage—even during rehearsals—not much made her nervous, so Mia didn’t see it often, but it had made it easy to spot.
She liked to consider herself observant. Very observant. Living with the kind of father she had did that to a person. Looking for clues he was about to go into a violent rage. When not to ask for something, usually school-related. How much pain her mother was in.
Ugh. Not memories she wanted to think about. Ever. Yet, they were always there floating aimlessly around her mind. Teasing her. Taunting her. Letting her know they’d never go away.
“I saw that blonde bimbo the other night slide him a piece of paper. I’m not an idiot.” Jezebelle’s eyes drew down to her lap. “I wonder if he called her. If she’s been back in?”
“Brick never dates any of the women that flock to his bar.” Mia tucked a bobby pin into the middle of the coif. Then it dawned on her what she’d said. “Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I’m sure if you—”
“He’s not my type,” Jezebelle said, cutting her off before Mia could remove her foot from her mouth. “I don’t even know why I even entertain the thought.”
“Because he’s a sweetheart, super nice, and makes the best drinks on the planet. Oh, and super hot.”
They giggled together.
“I’m sure we’ll have some drinks there Friday night. We usually do. Join us? Say more than two words—Tequila Sunrise—to him for once. Order a sex on the beach. Something fun. Give him a little hint of what you want.”
“Oh, my God. Never.”
After she finished replacing her braid in the proper place, Mia laughed as she stepped back. Jezebelle stood, turning her head back and forth to check out her work, even grabbing the small hand mirror to see the back of her head, which was perfection.
Then Jezebelle turned toward her, her cheeks flushed a tender pink. “I don’t know why I get all tongue-tied with him. It’s silly. Maybe I’ll come. I don’t know.” She slapped her shoulder gaily. “When are you going to do something about your little crush you have?”
Tilting her head as she looked at her quizzically, a silly smile spread across her lips. “What crush?”
“Umm, Jaxson, hottie detective.” Jezebelle rolled her eyes as if it were the most ridiculous thing she’d heard all day. “The sexual tension between you two is always off the charts when you’re together. He looks at you like you’re a fairytale princess and he wants to hear the singing animals tell him you feel the same.”
