“Good. Because I need a favor.”
Marco clapped his hands together. “Are we on a case?” His eyes twinkled with that same Charlie’s Angels look I was coming to know and dread. But considering it was Dana’s tush on the line, I plowed ahead, explaining my need for anonymity.
“Oh, dahling, I’ve got just the thing! Follow me!”
Marco skipped out from behind the whitewashed desk, motioning to one of the nail girls to cover for him. I followed him into the back, giving Faux Dad a cursory wave as I passed his station.
As I made my way through the rich and not-so-famous clients, I could have sworn I saw a woman point at my shoes and whisper behind her hand to the lady in the next beehive dryer over. I couldn’t help a little swell of pride. The first Maddie originals and already people were talking.
I followed Marco into one of the back rooms, where he pulled out a black duffel bag. “I’m going clubbing later with this adorable boy I met in NoHo last weekend. Lucky for you, I brought a couple of outfits to choose from.”
And, lucky for me, Marco and I were approximately the same size. Unluckily, his taste tended toward leather, leather, and more leather (studded with gold, of course). He held up a pair of black leather pants and a red leather jacket to match. I cringed.
“Um, don’t you have anything a little less conspicuous?”
Marco looked pained. “Dahling, I don’t dress to blend!”
As well I knew. “Okay, okay. What else do you have?”
He rummaged around and pulled out a see-through mesh shirt in hot pink and a pair of white stretch pants.
“I’ll take the leather.”
I stuffed myself into the extremely nonbreathable leather outfit, topping it off with a white T-shirt that read, FERNANDO’S BEVERLY HILLS, a pair of big black sunglasses and, thanks to a quick rinse, brown hair.
And my pink heels. (There was no way I was fitting into Marco’s size-twelve loafers.)
I looked in the full-length mirror hanging at the front of the salon.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked.
“Exquisite, ” Marco said, clasping his hands together.
“Not bad, ” the nail girl agreed.
“Squawk! Hit me, baby, one more time!”
Chapter 18
By the time I arrived at the studio, the line to get through security had diminished to something slightly less than a Monday morning at Starbucks. I waited impatiently, tapping my foot as I inched forward, all the while keeping my head down and trying to look small and inconspicuous.
Finally I made it to the front, watching Queen Latifah take inordinate pleasure in wanding an overweight PA.
Bug-eyed Billy looked up from his clipboard.
“Name?” he asked, eyeing me carefully.
I nervously cleared my throat and held my breath as I handed over my stolen press pass.
He glanced at it. Then up at me. Then back at the pass.
“Felix Dunn?” he asked, narrowing his eyes behind his Coke-bottle glasses. “You’re Felix?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s me!” My voice suddenly sounded helium laced. I cleared my throat again.
“Felix sounds like a man’s name, ” Billy said, glancing back at the pass.
“It’s, uh…French. It’s pronounced ‘Fe-lay.’ ”
He narrowed his eyes again. “Fe-lay?”
I nodded, mentally crossing my fingers. “Yep.”
“Like a Fe-lay-o’-fish?”
“Uh…yeah.” I nervously glanced from side to side, sure that at any moment someone would stand up and yell, “Fake!”
“And you’re with the L.A. Informer?”
“Yes?” Which might have been more convincing if I hadn’t phrased it as a question. I bit my lip, tasting Raspberry Perfection lip gloss as I nervously shifted from one pink-pump-clad foot to the other.
Billy grunted. “Hmph.” He flipped through his list, his myopic squint searching for a “Fe-lay.” I held my breath, resisting the urge to peek over his shoulder.
Finally he checked off an entry and handed the press pass back to me. “Okay, you’re cleared. Go on through.”
I did an internal sigh of relief so loud it echoed inside my brain. I took off my earrings and belt and pulled my stolen keys out of my pocket, depositing them all in a plastic tub to ride through the X-ray machine. I did a silent prayer to the gods of false disguises and stepped through the plastic archway.
Beep.
Oh, hell! I froze. What, what, what? I chewed my lip again, sure that panic was written all over my face.
Latifah glanced down. I think I heard her stifle a snicker. “Those your shoes?”
I looked down at my pink heels. “Yes, why?”
No disguising the snicker this time. “Nothin’.”
“Yeah, I know they clash with the red jacket.”
“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you wanna put them on the belt, there, honey. You know…take ’em off. Take ’em all off.” She snorted again and glanced at Billy. He was grinning, too.
“Uh…o-kay.” I slipped my shoes off and threw them into a plastic tub to ride through the machine.
I stepped back through again.
Silence. Blessed silence!
I gave Latifah a little wave, keeping my head low, and grabbed my belongings, just barely resisting the urge to sprint through the lot.
Step one accomplished.
On to phase two.
Ten minutes later I was slinking around the corner of stage 6G, carefully watching for any sign of a) Stein-man (lest he draft me for wardrobe duty), b) Ramirez (lest he notice me on wardrobe duty and slap a pair of handcuffs on me), or c) Dana (whom I desperately needed to get to before either a or b happened).
I entered the warehouse, keeping close to the walls and hoping I blended into the background as I slunk toward the soundstage. I picked my way over wires and ropes duct taped to the ground, thinking inconspicuous thoughts as I passed the Craft services area. Luckily, no one tried to stop me, though I did notice a couple of PAs looking at my shoes as I scuttled past. I think one even snickered, “Hot stuff, ” as I walked by. Okay, now I was starting to get a little self-conscious. Yes, they clash. I get it!
I was almost to the soundstage when a familiar voice hailed me from the wings.
“Hey, Maddie.”
I had a mini heart attack, spinning around so fast I feared whiplash. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who it was.
“Hi, Ricky.”
“What are you doing here? That big cop said you weren’t allowed on the set anymore.”
I cringed. Oh yeah, handcuffs were definitely in my future.
“I’m just here to see Dana. Know where she is?”
“Sure. She’s blocking out the next scene. Ashley and Chad are having makeup sex today. Apparently he doesn’t care who the baby’s daddy is after all.”
The wonders of television.
“Thanks, ” I said, turning to go.
“Hey, did that woman ever find you?” Ricky called.
I paused. “What woman?”
“There was this woman looking for you earlier. She didn’t leave her name but she had, like, really long black hair. And she seemed a little high-strung.”
Oh. Crap.
Isabel.
“She was here?” I squeaked out, sounding way too much like Minnie Mouse for my liking. I had no idea how she got onto the lot, but knowing she was anywhere in the vicinity of my person made my skin instantly break out in goose bumps.
Ricky nodded. “Yeah. Hey, you okay? You look kinda pale.”
I gulped down a dry lump in my throat. “Yeah, sure, fine. When was she here? What did she say?”
Ricky scrunched up his face as if he were thinking really hard. “Um, it was earlier this morning, right after I got in. I told her I wasn’t sure you’d be here, but she just said she’d hang around and ‘catch up to you.’ ”
Oh boy.
I mentally added one more name to the list of people whom I so did not want to run into today. In fact, I moved her name right up to the tippy-top of the list. I debated calling Ramirez and telling him that Isabel was lurking somewhere on studio property. But that would mean telling him I was lurking on studio property, and me in the back of his squad car wasn’t going to help Dana any.