Her eyes went wide as she gaped at Arturo. She lost her rhythm . . . then she lost her balance.
Arms flailing, she lurched forward. Arturo sprang forward and caught her before she could take a header off the ramp. But she was laughing too hard to be embarrassed this time.
“I did it!” she gushed.
Arturo turned her in his arms, his own handsome face split in a wide, beaming grin. “Sí, sí. That you did.”
Before she could register being in his arms, the wide, toothy grin, or the fact that her body was very naturally leaning in closer to his, all on its own . . . the door to the hall swung open and Vivian stepped back inside.
“Success?” she asked.
Arturo kept a steadying hand on Lucy’s arm, but shifted around her so he could see Vivian. “We will watch the tape and see. I think you will be pleased.”
“‘Tape’?” Lucy’s mouth dropped open. All thoughts of Arturo and doing an altogether different kind of tango faded as that one word sank in.
Oh. My. God. She’d barely survived the faux salsa sex. Now she had to watch it on tape? Could she be any more mortified?
Chapter 10
Too short,” Lucy said, as Vivian handed her another hanger. It was now day five of Barbie Boot Camp, and after Lucy’s successful session with Arturo, Vivian had decided she needed more runway clothes. The season in Milan being over, the next best thing had been a field trip to Georgetown. Lucy’s schoolteacher budget was toast.
“It’s not too short,” Vivian assured her.
“My principal would have a heart attack if I wore this.”
Vivian lowered her chin and merely stared at Lucy over the rims of her trendy minispectacles. “Good lord, Lucy, who said anything about wearing this to work?”
“I can’t afford an off-work wardrobe. Beyond jeans and shorts, anyway.”
“Darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can be quite exasperating at times.”
Lucy swallowed a sigh. “I know, but—”
“‘But’ nothing. You’re a vibrant young woman with many diverse facets, only one of which is dispensing knowledge to the youth of today. So I’d say you can hardly afford not to do whatever necessary to showcase those other facets.” She turned and hung the clothes on the dressing-room rack. “However, we can do our hunting in another place that has a smattering of top designers at bargain prices. Come with me.”
Lucy tugged on her khakis and buttoned up her camp shirt.
“That skirt would have been smashing with your legs. Which reminds me, we have to go shoe shopping.”
“I don’t think spike heels are ever going to be a staple of my off-hours life.”
“They don’t have to be, darling.” She and Lucy stepped outside into the hot August sun and quickly into the waiting Glass Slipper limo. “Lorna’s Closet,” Vivian told the driver, then turned to Lucy. “Lorna Swinson runs an adorable little boutique in Old Town. She takes Junior League castoffs on commission. We’ll find something there, I’m certain of it.”
Lucy settled into the soft leather seat and let her gaze drift beyond the smoked-glass passenger window. She wondered what Grady and Jana were doing. Grady was probably hard at work in the lab. Jana was out playing girl reporter. And Lucy was shopping. If they only knew. She could picture them, sitting around, eating lunch, reading the e-mail loop without her . . . and worrying about her immortal soul.
She stifled a little sigh. For all her doubts early on, since Vivian had taken over her transformation, Lucy had to admit she was becoming more hopeful. To look in the mirror, you wouldn’t guess anything had changed. Her hair, face, and makeup—or lack thereof—looked just as it had when she’d arrived. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she felt different. She felt . . . transformed, from the inside out. Okay, so they were just getting to the outside part.
But when she’d caught her reflection in the mirror, she saw past the lumpy brown hair and plain face. She saw anticipation, a banked excitement, and she wondered what other hidden talents she might possess.
Vivian had been right about the Brazilian wax, the silk lingerie, strutting her stuff on the runway in heels that she’d now been forced to admit actually did make her long legs look more lanky than knobby.
But she wasn’t confident enough to take a spin in the real world just yet. She had another week yet to practice. During which time she could only pray her outside self caught up with her newly awakened inside self.
“Here we are,” Vivian announced.
The limo pulled over on the shaded side of a tree-lined street, filled with small, trendy, and expensive-looking boutiques.
“Are you sure this will fit my budget?” Lucy clutched her purse, pledging she’d keep the escalating balance on her credit card from escalating any higher.
“You forget, I used to do this for a living. And not always with a fabulous studio budget.” Vivian slid out of the backseat as the driver held the door for both of them.
Her eyes were alight with such excitement that Lucy had to admit it was becoming a little contagious.
“Let’s see what treasures we can find. I know Lorna always keeps some fun things tucked away for her regulars.”
Twenty minutes later Lucy was naked once more, standing behind a ruffled floral curtain in a tiny rear dressing room, an assortment of dresses, skirts, and blouses hanging on every available hook.
“The little black number first,” Vivian told her. “Every femme fatale needs a little black dress. From Bette Davis to Sharon Stone, a little number like that can make a career.” She smiled. “Trust me on that, darling.”
Lucy dug around through the tangle of hangers until she found what looked more like a little black slip than a dress. She very carefully slid the dress over her head.
It was a bit clingier than she’d anticipated and didn’t drop as far down on her thighs as she’d hoped. The neckline was a loose, drapy affair that dipped daringly low between her breasts. “At least Sharon Stone had cleavage,” she muttered.
“Come show me, darling. Remember to slip the heels on.”
A pair of black, strappy sling-backs were nudged beneath the curtain.
“I don’t even want to show myself,” she muttered.
“Do you need a different size?”
“No,” she said. A different body. Knowing Vivian wasn’t going to let this go, she grabbed the clothes hook and leaned against the wall as she carefully slid her feet into the shoes. She kept her death grip on the hook until she got her wobbling under control. These heels weren’t as high as the ones she’d practiced with on the runway, but she still wasn’t entirely confident she wouldn’t fall on her face. She needed to find that inner rhythm again.
Humming a Latin rumba under her breath, she relaxed a little, moved her hips a little, and slowly straightened away from the wall. “You can do this,” she whispered. She pushed the curtain aside and took two stuttering steps.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Vivian pronounced, punctuating the remark by waving her ebony cigarette holder in the air. No cigarette, just the holder. On her it worked. Bette Davis had nothing on Vivian dePalma when it came to owning her own eccentricities. “Absolutely stunning.”
Lucy wished she had that kind of natural élan that made eccentricities seem glamorous.
“Turn around, darling, now let’s see the back. Your exit is as important as your entrance. No femme fatale worth her Christian Dior handbag would turn her back on anyone without making sure she’s still turning heads.”
Lucy had only the curtain for support. Refusing to make that mistake again, she shot a rather helpless look to Vivian.
“Oh, come now, just pretend you’re turning into Arturo’s arms.”
“Don’t I wish,” she muttered.
Vivian let out a sly laugh. “I know, darling. All I have to do is look at that man and I crave a cigarette.”
Smiling, Lucy closed her eyes and focused on listening to her inner rumba. Then, with a tiny h
ip swing, she shifted her body around until her back was to Vivian.
“So, what do you think?” Vivian asked.
“What?” Lucy opened her eyes and realized she was staring into a full-length, three-way mirror. “Oh. Wow.”
“Exactly, darling.”
From the neck up, she was still third-grade teacher Lucy Harper. But from the neck down? Yowza! Who was that sexpot, anyway?
“Sharon Stone and Bette Davis, eat your heart out,” Vivian crowed triumphantly. “That dress was made for you. Slinky could be your signature look, darling.”
Lucy had to admit that the drapy front thing actually made her meager curves look less so. And the heels along with the short length of the dress made her legs look kind of sleek. She looked up and caught Vivian’s wide grin of approval, and for the very first time, she allowed herself to believe that she could pull this off.
Impulsively, Lucy struck her best Madonna “Vogue” pose, throwing her head back for good divalike measure. “How you like me now, boys?” she purred.
Vivian let out a delighted hoot of laughter, and Lucy couldn’t help but join in.
There was sudden applause from behind them. Still laughing, both Lucy and Vivian turned to find the store owner and several patrons clapping and nodding in an endorsement of her ensemble. Lucy gave them a giddy little curtsy and caught the approving wink from Vivian, who also put her hands together, as well. “Brava, darling, brava!”
Chapter 11
Lucy finished putting the protective coating of lotion on her nails and palms, as instructed. “God, it’s freezing in here,” she muttered, adjusting the blue paper shower cap so the elastic band was right on her hairline, protecting her newly highlighted locks. She still wasn’t used to herself with lighter hair. “Ve vill make you honey blonde,” she said, mimicking her stylist’s, Roget’s, French accent. There was no time to think about that now.
Shivering and naked again, she resolutely turned toward the huge blue-and-silver, space-age-looking booth. Until twenty minutes ago, she’d never even heard of spray-on tans. It made the sci-fi-movie-extra head of foil she’d sported earlier seem low-tech by comparison. “I cannot believe I’m doing this.” But what else was new? She couldn’t believe half the things she’d done in the past twelve days.
The new hairstyle was simply the latest in a long list of new experiences. She’d come to love the eclectic wardrobe Vivian had put together for her during their shopping spree the week before. She’d almost completely gotten over her fear of heels; even her bruises had pretty much faded. And she had to admit that after Vivian had all but dragged her back to Sadistic Sue to finish the wax job on her legs, she did feel rather smooth and soft.
Vivian had even helped her pick out her “signature scent.” Smell being the most powerful of the senses, Vivian had assured Lucy that years after a woman left her lover, every time he got a whiff of her perfume, he would long for her again. Lucy wasn’t sure about that, but there was an undeniable thrill at the idea of even having discarded lovers.
She still didn’t feel exactly bulletproof—she was still afraid she might do someone bodily harm with the acrylic nails she now sported—but she did feel like she might actually turn a man’s head for reasons other than that she’d just taken out the sunglasses display at the mall by inadvertently tripping over the metal base.
“Ms. Harper?”
Lucy jumped and instinctively covered her breasts. Then she realized the voice was coming from the little intercom. “Y-yes?”
“Are you ready?”
Still clutching her breasts, she looked at the booth. “I guess,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Just step inside and close the door. When you’re ready, press the blue button. Then you have five seconds to get in your stance. Don’t forget to curve your hands like Robin showed you. Make sure you keep your eyes and mouth closed. It’s a little noisy, so don’t let that startle you. The spray will move up and down for ten seconds, then it will stop. You’ll have five seconds to turn around before the second spray. Any questions?”
“No, I think I have it. Thanks.” Gingerly she stepped into the booth and clicked the door shut behind her. “Okay,” she murmured, “press button, curve hands, close eyes and mouth. Hold breath for ten seconds.”
She pressed the button, looked down to align her feet on the helpful footprint-patterned mat, then shut her eyes and got into position. Her mind wandered a little. Hard to believe that twenty seconds in here will give me a golden glowing tan. Hasn’t it been five seconds? Better take a deep breath just in case.
The instant she opened her mouth, something that sounded like a 747 jet engine rumbled abruptly to life. She jumped, squealed—and opened her eyes in surprise. “A little loud, my as—” The nozzles cut on in that instant, spewing spray from every angle, stinging her eyes, and worse, filling her mouth.
Gagging and spitting, she immediately abandoned her stance and covered her eyes as the nozzles began moving up and down. Panic rose inside her as her heart immediately began pounding as loudly as the thundering motors operating the nozzles. She couldn’t get her breathing under control, much less in sync with the up-and-down motion of the spray. Hell, she couldn’t get her breath at all. She was hyperventilating. Shit, shit, shit!
Apparently she must have said that last part out loud, because in the next instant when the motors cut off, she heard pounding on the door to the small tanning chamber. Okay, so maybe she might have screamed. A little.
“Ms. Harper! Ms. Harper! Are you all right?”
Mortified, she immediately turned and began fumbling for the door handle, with every intention of escaping. So what if her boobs were tan and her ass was still white? Who was going to know? Her eyes stinging from the spray still dripping into them, she couldn’t find the damn handle. Heart still pounding, she felt the panic rise again and was going to call out for assistance—it wasn’t like she could be less embarrassed at this point—but just then the motors cut back on for the second round of spraying.
Trapped and whimpering, she turned her back and cowered, abandoning any pretense of her instructed stance. She remained in a huddled position as she got blasted all over again, her heart immediately leaping right back into overdrive. Please be over, please be over. She didn’t even want to think about what this was going to look like. Talk about your uneven coverage!
And just as suddenly it was over, and the room fell silent.
“Ms. Harper!”
“I—” She stopped, gagged, spat out brown spray. “Fine,” she said raggedly. She fumbled around the now slippery booth with her hands until she found the knob and all but fell to the floor of the small room in a grateful heap when she was finally free. “Fine,” she managed again, staggering to a stand, right before she stuffed the closest towel into her mouth and began scrubbing her tongue.
“Don’t forget, rub yourself dry from the feet up,” Robin called out, “or you’ll streak.”
“Shit,” she swore, the word muffled by the towel. She tugged it out, realized it was the only one she had, and immediately began vigorously scrubbing her legs and feet. She was probably the only one who’d ever screwed up a twenty-second fake tanning session.
When she finally got her robe back on and staggered through the door, no less than three Glass Slipper employees were huddled there, concerned looks wreathing their perfectly made-up faces.
“Are you all right, then?” Robin asked, her British accent making her sound even more sweet and sincere.
Lucy managed a nod and tried for a brave smile. “Just took me a bit off guard. How long before the color starts to come out?”
“Two to four hours.”
Super, Lucy thought, barely managing to keep the fake smile on her face. Only four hours before the zebra-size streaks came to life.
“Vivian is waiting for you down the hall,” Robin informed her with an encouraging look. “Maryann here will take you to her.” Her smile brightened. “You’re to have your makeup done next. The
n a hairstyling lesson.”
Hair and makeup, the two things Lucy had really wanted most. And now all she could think about was whether there was enough foundation to even out the results of her tanning disaster.
Vivian greeted her with a breezy smile. “So, darling. Ready for your next step?”
Apparently, word of her tanning-booth meltdown hadn’t traveled to Vivian. Well, at least there was one thing in her favor. She pulled her robe more tightly around her. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. Just as long as there aren’t any spray nozzles and jet engines involved. Her heart still hadn’t fully recovered.
Vivian steered her into another room that was all decked out with mirrors and a table filled with more makeup than all the department-store counters in Hecht’s combined. Glancing at the various pots, compacts, trays, and bottles, she didn’t even know what half the stuff was for.
Something of her anxiety must have shown on her face, because Vivian patted her arm. “Carol here is a magician with nothing more than mascara and a pair of tweezers. You’ll see. But first, Margo will show you how to manage your new cut.”
Maybe it was because Vivian sounded so excited about everything, or because she’d been so patient and kind. Or maybe it was because Lucy was still traumatized by the tanning booth. Probably a little bit of all three, but suddenly Lucy’s eyes filled with unexpected tears.
Vivian tsked and immediately pulled a tissue from somewhere inside her formfitting red blazer and began dabbing at Lucy’s face. “Now, now, darling. The hardest part is over.” She gave Lucy an encouraging smile. “This is the fun girly stuff you’ve been waiting for.”
“It’s just—” Lucy stopped. She was so very grateful for everything Vivian had done for her. So she had no idea how to put into words the absolute terror that had just struck her as she realized she was about to leave here, and she wasn’t remotely ready to attempt doing any of this on her own, without sounding horribly ungrateful.
Sleeping with Beauty Page 13
