Page 23 of Living Hell

SEVEN

Iona

“EVERYTHING IS PERFECT,” Babette said as she raised the plastic-covered diner menu, took a quick glance, and set it down.

“Perfect? I had to sleep with one eye open last night because I was afraid the man in the next room would kill me.”

“The vet won’t murder you.” She flicked her hand at me causing the gold bangles on her arm to clang.

“This is such a mess.” I folded my arms on the table and flopped my head down on top of them. Forgetting I had fake glasses on, I poked my eye. “Ow.” I threw the glasses aside, rubbing at my tearing eye.

“You smeared your mascara.”

I didn’t want to care, but I knew if a photographer took a photo of me, with one eye covered in mascara, the headlines wouldn’t be pleasant.

Grabbing the napkin from the metal napkin dispenser, I rubbed, hoping the makeup would disappear. Of course, it didn’t.

“I think you made it worse.”

Ugh. Story of my life.

I scratched my head and the blond wig flopped to the side. Now I had a black eye and my hair was falling off. Wonderful.

“Here you go, darling. I had some spare wig glue in the back,” a familiar voice said from above as a hand placed a small clear bottle onto the table in front of me.

“Debbie.” I tried to hold back the tears from my one good eye.

She looked almost the same—a bit grayer in her curls but her hearty smile always felt like home.

“Iona? My word, you had me fooled. Are you and Tyler up to your old tricks?” She glanced around the room.

“No, Tyler isn’t here. This is Babette, my agent.”

Babette extended a hand and Debbie grasped it with both of hers.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet Iona’s agent. I’ve heard all the tales about you,” Debbie said.

“What?” Babette said as she took her hand back and stared at me.

“Oh, yes. I read all about the goings-on over in Hollywood. Nothing embarrassing, mind you. But very entertaining. I tell you, if Iona wasn’t such a talented actress, I’d bet she would have become a novelist.”

“Really.” Babette arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she gazed at me.

“Who’s hungry?” I asked with a tight voice and immediately raised the menu in front of my face.

Heat crawled up my neck and I wished that a freak lightning storm would explode above my seat. Not much, just one cloud, one bolt. One time where I didn’t have to explain why I did something that wasn’t normal.

My mother had warned me so many times. “Iona, be as pleasant as a flower and as sweet as honey. Then everyone will want to be your friend.”

Instead, I was about as pleasant as a turnip and as sweet as a dill pickle.

“Mmm. You still have apple fritters. That sounds delicious. I’ll take that and a glass of milk, please, Debbie.” I handed the menu over, careful to avoid all eye contact.

“Sure thing, darling. And for you, Babette?”

“A cup of half coffee, half creamer.”

I felt her eyes burn into mine, but I refused to look her way. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and for the first time, I realized this place had ceiling fans.

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