“Okay, enough. All this teasing is giving me a headache.” Kitty McClarren yanked her head away from Juan’s comb.
Juan cocked a hand on his bony hip. “Honey, I was told lots of volume. They want these pics to look like Barbarella, and Barbarella never had no flat-ass hair.”
“Well, if you don’t go easy, you’re not going to have any hair left to tease, since it’ll all be on the floor. It’s dryer than a bone these days.” Kitty wasn’t normally so ornery, but she hadn’t slept well the previous night. Four hours, max. She just wasn’t in the mood to be primped and plucked and stand in front of a camera all day, even if it was for Italian Face. Big deal, she thought; she had been on their cover twice, once in 2008 and another time in 2010. A six page layout wasn’t anything to cream her jeans over. Not that she was creaming her jeans over much of anything, as of late. For the last four months, her sex life had been as active as a quadriplegic on life support. Maybe that’s my problem. What I really need is to get laid.
“A little keratin and you’ll be good as new.” Juan resumed teasing her golden brown strands. “Not much more to do, anyway.”
Wayne Marsh approached her. “My gorgeous Kitty cat, you need something to drink? Tea, coffee, champagne…?” He rubbed his hands together, anxious to fetch something–anything–for the olive skinned stunner. Regardless of the dozen or so times they had worked together, Wayne had always been slightly intimidated of Kitty, as though she were a sophisticated, out-of-reach high school senior and he the infantile freshman.
“I’m good, thanks. Actually, I’ll take an Altoid.”
Wayne dumped the tin in Kitty’s hand. “So, you’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday.”
“Olivia,” Wayne said with a grin.
“Olivia Vitolli?” Kitty said. “Ha. I miss that girl. What’s she up to?”
“Throwing a birthday party for her brother, Bobby, tomorrow night. She and her husband just bought a place overlooking Central Park. Says we should both come.”
“Ooh, that boy’s dangerous,” breathed Juan. “Bobby Vitolli is a shady fuck, a gangster–or so I’ve heard. Hot but shady.”
“People love to talk,” Kitty said. “Just because he’s Italian and wears nice suits, people automatically say he’s a gangster. It’s so stupid. I met him three months ago at Olivia’s wedding, and he made an impression, that’s for sure. Bobby’s definitely…intriguing.”
Juan giggled. “Oh, as I said, he’s definitely hot, honey. No question about that. Tall, dark, and handsome.”
“Well, what do ya say? Should I text her you’re coming, then?” asked Wayne.
Kitty sighed. “I’m supposed to go to a friend’s gallery opening–well, not really a friend-friend, more of an acquaintance. Even though I’m sure Olivia’s party will be more fun.”
Wayne popped an Altoid in his mouth. “Can’t be everywhere at once.”
Kitty bit her lower lip, in thought. “Or I could go with Clariss–”
“You can go to a gallery opening any day,” said Juan while pinning a section of her hair up. “But you can’t always find a six foot piece with muscles and a full head of hair waiting at an Upper East Side palace. Even if he is shady.”
Kitty rolled her eyes. But Juan did have a point….