Polished Slick (Natural Beauty) (12 page)

Trinity was silent.

“Oh. So, what? Mad at yourself?”

“Sort of. Yeah, a lot, actually.”

“Why?”

“A lot of reasons. For one, I thought I’d just tease him a bit to get him to stop being such a smug jerk. Then I found out that he really is quite intelligent. Like
really
, Aunt Ginger.”

“There’s a saying about judging books by covers.”

“Yes. Well, being twenty-five, I usually pretend all those old sayings aren’t grounded in reality. You know, kinda like the Bible.”

“Ohhhh, boy. When’d you go off the rails, Trinity?”

“I don’t know. Probably right around the same time I figured out you were never on the rails in the first place. And that leads to another thing. He may look twenty-four, but he’s thirty-
two
, Aunt Ginger.”

“And?”

“The age isn’t the problem. The fact he doesn’t date casually is. I mean, I can see giving him a
chance
…”

“But you don’t see yourself settling down anytime soon.”

“Right. Or, I guess more accurately I’ve never given it any thought. I’ve never dated anyone seriously. I mean, there were a few dates here and there in college, but they never went anywhere because I was so focused on class and homework. I suppose that means they didn’t rock my world enough to give them a second thought.”

“Well, my husband was my first and only.”

“That’s really cute, Aunt Ginger, but this is a new millennium. We girls like to try things before we buy nowadays.”

Ginger giggled into her mimosa. “Jesus, Trinity. How old do you think I
am
?”

“Old enough,” Trinity mumbled.

“I heard that. Little wench.”

* * *

The following day opened with the weekly staff meeting in the barn.

Jerry seemed agitated at his usual spot at the table, grinding his perfect teeth and twirling his tablet computer’s stylus between his fingers. He had his hair tucked up into a red, black, green, and yellow Rasta cap, and looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

Trinity tried not to care, but every time she took note of his long sleeves and baggy cargo pants, she thought about how he was perfectly golden tanned where he wasn’t inked. She’d never been so lucky. She just burned.

Remembering the sunburn, she suddenly had a niggling urge to reach back and scratch. She forgot it just as quickly, however, when Nikki turned the meeting to the topic of the previous week’s break-in.

“Jerry, Charlie, and I have analyzed the footage,” Nikki said. She paused to sip her sport drink, and screwed the cap back on. “We didn’t get absolutely clear views of the faces, but we could tell for certain that we’re dealing with two suspects. The man was heavyset and he looked like he had a buzz cut. He had on one of those tight T-shirts like you see on weightlifters.”

“Or bouncers,” Beth said from the corner.

Trinity hadn’t even noticed her there. Beth was writing polish color numbers on the big whiteboard under the underlined words
For Photo Shoot
.

“Yeah, that’s right, bouncers. The woman was tall and thin with long dark hair, and seemed to be the one in charge. We believe she’s being offered compensation to shake things up here. Personally, I think Rococo is involved, and still pissed about me not crashing and burning our first year. So, I suspect, and Charlie agrees, that whoever it is will probably try to find an alternate way into the building. They’re not going to give up so easily, so we’re going to keep everything important in alternate locations until we get all this mess cleared up. Thank you all for your patience. Now, I want to talk to you all about tomorrow’s photo shoot.”

Boom!

A loud explosion outside shook the conference table.

Seconds later, the power went out.

The staff was utterly quiet then Nikki’s voice broke the silence. “Ain’t. That. Some. Shit.”

Everyone stood and moved as a unit to the main barn doors.

Juan got there first, and pushed the right side open. He whistled low, and mumbled something fast and probably vulgar in Spanish.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jerry said.

“You understand Spanish?” Trinity asked before she could help it.

“Speak it,” he responded curtly.

Probably had a girlfriend who spoke Spanish. One who owns a wetsuit and knows how to surf. Probably has huge tits and a sunblock allergy.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Gramma, call the fire department before Charlie and Chuck lose half a field of cotton.”

“I’m on it, baby.” Gramma Stacy shuffled to the reception desk in her slippers at a faster-than-normal speed.

Thank goodness the phones and server had a limited back-up power supply in case of emergency…like the one they were witnessing.

“Jerry?”

“Electric company. Yeah.” He pushed past Trinity and jogged toward the back of the barn to his own phone.

The rest of the staff, including Trinity and Nikki, stood in the doorway agape, watching one fallen power line pole burn, and the dangling lines crackle and snap.

“What the hell could have done that?” Nikki asked.

It didn’t take too long for them to find out.

“That was a goddamned bomb,” the volunteer fire chief, Alonzo, reported while some straggling firefighters made notes on their clipboards about the damage done to the field. The fire had been contained pretty quickly when Charlie had the bright idea to turn the irrigation system on.

“Bomb? Who around here would even know how to do something like that?” Nikki asked.

Jerry leaned against the doorframe, holding a little paper cup of coffee. Charlie’s mom had gotten the generator going up at the main house for the sole purpose of allowing the pot to finishing perking. “Nikki, anyone with Internet access nowadays can rig a bootleg bomb.”

“Jerry’s right, as usual,” the chief said. “But let me tell you one thing—I used to be chief at a station in DC before the ex-wife moved us down here, and I never saw one of these crude bootleg bombs where the person who put it together didn’t leave some evidence behind. They always figure it’ll all blow up in the explosion. We can get some prints off that casing, I bet.”

“Hope so,” Nikki said. “When do you think the electric company can get in and do their stuff?”

“Any time now. We’re all done. The police’ll give you a call when the lab analyzes those fragments. You really should have called the sheriff about the break-ins, Nikki. They might have been able to help.”

“Or not.”

“Never know. Anything else happens…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nikki waved him away and headed back into the barn, calling behind her, “Juan, are you all set to make that boutique delivery? I want to get our inventory cleared out pronto just in case anyone else has any bright ideas for sabotage.”

“I was going to leave at one. I’ll get ready now.”

“I appreciate it. If you get back early enough, I want to move the rest of the surplus into the storage facility.”

Trinity followed on Nikki’s heels, helping her batten down the hatches, as it were. They locked up important files, made sure the windows were properly latched, and secured the private office.

“Nikki, you seem far too calm,” Trinity observed as she loaded the nail polishes selected for the following day’s shoot into a make-up case along with the other coordinating cosmetics that would be marketed alongside.

“What do you mean? I’m always calm. I’m like a goddamned cucumber, that’s how chill I am.”

“Are you on drugs?” Trinity heard herself say, and then quickly amended the statement. It hadn’t come out the way she meant. “I mean, are you taking some kind of calming herb or something, because anyone else would be barking like a rabid dog right now.”

“Oh.” Nikki shrugged. “Charlie noted the change, too. I thought he was just trying to get some, so I ignored him. Maybe there’s something to it. Probably hormonal.” She rubbed the top of her belly idly, and leaned against the formulation bench. “Less hormones in general being pumped into my bloodstream now that I’m in the homestretch. I probably won’t get really crazy again until my feet are in the stirrups.”

“Wow. Pregnancy seems to be such a complicated endeavor.”

“Well, it’s probably more complicated for people like you and me who are technical-minded. You’ll want to read every single thing. You’ll know what every little twinge and symptom is. You’ll probably even be able to figure out what’s what on an ultrasound without being told.”

“That’s good, right?”

Nikki snorted. “Hell no. Sometimes I wish I had the Dumb-as-Dirt Disease, so when I show up at my prenatal appointments, there’s some element of surprise.”

“Nikki, I think you’ll be plenty surprised when that first real contraction knocks you off your ass.” Gramma Stacy had joined them at the bench with a big black trash bag filled with the food from the refrigerator and freezer. She’d worried the power wouldn’t return soon.

“You’re so mean.” Nikki actually stuck her bottom lip out.

Gramma Stacy gave her a swat on the bottom and padded away.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Jerry asked, approaching the bench, but giving Trinity a wide berth.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn’t care, or more likely, didn’t notice.

“Oh, ho, ho. If you think you’re going to back out on me, sucker, you’re wrong,” Nikki said with an evil grin. “Beth already said we could use her dance studio. Might actually work out better than shooting in the barn. We’ll have to make up the tinted lotion shots tomorrow, too, so it’s going to be a busy, busy day.” Nikki shook her fist. “Make sure you show up on time, Jerry, or I’ll—”

He put his hands up in mock defeat. “I’ll be there. Fuck. Give me a call if the power comes back on. I’m going to take the laptop and work from home.” And he was off without so much as a
kiss my ass
look directed at Trinity.

She rolled her eyes and latched the make-up case.

“Trinity, you can head on out, too. Take all the gear for tomorrow’s shoot to Beth’s in the morning, okay?”

“No problem. It’s all in my car still.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I should have called in sick,” Trinity said as Gretchen tamped a coat of eye shadow onto her lids so thick she could feel her bloodstream absorb the stuff and break it down for nutrients.

“I would have dragged your ass out of your deathbed,” Nikki said nonchalantly from the floor, where she sat on a thick cushion, filing Trinity’s raggedy nails.

“You could have given me some warning,” Trinity whined.

“Why?” Gretchen asked. “You should be flattered we’re recruiting you. It means you’re not ugly.”

“Uhh…” Trinity wasn’t sure if that statement from Nikki’s longtime friend was supposed to be a compliment.

“Look, Trin, truth is we’ve had this planned from jump—ever since Beth came up with the campaign concept. We thought it would be impactful to have people we know in the materials.”

“Remind me to thank Beth.”

“You’re welcome!” Beth sang from the little wooden stool she perched on. The photographer was doing a close-up, and mumbled for her to hold still.

“I feel really exposed.” Trinity tightened the robe around the skimpy outfit she didn’t even know had been stored in her trunk all that time. If she’d been curious enough to actually examine the items she’d so blindly picked up during her errand for Nikki, she might have questioned whom they were for. Gabby would have been the only other person employed by N-by-N who would have came close to fitting it, and no way would Nikki let that child wear something so short.

“Oh, quit your griping,” Gretchen sniped, now swatting black mascara onto Trinity’s lashes to complement the cake of black eye shadow she was already wearing. “You could be famous for this.”

“I don’t want to be famous!” It sounded petulant, even to Trinity’s ears, but it was true. “I’m a chemist. I don’t want people thinking I care about my looks.”

“Oh, people who know you know the opposite’s true,” Gretchen said. “Now, do this.” She sucked in her cheeks and hollowed them out.

Trinity sighed, and mimicked her as the grumbly auburn lady swept her cheeks with a dark blush. Trinity’s back was to the big mirror, but she figured by the time Gretchen was done she’d either look like Edenton’s highest paid whore, or a feral raccoon. Neither sounded sexy.

On the bright side, the only people who were going to see her in person in that ridiculous get-up would be the girls.

No sooner had she taken solace in that small thing did the studio door click open, and Dom and Cole entered in full-on female impersonator mode.

Crap.
Trinity would have rolled her eyes if they weren’t so gummy.

Dom and Cole both worked for a traveling drag and female impersonation revue. Cole also acted as the troupe manager. He was married to Nikki’s accountant, Macy, and appeared on television a lot to judge competitions and provide coaching on talent shows.

Dom was Beth’s live-in sweetie…when he was in town, anyway. Dom liked to vary his acts, but on that day he was done up like Lea Michele as Glee’s Rachel Berry, complete with heavy bang, Scottie dog sweater, plaid schoolgirl shirt, high white knee socks, and flat brown loafers.

He held up his hands to show off his pale pink nail polish.

Gretchen guffawed.

“Haters gonna hate, Gretchen,” Beth said cheerfully, straightening up and walking over to give her lover an air kiss so as not to disturb his make-up.

She was all done and the stool was open. Gretchen’s turn.

While the make-up dust settled, Trinity took a moment to assess the other newcomer in the room. Cole, Dom’s boss and conscience, was in his usual Nicole Scherzinger get-up with fire engine red nails…which seemed to take on a special significance following the previous day’s disaster.

Cole did one act and did it well.

He was a pretty humble guy to be so damned handsome. More often than not, Trinity saw him out of make-up, which made sense because he didn’t want to confuse his toddler. She’d kept an eye on Courtney a few times at the barn when Macy brought her in to hang out while she handled accounting stuff with Nikki. Sweet baby.