Priced to Move

help, and all I got for my efforts was abuse. I’d rather clean toilets with a toothbrush than listen to you rant.”

I learned all I was going to learn from that fun episode. Danni lusts for rubies. Now all I have to figure out is how much she lusts. And the provenance of that stone she bought.

Did it come from Myanmar?

The only good thing about my encounter with Danni is that no one else was there. Especially not Aunt Weeby.

Or Max.

Mortified, I skulk well away from Danni’s radar screen until her makeup’s done and she’s in the wings waiting for her cue. I hide out in my dressing room, cheeks ablaze, guilt heavy. And then my cell phone rings. “Hello.”

“Hey, Andie!” Great. The unmistakable voice of Trophy Tiff. “Who is the S.T.U.D.’s stud? He’s hot!”

Did I tell you I hate that term? Well, I do. And I’m not fond of Tiffany Hammond either. Never could see what Roger saw in her . . . except the silicone and the bleach-blond mane and the ten-feet-long legs. “Hi, Tiff. How are you? I’m surprised to hear from you. Is Roger okay?”

She sniffs. “He’s fine, but sooo boring, I’m about dying here. Wish I had a stud like yours.”

Her spoiled two-year-old whine gets on my nerves, as it always had. And I have nothing to say. This isn’t my kind of conversation. So I keep my peace—for once.

Tiffany blathers on. “What kind of guy gets married then dumps his wife inside four walls? He absolutely ignores me. I’m bored. Bored, bored, bored!”

Get a job! I think it, and have to bite it back, but I don’t say it. I’ve earned myself a medal, right? “Um . . . and you figure I need to know this because . . . ?”

“Well, no. I don’t. It’s just—oh, forget it. I called you because Roger promised me a big, big ruby, and when that Pak guy didn’t show up, we didn’t get any rubies. I hear you got yourself some when you went off to do your Andi-ana Jones thing—isn’t that too cute? I came up with it all by myself. Roger thinks I’m brilliant.”

Between the toddler whine and the new twist on my name, she’s brought up the subject of rubies. Right? “You called me because you don’t have rubies?”

“We do, they’re just teeny, tiny little stones. Well, too small for me. I want a big ruby. And I figure I got connections— you! Can I come down and get one from you?”

“Our rubies are available to everyone.” That’s the beauty of TV shopping. “Did something happen to your wide-screen? All our rubies will be featured on Thursday’s show.”

“Oh no! That won’t work. I might not get the one I want, with all those other people calling in to buy. I want to come meet you so I can have my pick of the best.”

Swell. I can just see it. Gem trays, Roger’s trophy, and me. Since when do I call the shots around here? “I can’t make that decision, Tiff. I don’t own the network. I’ll have to ask Miss Mona and see if she’ll agree.”

“Ooooooh! Thank you. I’m so there. I’ve seen you in action. I’m sure you’ll work wonders on that old lady. See ya!”

I sit back into my chair. Trophy Tiff strikes again.

Lucky me.

After that fun phone call, it’s my turn to surrender to Allison’s tender makeup ministrations.

And while I sit in her chair, I talk her into letting me peek into her gear bag. Anyone who really knows me knows I’m a mascara, powder blush, and lip-gloss kind of girl. A satchel the size of Asia Minor filled to the gills with all colors of beauty potions doesn’t do much for me.

But there’s a plethora of stuff one can hide in a bag that size. Not that Allison does. She’s legit; it’s all glitter and goop in there.

“When did you become a fan of eye shadow?” Miss Mona asks from the door.

I drop the suddenly scalding turquoise powder pot. “I just find Allison’s paints fascinating.”

She frowns. “You do? How?”

How does one explain sudden irrational behavior? “Uh . . . I figure I’m not getting any younger, and I’d better learn how to help Mother Nature when the time comes. A little color goes a long way.”

Both women give me a “Huh?” kind of look. And here I’ve always thought of Miss Mona as the queen of the “Huh?” factor. Seems it might just be contagious after all. Either that, or I’ve deposed her and taken the throne.

Now that I know there’s nothing subversive in Allison’s bag, I want nothing more to do with it. Especially not since it makes everyone look at me as though I’ve sprouted an extra nose in the middle of my face.

That reminds me of my encounter with Danni. She might be onto something with that nosy nose line.

“Here.” I shove the bag at Allison. “I’ve looked enough. Am I done yet?”

She looks at me weird. “Only if you want customers calling to ask what’s wrong with our camera.”

She steps out from in front of the mirror, and I catch a glimpse of my face. My half made-up face. Blush, eye shadow, and mascara adorn my right side. My left? Let’s just say the total look is just a hair on the schizophrenic side.

Miss Mona comes up close to stare at me. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? Maybe I should let Danni go ahead and take the show today. You had yourself a mighty stressful time in Myanmar, after all.” She taps her lips with her index finger. “I’m thinking she and Max can carry off the show.”

Whoa! “No way! Neither one of them has a clue about prehnite, andesine, or