Undercover In High Heels

“Dusty. She’s not coming in again today.” I stared at the receiver. Dusty had sounded odd. Nervous. I wondered what was going on. Had finding Veronika really hit her that hard?

“Holy crap, is that the time?” Dana rolled over, pointing to my alarm clock.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve got a seven-o’clock call time today.”

I did a stretch and yawn, still trying to shake from my head the strange dream and the odd note in Dusty’s voice. “You hit the shower. I’ll make the coffee.”

After dressing in a pair of jeans, cork-heeled wedges, and a pink sleeveless blouse, I threw my hair into a quick French twist and Dana and I were on the 101, heading toward Hollywood.

The traffic gods were with us, and it took only twenty minutes before we were pulling into the garage behind the Sunset Studios. As with yesterday, there was a string of PAs, extras, and assistants lined up at the security checkpoint.

Dana and I took our place behind an extra lugging a suitcase and wardrobe bag. Two beats later an out-of- breath Kylie came jogging up behind us.

“Oh, wowzers, can you believe this line?” she asked, panting.

What was hard to believe was that anyone over the age of twelve used the word wowzers. Though, looking at Kylie, I found it kind of hard to believe she was over the age of twelve. She was like Britney Spears (pre K-Fed), Jessica Simpson (post-Newlyweds) and Nicole Richie (pre-eating disorder) all rolled into one. Perky little ski-jump nose; fresh pink cheeks; round, sort of vacant blue eyes; and blonde hair cut in a flirty layered look. This morning her locks were pulled back in a messy-chic ponytail, and she wore Uggs with pink sweats that read JUICY on the butt.

“It’s, like, so unfair we have to go through this, ” she said, pulling a compact out and dabbing concealer over an invisible blemish. “I mean, Veronika was killed with panty hose, not a gun. What’s with the freaking metal detector, ya know?”

I had to admit she had a point.

One that seemed more and more valid as we inched forward in line until I spied my nemesis-the plastic security doorway.

“God, I hate this thing, ” I muttered under my breath.

“It’s no big deal, ” Dana said, slipping her Fendi off her shoulder and onto the belt. “Oh, crap, I forgot my cell in your Jeep. I’ll be right back. Grab my bag on the other end for me, ’kay, Mads?”

“Fine, leave me alone with this thing.”

Dana waved me off, jogging back to the parking lot.

Considering that there were about fifteen guys lined up behind Kylie, I figured all I could do was plow ahead.

I gave Bug-eyed Billy my name, then set my Spade down on the belt beside Dana’s fake Fendi. Then I carefully took off my shoes, my watch, my hoop earrings, my toe ring, and my necklace. And today, despite the noticeably flattened appearance of my chest, I was sans underwire. I would make it through this time.

Queen Latifah was on duty again. She waved me through the plastic doorway with her wand. “Next!”

I took a deep breath, bit my lip, and stepped one foot over the frame. Nothing.

Hallelujah! I felt like hugging Latifah, I was so happy. Forget graduating college-this was a major life accomplishment!

“Uh, ma’am, ” Bug-eyed Billy spoke up from behind his monitor. I turned. He was holding Dana’s fake Fendi. “Is this your bag?”

Uh-oh.

“Uh, well, it’s my friend’s bag, ” I said, glancing toward the parking lot.

“I’m going to have to inspect the contents for non-approved electronic devices.”

“Uh, okay.” I stepped over to the monitor and watched as Bug-eyed Billy proceeded to paw through Dana’s Fendi, pulling one item after another out onto the now-stagnant conveyer belt. Lipstick, credit cards, checkbook, pen. I winced as he pulled out two condoms, and saw a couple of PAs in line lean forward.

But then Bug-eyed Billy really hit the jackpot.

He pulled out a slim pink battery-powered device with a soft, rounded tip.

I felt myself grow hot as my jaw dropped open. Dana’s pocket rocket!

“Ohmigod.” Kylie giggled behind me.

Bug-eyed Billy inspected it as if he’d never seen one before, holding it up to his thick glasses. Of course, the PAs were a little quicker to catch on, openly laughing, and I think I heard someone call out, “Hot stuff, ” from the back of the line. Good God, they thought it was mine!

If I hadn’t just gotten my nails done, I would have seriously considered clawing at the asphalt to dig a hole I could crawl into.

“That’s not mine!” I protested hotly.

Bug-eyed Billy raised an eyebrow at me. “What is it?” he asked.

I heard a snort of laughter from one of the PAs. “Yeah, honey, tell him what it is.”

I clenched my fists into balls. I was so going to get Dana for this.

I leaned in close, trying to be discreet. I know: lost cause at this point. “It’s a personal massager, ” I whispered.

Billy tilted his head to the side, still inspecting Dana’s little friend. “Like for your neck?”

More snorting from the peanut gallery.

“Um, yeah. Like for your neck…or something.”

Billy contemplated it for a moment, no doubt trying to figure out just how that might work, but finally he shrugged and, to my immense relief, dropped it back into the fake Fendi. “All right.” He nodded. “You’re cleared.”

I grabbed the bag, shoved my shoes back on my feet, and quickly gathered up the rest of my belongings just as Dana made an appearance at the back of the line. She cheerily waved her cell phone and motioned that she’d meet me inside.

Some days I think having friends is overrated.

“Speed. And…rolling!”

“Okay, Nurse Nan, we’re ready. Who’s the father?”

“I’m sorry to tell you that the results aren’t what we were hoping for.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, not what we’d hoped for?”

“I mean it seems that neither Chad nor your husband is the father of your baby, Ashley.”

I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand as I watched from the edge of the soundstage. Neither one? Wow, that was a bombshell. I thought back to last season’s episodes. Who else could it be? I mean, there’d been that one guy who used to be on Sex and the City, but they wrote him out when he poisoned the next-door neighbor to cover up his gambling addiction that led to his mortgaging his sister’s house and forcing her to work as a high-class call girl.

“There’s someone else, Ashley?”

“No, Chad, I swear it. There’s just been you. And my husband.”

“Then explain these results.”

“I…I…I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Chad!”

“I’m not sure I can, Ashley.”

“And…cut! Brilliant-take five, everybody.” Steinman beamed from ear to ear behind his monitor. Grips slapped one another on the butt, and even Margo and Ricky did a high five. The only one who didn’t seem pleased was Mia, still shooting daggers across the soundstage at Margo.

Dana skipped out from her perch behind the reception desk and mini-jogged over to me. “Oh, wow, did you catch that?”

I nodded. “No freaking way the baby is someone else’s!”

“My money’s on the electrician across the street.”