Wyatt put a hand to Carmen's shoulder. 'Carmen, please, I just need you to-'
She jumped away from him. 'You men are all the same, always touching, touching, touching. Well, I'm through! I quit!' And she did.
Wyatt stared after her, incredulous. 'Wyatt, what about my water!' Kelly screamed. Damn it, he was the producer, not an errand boy. He grabbed one of the grips. 'Do me a big favor and get the Aqua Queen some bottled water?'
'That violates union rules, man. Sorry.'
Wyatt got the water himself, out of his own stash in his office. Then he called around and tried to find another makeup artist. But his contacts in Phoenix were limited. He simply hadn't lived here long enough. Jean didn't answer when he paged her. He put out calls to a couple of others he found in his director's Rolodex, but by sixty minutes to airtime he still didn't have anyone to do his guests' makeup.
He was about to borrow Kelly's suitcase of cosmetics and do the job himself, when he remembered someone else he knew who did makeovers. What was the name of that spa where she worked? Sunshine… no, Sunrise.
On impulse, he dialed Information.
Phoebe carefully removed electric rollers from the fragile, auburn-tinted hair of one of her clients, Mrs. Cooper.
'I just don't know, honey,' the sixty-something woman said, frowning into the mirror. 'I'm not sure this color is me. I used to be a redhead, you know.'
Phoebe knew. Mrs. Cooper had informed her of that fact several times a day last week while Phoebe tried every hair color on the shelf to please her.
'Why don't you try living with it for a few days?' Phoebe suggested. 'It looks good with your coloring.'
'I'll decide what looks good, missy,' Mrs. Cooper said curtly. 'I'm the one paying a thousand dollars a day.'
Phoebe stifled a groan. Not all the rich ladies she worked with had this kind of attitude. In fact, most of them were very nice, and sometimes quite gracious when Phoebe worked her magic on them. She firmly believed that every woman, no matter how seemingly plain, had beautiful qualities that could be accentuated with the right hairstyle or makeup choices. Some of her clients were downright astounded when she brought their inner beauty to the surface.
Then there were the Mrs. Coopers of the world, who would never be beautiful because they never smiled. They treated Phoebe like a servant with no feelings.
Phoebe's intercom buzzed, dispelling her dismal thoughts.
'I don't take calls during appointments,' Phoebe gently reminded Pam. She also firmly believed all her clients- even Mrs. Cooper-deserved a hundred percent of her attention.
'I know, and I'm sorry,' Pam said, sounding anxious. 'But he said it's an emergency.'
Phoebe's heart skipped a beat. All she could think about was her mother, her only living relative. Olga Phelps was healthy as a horse, as far as Phoebe knew. Had something happened to her? Phoebe apologized to the tightly frowning Mrs. Cooper and picked up the phone.
'Phoebe Lane.'
'Phoebe, thank God. It's Wyatt Madison.'
Now her heart went into overdrive. Why would he be calling her? 'It's not-I mean, your grandparents are okay, aren't they?' she asked.
'Yes, yes, they're fine. I'm calling because… How would you like to make a fast three hundred bucks?'
'Whoa, let me rephrase that. I need a makeup artist. Mine just walked out, and my show goes on the air in forty-five minutes. You're my last resort.'
Phoebe's first instinct was to say no. She'd left the entertainment industry three years ago without a backward glance, and she had no intention of making a comeback. But the real reason she wanted to say no was that she didn't need any more excuses to hang out with Wyatt. The man drove her crazy. Knowing he lived and slept just two doors down from her was bad enough, even if she didn't see him very often. But now that she knew he thought of her as a 'leggy blonde,' things were ten times worse.
'I'll make it four hundred,' he said, when her extended silence became uncomfortable.
'To do what, exactly?' She couldn't believe she was even considering his offer.
'Make up our guests. We have two. Shouldn't take longer than thirty minutes. Kelly and Kurt already have their makeup on,' he added.
She supposed she should know who Kelly and Kurt were, but she seldom watched TV. No time.
'Five hundred,' Wyatt said, sounding desperate. 'Final offer.'
'I'll do it on one condition,' she finally agreed, unable to say no to him. Shoot, five hundred bucks for less than an hour's work wasn't something she could afford to walk away from. Her financial needs were modest, given that she owned both her car and her condo outright. But the spa didn't pay her that much, and school was expensive.
'Name it,' Wyatt said.
'I want your promise there'll be no more 'leggy blonde' comments. I promised myself when I left L.A. that I would never again-'
'Oh, hell, I didn't mean that. Sorry if it upset you or anything. I was testing you.'
Well, that was a new twist. Phoebe thought. She'd heard all kinds of excuses when a man tried to save face, but none had ever claimed to be testing her.
'When Daisy told me you were an actress,' he explained, 'I thought for sure you'd try to use me to somehow revive your career.'
'What on earth would make you think-'
'Past experience. The same thing that makes you think I'm out to jump women.'
Point taken, she thought with a small pang of guilt. 'You're safe with me, I promise,' he added. Phoebe was annoyed by the sense of disappointment she felt. Did he find her totally unappealing?
'Will you do it?' he asked again.
'Did I pass your test?'
He chuckled. 'With flying colors. Been a long time since anyone so thoroughly bruised my ego.'
'Then I'll come to the station immediately.' She actually heard his sigh of relief before they hung up. If she'd thought for a moment he was anything but sincere in his plight, she'd never have agreed to help. Helen and Rolland Madison would be really hurt if she turned her back on their precious grandson when he was in a jam.
'Mrs. Cooper, I'm-' She stopped. Mrs. Cooper was gone. Phoebe had been so wrapped up in her conversation with Wyatt, she hadn't even noticed her neglected client getting up and leaving. Phoebe was about to go in search of the woman to apologize, when the door to her treatment room flew open without a knock. Her boss, Madelaine Fitzhugh, burst in looking as if she wanted to chew on something firm-like Phoebe's butt.
'What did you do to Mrs. Cooper?' Madelaine demanded, her arms crossed beneath her improbably large breasts.
'Aside from dying her hair for the fifth time?'
'Don't be snippy with me, Phoebe.'
Phoebe hated being spoken to like a sixth grader caught smoking in the bathroom, but she did her best to screen the irritation out of her voice. 'I took a phone call. Three minutes, max.'
'She said you were gushing with your boyfriend.'
Phoebe almost laughed. What on earth had given Mrs. Cooper that idea? 'No. It was a friend, and I've got to help him with an emergency.' She peeled off her smock.
'You're leaving?'
'I don't have another client until four o'clock,' Phoebe assured her boss. And she was paid by the client, not the hour.
'But I might need you. Flora Cummings wants a manicure at one.'
