Tonya Hurley_Ghostgirl_02 by Homecoming Page A

“Assassination-era Jackie O.”
    “Yeah, grieving first lady is definitely a classic, tasteful vibe, but I’m thinking more natural, less fuss. More Elvis-dying-on-the-toilet period Priscilla Presley,” Wendy Thomas chirped. “I was thinking of stained baby doll dress-fishnets-suicide-era Courtney, but I don’t know. Maybe the wrong tone?”
    “What was good enough for the King … ,” Wendy Anderson began.
    “… Will be good enough for the Queen,” Wendy Thomas agreed, and went back to admiring her reflection.
    Everyone in town was curious about Petula’s condition, but this was the first chance anybody actually had to ask one of her confidantes about her. She didn’t want to pry, but this was too good an opportunity for the stylist to pass up.
    “Are her feet modeling?” one of the Wendy’s hair technicians asked indelicately.
    “Her feet were never her best asset,” Wendy Anderson replied, misunderstanding the question. “Especially now, with the horrible swelling and deadly infection from her big toe raging through her bloodstream.”
    “No, I mean modeling … ,” the stylist said, making a cupped curl in Wendy’s hair, “… the way your feet become curled up like this when someone is dying.”
    “Oh, no. I don’t think so,” Wendy Thomas responded. “But, then again, her feet are always naturally pointed because of that damn second toe.”
    “She was thinking of having it fixed before this calamity, but now … ,” Wendy Anderson, teary-eyed, reported.
    Whether the teardrops were welling for Petula or her Morton’s toe or were just practice for the big event was hard to tell.
    “What better time than now for a reduction,” Wendy Thomas said matter-of-factly. “She’s completely out of it, and her heels would fit soooo much better if she’s having an open casket.”
    “Good point, Wendy,” Wendy Anderson said. “I’ll bring it up. Who do you think has power of attorney?”
    The hairdressers were stunned into silence. They couldn’t even open their mouths to crack the flavorless gum they’d been chewing. Both resumed their work, reaching for the tweezers, and began plucking the Wendys’ eyebrows.
    “Hey, can I take a pair of those tweezers?” Wendy Thomas asked. “It’s just that the three of us made a pact that if one of us ever became a veggie, we would pluck the random unwanted hair from her face.”
    The technician was touched and handed Wendy a spare tweezer. It was a generic stainless steel one, not the hot pink, enameled kind that she was using on the Wendys.
    As the Wendys had their brows furrowed into the proper shape, they could see the memorial across the street beginning to grow. It was getting impossible to ignore. Petula would have loved it, which guaranteed that The Wendys, of course, resented it. As the hair tech looked over distractedly for just a second to check it out, she lost her place.
    “Ow!” Wendy Anderson screamed, pushing the tech’s hand away. “You bruised a follicle!”
    Wendy Thomas felt a coma coming on and panicked.
    “Don’t you know these things always happen in threes?” she shouted.
    With that, Jackie-redux and Priscilla-lite hurriedly picked up their things and bolted for the door as if the Angel of Death himself were chasing them.
    Chapter 6
    Girlfriend in a Coma
    I can now see everything falling to pieces before my eyes.
    —Ian Curtis
    Nobody can have it all.
    Thus, jealousy, which is not necessarily such a terrible thing. Jealousy is kind of like an emotional dipstick that tells you how hot you, your wants, your needs, or your relationships are running. A barometer of personal satisfaction. The real issue is whether the jealousy you feel is motivating or crippling. For some people, it’s both.
    I can’t just sit back and watch her like this,” Scarlet said, finally getting to her breaking point.
    “I know,” Damen said, trying to comfort her.
    “No, I mean, I’m not going to sit back and watch,” Scarlet said, rejecting