What Looks Like Crazy by Charlotte Hughes Page B

younger?”
    â€œGive or take a couple of years. I’ll have to call Collette in to do your makeup.” He picked up my hand, studied my nails. “Oh, hell.” He dropped my hand. “I’ll have to call Paulette to do your nails.”
    He looked at Mona. “You are going to so owe me.”
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    It was after five by the time I left the salon with Mona at my side, my makeover complete. I didn’t recognize the woman who’d stared back at me in the mirror once Frank, aka Francois, and his team of experts had finished. All I could do was gape at the incredible job they’d done. My long dark hair had been streaked with reddish-gold highlights and cut in a sassy style that barely grazed my shoulders. My makeup was flawless, and I had been given careful instructions on how to reproduce the look on my own, which accounted for the large bag of beauty products I carried.
    Mona and I climbed into her Jaguar and sat there for a moment. She grinned. I grinned. “I look really good, don’t I?” I said, having witnessed Francois’s weeping over me—the masterpiece he’d created with his own hands.
    â€œYou rock.”
    â€œGood. May we eat now?”
    â€œBefore or after we look for your dress?”
    â€œDress?”
    â€œHoney, you have to get a dress. I recommend short, black, and sexy. You’ll need high heels to go with it, too. And you’ll need a thong.”
    â€œWhy do I need a thong? I don’t even like thongs.”
    â€œNot only are you going to wear a thong, you are going to find a way to let Jay know you’re wearing a thong.”
    â€œOh,” I said. I wasn’t sure how I was going to work it into the conversation, but Mona had steered me right so far.
    Mona turned the key in the ignition, and her Jaguar purred. “Poor Jay,” she said. “By the time we’re finished with him, he’s going to wish you’d just tied him to the back of your car and dragged his body through the streets.”

chapter 4
    I was dressed in my new size-six black dress and my new stilettos, waiting by the front window for Mona to arrive. Some people were meant to wear stilettos, but I am not one of them. I had been practicing walking in them for the past hour, but I was still an accident waiting in high heels.
    I was also a nervous wreck, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before I’d see Jay again. I’d never taken psychiatric drugs or tranquilizers, but I would have considered popping a Valium right about now. I probably could have asked Thad to write me a prescription, but that would have meant a trip to his hot tub, and God only knows what else. Better to risk a full-fledged nervous breakdown, I thought.
    As Mona’s white stretch limo pulled onto my street, I reached for my small black evening bag, which held the bare necessities: house key, lipstick, cash, and a hair pick.
    I hurried out, pausing briefly to lock my front door. As I walked toward the limo, I noted Bitsy’s face pressed against her window, her mouth forming a giant O. It was hard to say what shocked her more: the limo or my dress, which left little to the imagination.
    Mona’s chauffeur, Jimbo, met me at the door of the limo and opened it for me. From Mona, I had learned the correct way to get into and out of a limo. I sat on the edge of the seat—facing outward—and very daintily swung my legs around before Jimbo closed the door. According to Mona, presentation is everything when getting into and out of a limo.
    â€œDa-yum,” Mona said. “I barely recognize you. I think you gave Jimbo a hard-on. If he drives into a tree, it’s your fault.”
    My stomach growled in response. Mona arched one brow. “I haven’t eaten all day,” I said.
    â€œYou want a candy bar?” She reached for her purse.
    â€œI can’t eat. This dress is way too tight. There’s not even room for me to eat a peanut. If I put