Page 25 of First Star I See Tonight (Chicago Stars 8)

Piper stopped inside the door. “Are you okay?”

“My life is shit,” the actress said in a slurred voice, not taking her gaze from her own reflection.

Judging from the size of the diamonds in her ears, and her exquisite royal-blue one-shoulder dress, it couldn’t be too shitty.

“Men are shit. It’s all shit.” The inky tears kept rolling.

Piper debated making a quick exit, but she’d been on her feet for hours, and her heels were killing her. She sat on the next cube and slipped them off. “Sounds like you’re having a bad night.”

“A bad life. It’s shit.”

“Kick him out. Just a suggestion.”

The actress turned a pair of startled blue eyes at her. “But I love him.”

Oh, lord . . . How many stupid women could one planet hold? Piper tried to sound compassionate. “Not to get all Zen on you, but maybe you should love yourself more.

”

The actress grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her mascara tears. “You don’t understand. He can be so sweet. And he needs me. He has problems.”

“Everybody has problems. Let him fix his own.”

The actress’s perfect nostrils flared with hostility. “You obviously have no idea what it’s like to love from the very bottom of your soul.”

“You’re right. Unless you’re talking about taco-flavored Doritos.”

The actress was not amused, and she leaned closer, bringing the scent of her zillion-dollar perfume along. “Who are you?”

“Nobody. An employee. I’m doing social media for the club.”

The woman took in Piper’s less-than-memorable dress, so out of place in this rarefied air, then rose none too gracefully from the stool. “I feel sorry for you. You have no idea what you’re missing.”

“Misery?” Piper said as kindly as she could manage.

The actress stormed out.

Piper stared glumly at her reflection in the mirror. So much for a fallback career as a life coach.

She wasn’t used to keeping nightclub hours, and she dampened one of the black guest towels with cold water. The door opened, and the prettiest of the swishy-haired blondes who’d been hanging out with the football players came in. “You, too?” she said as she saw Piper pressing the cool towel to the back of her neck. “I have to get out of here. I’m seriously sleep deprived, and I have my orals coming up in two weeks.”

“Orals?”

The blonde leaned toward a mirror and wiped a lipstick smudge from her front tooth with her index finger. “I’m getting my doctorate in public health.”

Swishy-haired, beautiful, and smart. “So not fair,” Piper muttered.

“Sorry?” The woman cocked an inquisitive ear.

“It sounds challenging.”

“Easier done on a full night’s sleep, that’s for sure.” The woman made her way toward one of the three toilet cubicles.

As Piper headed back downstairs to be with the common folk, she reminded herself that a good detective didn’t make assumptions like the ones she’d been making about the swishy-hairs.

***

The theme from Buffy awakened her the next morning. Momentarily disoriented by her new surroundings, she fumbled for her phone, knocked it to the floor, and then hung upside down over the edge of the bed to get it. “’Lo.”

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