Page 2 of Hot Mess

Amber did what she did best, rescue me. She swooped off the bed and snagged the coat out of Mom’s hands. She was in it and wrapping it around herself in the blink of an eye. “This coat is wonderful! Is it new? I need a new fall coat. Oh, I have a great idea. I can borrow this while you’re in LA since you won’t need it there. Mrs. G, you are so thoughtful for sharing with me while Kayla is in California.”

Amber had been swooping in and making awkward situations less stressful for me for years. It’s how we became friends. She saved me from some playground bullies. No one really knew how to derail her, so no one tried. This meant that Amber was able to redirect all kinds of situations. Mom was particularly stymied when Amber did something like this.

“Oh, that’s good. Wouldn’t want the coat to hang around gathering dust.” Such an odd thing for Mom to say. Amber clearly had disoriented her anger. Amber disoriented Mom simply by not calling her Mrs. Gottleib. I mean, the coat had been doing nothing but taking up space in the back coat closet for the better part of a year, every year for the past three or four that I had owned it.

“I think I have just the sweater for you,” Mom said as she turned and headed out of my room.

Amber and I exchanged wide-eyed glances and giggled nervously until Mom returned with a bulky sweater that fastened with large wood buttons.

I took the article and folded it and smashed it flat into the suitcase.

“Mrs. G, do you think Kayla is going to come home?”

I shot a glare at Amber. What was she doing?

“Of course, I do.”

“Oh, I’m kind of hoping she meets someone glamorous and gets swept away. Wouldn’t that be romantic? Small town girl meets a Hollywood superstar and it’s love at first sight?” Amber did a pirouette and flopped back on my bed.

I was going to smother her with Leonard.

Mom looked at me and tilted her head to the side. It was a pitying look. I was entirely too used to it. The first time I had been the butt of some boy’s idea of a joke when he asked me out and then stood me up. It had been my fault that happened to me, never the boy’s fault. That was the look that I wasn’t good enough, never would be.

“I don’t think something quite so dramatic is going to happen to Kayla. She knows she’s not the big city type. It will be good for her to see what it’s like so that she’ll appreciate what she’s got here at home. We aren’t the glamorous type, are we?”

How was I supposed to know? It wasn’t as if I had ever had anything glamorous. I never went to any of the high school dances. No ball gown prom dresses for me. Mom kept saying I had a homey figure, and that boys would appreciate me when they were ready to settle down. Maybe I didn’t want to settle for anyone in this town.

Maybe I was the glamorous type, maybe bright lights and big cities were exactly what I wanted? I didn’t want what I had here, but I didn’t know anything else. This trip to Los Angeles was terrifying because I was afraid, I wouldn’t ever want to leave.

2

NICK

Istood facing the mirror in my bathroom. I looked nothing like Mithrandes. Which was funny, because I had been Mithrandes for two and a half seasons of Lions of Medea. Well, technically two with three extra episodes in seasons four and six. Got to love those character flashbacks over a year later.

Mithrandes was broad shouldered and roped with defined muscle. He was all pecs and washboard abs. I was all pecs, and when in the middle of filming the abs were in full washboard mode, I was also hairless. I wasn’t hairless now. The hair on my chest was filling back in, and the trail from my belly button down had grown back. I winced at the thought of getting my lower abs waxed again.

Isaac, my personal jack-of-all-trades, sat on the bathroom counter playing on his phone while Carly dabbed makeup onto my chest. She grumbled about it being easier if I waxed or shaved.

“It’s the same makeup, same costume. People are going to know it’s you,” Isaac said without looking up.

“It’s hardly the same makeup. Is it?” I asked Carly.

She gave my chest and face a professional assessment. “It looks like it’s supposed to be the same makeup, but like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Because I don’t. That’s why I hired you,” I complained. I didn’t want the makeup to look exactly the same, but close enough. And I didn’t know a thing about makeup. That’s what professional makeup artists were for.

Carly had been hired to help me with the stuff that was beyond my ability, and then coach me through applying the heavy eye makeup and other facial markings. When my character died and later appeared as a ghost to his love interest, Ishtaria, I had special effects makeup of a smeared bloody handprint across my chest. It was supposed to be my own hand, unknowingly wiping away the wound that killed Mithandres.

Carly took my hand and squirted red dyed corn syrup into my palm. “Okay, Nick, blood it up.” She made a gesture dragging her hand across the top of her chest.

I mimicked the gesture. The bloody swipe looked pretty good.

“Ew, why dead Mithrandes? Why is it always zombie beauty queens, and sexy nuns?” Isaac glanced at me.

“Seriously, dude?”

Isaac was wearing a black and white vertically striped suit like a mischievous demon. Only he was doing live Beetlejuice, so no zombie make up effects for him. Isaac was nothing if not a contrarian. He reveled in doing the opposite of what was expected.

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