Monica looked, oddly, great at the shoot. I, on the other hand.

“Tell me about it.”

I frowned. “Uh, let’s see. War in Hell.”

“So, that’s what the dream meant.”

I’d have to look up prophetic dreams. Or maybe. “Odin’s got his hand on you for sure.”

She nodded. “But I think it’s all his fault. You look awful. Let me lend you this heavy duty concealer for those bags.”

I shook my head, but accepted the makeup. “Anansi has some kind of dwarven artifact that drains power from gods. Loki wants it, of course.”

“Of course. Probably so he can knock Odin out and dye his beard rainbow colors.”

I laughed. “Oh dear. Don’t let him hear that. He’d have ideas.”

We kept our voices low, of course, but the laughter caused a couple of other heads to turn. One of them was an exceptionally thin blonde girl that I suspected starved herself to “keep her figure.”

She came over. “What, or rather who, is so funny?”

“A friend of ours with a penchant for pranks.”

“Oh. Are they nasty?”

I thought about it, then shook my head. “Not most of the time. But I wouldn’t catch his attention anyway. He’s the kind of guy to sneak hair dye into your shampoo.”

She was inordinately proud of her hair, which was almost white. I preferred my own golden hues. When I said that she clutched at it. “Oh no.”

Then she paused. “My college roommate pulled that one on me once. I had purple hair for two weeks.”

Oh dear. I hadn’t realized she was a past victim. “Well, when you start at a color that could go any direction…”

“Purple, though? If I was going to do that I’d go green.”

I liked her better. Green hair. Now that would be an idea. And I could probably do it without dye, too. “You’re more fun than I thought.”
She shrugged. “All work, no play, etc.” Then she paused. “Okay. What’s your secret?”

“What secret?”

“You almost always look perfect. Not today, though.”

“I didn’t sleep well.” I glanced at Monica’s industrial strength concealer. “Nothing to worry about.”

“But you never put on weight or anything…”

“You need to put on a little. I know you want to do runway.” Monica’s voice, cutting in. “But half starved is, thankfully, going out.”

“If I do that I’ll balloon, though.”

“The secret is…” I glanced at Monica. “Lots of exercise. Not trying to do it all with food. Take up running or something.”

She seemed to consider that. “If I…”

“Oh, don’t overdo it,” Monica suggested. “Just enough to burn off the fat. You don’t want to look like an Olympic marathoner either, but right now you look like a starved child with implants.”

Holly…I’d remembered her name…blushed and then fled.

“That was harsh.”

“Somebody had to say it, and you know the designers won’t. Now, let me help you with those bags…”