Friday morning I awoke feeling anxious and unsettled. Yesterday’s events replayed in my mind, especially the part where Kat told me that I might have to help deliver the baby. Thank goodness I’d avoided that. I should send those paramedics a present. Something to show my gratitude.

I remembered the feelings that had passed over me as Jason ran his finger across my cheek. A delicious shiver ran over me as I relived the moment.

I rose and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth, only to remember that the water was turned off. Ugh. Glancing down at my cell phone, I realized I’d missed a text from Humberto. Sorry about the water. Long story.

Great.

I made my way downstairs to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of water and groaned when I found a half-eaten plate of food inside my refrigerator and a sink full of dirty dishes. Did my brothers ever clean up after themselves? And what was the deal with all the beer cans? How many times did I have to tell Carlos I didn’t want him drinking in my house?

I reached for a bottle of water, raced back upstairs, and brushed my teeth. A girl just hasn’t lived until she’s brushed her teeth with ice-cold water.

Now for the tricky part. I poured about half the bottle of water into a washcloth and went to work on my face. Then I used the rest to give myself a sponge bath. Ick. Not exactly a hot shower, but it was better than nothing. Unfortunately, I could do nothing about my hair, so I swept it up in a ponytail. Folks at work would be stunned, no doubt, but what did it matter? After what they’d witnessed yesterday, a director in a ponytail would be small potatoes. Besides, Fridays were mostly crew and writers, anyway. Hardly anyone would see me like this. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple gray blouse.

As I hit the 405, I waited for the phone to ring. Strangely, Mama didn’t call. Again. If I went to her house tonight for tamales—as I did every Friday night—I would likely find my father seated next to her on the sofa. I would smile and act like nothing was out of the ordinary, just like I always did when he came back home.

Actually, nothing would be out of the ordinary. His comings and goings were as much a part of my life as anything else, I supposed.

Instead of talking to Mama, I turned on the radio and caught the tail end of a great worship song. I began to have that familiar longing as the words washed over me. I experienced that same feeling on Sunday mornings when I stood in church, eyes closed, listening to the worship music. Strange how worship could transport you out of your everyday life and make you feel like you were getting a little taste of the next. Kind of like being in the studio, only this felt more real.

This particular song kept me in a calm state of mind—until the guy in the car behind me laid on his horn and I realized I was driving too slow to please him. The worship ended and reality kicked in. The Hollywood version, anyway.

I sighed, wishing that for once I could just enjoy my morning drive without the angst of L.A. traffic.

The rest of the drive I was deep in thought about yesterday’s strange turn of events. If I’d been writing the script, I would have made sure Kat’s baby came not in an ambulance but during the actual delivery scene we’d been shooting. Wouldn’t that have been something? And as for the stuff with Jason afterward . . . I wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe I would have added a teeny-tiny kiss at the end. Maybe just one on the cheek. Or the tip of my nose. Or my hand.

Was it getting hot in here? I reached over and turned on the AC. Crazy, running the air conditioning in April, but I couldn’t help it.

When I arrived at the studio, I gave myself a quick glance in the rearview mirror and groaned. The ponytail was lopsided, and my makeup job left something to be desired. The dark circles under my eyes seemed to be saying, “Next time remember to use concealer, you goober!” Well, next time I would. Today I had work to do.

Into the soundstage I went. I found the set empty except for a couple of janitors who worked alongside each other. I stood in the quiet, relishing the aloneness. Rarely was this room so peaceful. Without the hum of children’s voices, without the laughter of the older cast members, without the heat of the lights overhead, it was just a shell of a room, filled with unused cameras, gels, and fake set pieces. All glitz and glam when the cameras were rolling, but plain and empty otherwise.

There would be no chatter of children today. I’d dismissed them for the day. In fact, I’d instructed the whole cast to take the day off. We’d gotten every take yesterday. Besides, after the trauma we’d been through, they needed a break. I, on the other hand, needed to meet with the writers, and the sooner, the better.

Once I entered the hallway, I heard familiar laughter coming from the writers’ room. Nothing thrilled me more than hearing our writers laugh. If they thought the script was funny, the audience would too. There was no death sentence like a script that the writers couldn’t laugh at.

I peeked inside their room to discover Benita sitting with them, heels up on the coffee table. She looked my way and grinned. “Hey, Tia.”

“Beni?” Just one word, but it spoke volumes. “Aren’t you off today?”

“Just came in to tidy up the makeup room. Got a little distracted.”

Clearly.

I soon noticed the object of her affections, at least for today. Bob sat next to her on the sofa, laptop in hand. “She’s been helping us with next week’s script,” he said. “Your sister’s a hoot, Tia. Really. You should hear the stuff she’s coming up with. It’s priceless.”

Benita? Funny?

“Okay, okay.” She rose and stretched, revealing her midsection. “I guess I’ve been funny enough for one day. I need to clean up the salon.”

“Salon?”

“That’s what she’s calling the makeup room now,” Athena explained. “I kind of like it. Gives the place a lot of class.”

“That’s what we need around here,” Stephen said between bites of Greek pastries. “Class.”

As Benita rose and gave Bob a wink, my stomach churned. I looked at Athena and Stephen. “You guys ready to meet with me? I’m dying to see the script.”

“Oh, we, uh, well . . .” Athena glanced at my sister, and I knew in an instant what she would have said if she could. Benita had served as too much of a distraction, so they hadn’t gotten the script finished yet. Go figure. Well, I’d better get her out of here, at least for a while, so they could work.

“Beni, you want to show me how things are going in the hair and makeup area? Things have been so busy this week I haven’t stopped by to see how you and Nora are getting along.”

“Oh, we’re doing great.” Benita rose and took a few steps toward me. “She told me yesterday after seeing my work on Kat and the others that she feels sure you guys picked the right person.” My sister’s smile charmed me. “Made my day.”

“Awesome. Well, let’s go have a look.”

As I followed her down the hallway, she talked almost nonstop, giving me a fascinating dissertation about Scott Murphy’s thinning hair and Kat’s bad pores. Then she dove into a story about Brock Benson and what fun she’d had, holding him captive in his makeup chair yesterday before filming.

Mental note: have a talk with Brock about my sister.

She turned into the makeup room and I followed her inside, a little confused when I saw the new decor on the wall. Apparently she’d already added her touch.

Benita flipped on the lights and the whole room came alive. I’d been in here a million times before, but usually to talk with one of our show’s stars before a taping. Seeing the room empty right now made me feel a little sad. Still, the new decor helped. Added some Hollywood pizazz.

“You’ve done a nice job,” I said. “I see your touches all around.”

“Thanks.” She pointed to one of the makeup chairs. “Have a seat in my chair, Tia.”

“What? Why?”

“We need to talk.” Her stern look let me know she wasn’t messing around.

I eased my way into the chair like a schoolgirl in the principal’s office. “Talk about what?” I noticed the look of concern in Benita’s eyes, and my heart rate increased. “What’s happened? What has he done now?”

“Who?”

“Dad. What’s he done to break Mama’s heart this time?”

“Oh, nothing that I know of. I want to talk to you about your eye shadow.” Without warning, she swiveled the chair so that I faced the mirror.

“W-what? Are you kidding?” I stared at my reflection, realizing how bad I looked under these lights, particularly with the ponytail and rushed makeup job from earlier. Not that I could have done anything about it.

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to talk to you about this for weeks now, but I’ve been scared.” She whipped out a beauty apron and fastened it around my neck.

I stared at her, trying to figure this out. “You’ve been scared to talk to me about eye shadow? Beni, are you on drugs or something?”

“No, silly.” She pulled out a compact and smeared lipstick across her bottom lip. After smacking her lips together, she glanced my way and released a slow breath. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you could use a few lessons from the master.”

“What are you talking about?”

She waved her lipstick my way. “I’ve been to cosmetology school. I could help you . . . you know . . . get a man.”

“Get a man?” Okay, now my blood began to boil. “What is this, some sort of primitive ritual where you doll me up to suddenly become attractive to the very men who just yesterday didn’t know I existed?”

“Well, yeah.” She giggled. “Isn’t that the idea?”

“Definitely not. If they can’t see me for who I am right now, then they’re not worth it. Besides, I don’t really need that much work.” A pause followed as I thought it through. “Do I?”

“Oh, don’t get so defensive, Tia. You’ve always been hypersensitive about your looks, but I’ve never understood why. You’re the prettiest one in the family.”

I’d just started to stammer a thank-you when she added, “Without makeup, I mean. But once I get my face painted, where do the guys look—at you or me? I’m an artist, I tell you. My work should be hanging in the Louvre.”

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t interested in the kind of guys who’d been looking her way. I realized that at least one of them—Jason, to be precise—had spent quite a deal of time looking my way last night, and he hadn’t been put off by my lack of makeup skills.

I turned again to face the mirror, noticing how sallow my skin looked. These lights didn’t lie. They exaggerated every flaw.

Benita reached to take my face in her hands. “Tia, just let me work my magic. Then you’ll come into work on Monday and the guys on the set will flip at the new and improved you. Trust me.”

I paused just long enough for her to get the idea I might be interested. She pounced, reaching for her makeup bag then signaling me to sit up straight. “It won’t take long, I promise. And besides, what do you have to do today? The filming went great yesterday.”

“Yes, but I have to go upstairs to meet with the editors at some point, and the writers are counting on me to look over the script for next week, and—”

“Tia.” She put her hand up. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re on my turf now. It’s time to stop acting like the boss and start trusting that someone else around here actually has a handle on what they’re doing too.”

“But—”

She turned the chair away from the mirror. “I don’t want you to see this until after I’ve worked my magic. I think you’re going to be surprised at the change in your appearance.”

“No doubt.”

Fifteen agonizing minutes later—after plucking stray eyebrow hairs, slathering me in concealer, highlighting my cheekbones, rippling on some brownish-purple eye shadow, and painting my lips—she turned me around to face the mirror.

The gasp that followed had little to do with my sister. I hardly recognized myself. Gone were the bags under my eyes. Gone were the tiny blemishes on my right cheek. Gone were the sallow spots on my cheeks. In place of all those things—a work of art. Hang me on the wall with a strong hook and let the viewers have a field day!

Heavens. If I’d known I would look this good, I would’ve asked for her help sooner.

I suddenly felt like a new person. And while it had felt like a lot of makeup going on, somehow she’d made me look almost natural. Weird how she’d accomplished that.

I leaned forward, noticing how the perfectly placed eye shadow brought out the deep brown of my eyes. And who knew my lashes were that long? Had she somehow glued on fake ones? I blinked extra hard to make sure. Nope. They were mine, in all their exquisite glory.

“Hmm.” She crossed her arms at her chest and gave me a pensive look. “On the other hand, I don’t think it’s a very good idea for you to show up at the studio like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because. ” A sly grin lit her face. “None of the guys will even notice I’m here.” She giggled. “Not that it matters to you. You’ve already implied that you’re not interested in guys looking at you that way. Right?”

“R-right.” I glanced back at the mirror, pondering the reality of my reflection. Would it really be so bad for men to find me attractive? Was that so awful? “I guess I could try it once and see if anyone notices.”

One of her thinly plucked brows elevated. “If anyone notices?” She laughed. “Honey, everyone’s going to notice. Can’t wait to see what Mama says. You’re coming for tamales tonight, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I . . .” A sigh followed. How could I argue that I needed to fix the plumbing in my house when I knew nothing about plumbing?

“You’ve got to come. Mama will love this.”

I tried to rise from the chair, but Benita pushed me back down. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not done with you yet.”

“You’re not?”

“No. That hair . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you look like you’re thirteen with that ponytail.”

She began to tug at the rubber band, and I winced. “Ouch. Could you be a little more gentle?”

“Sorry, Tia. Gentle and beauty are two words you will never find me using in the same sentence. There’s nothing gentle about becoming gorgeous.” She sighed. “Ask me how I know.”

I started to say, “How do you know?” just to be sarcastic, but decided against it. Instead, I sat as she spent the next fifteen minutes curling and styling my hair in the cutest updo I’d ever seen. It had that trendy, messy look—like I hadn’t spent all morning trying too hard. Yet it had a sophisticated edge to it too. Very Hollywood glam girl. And with the makeup in place, I looked downright . . .

“Wow, Tia. You look amazing.”

I turned as I heard Athena’s voice. She stepped into the room and walked toward me. “Is that really you?”

“It’s me.” I turned back to the mirror just to make sure.

“Benita, you’ve made her look prettier than ever. That makeup job is to die for, and I love her hair like that.”

On and on she went, talking about me in third person as if I’d stepped out of the room or something. But I was sitting right here, listening to every word.

“That lip color is great against her olive skin,” Athena said. “But I’m blown away by her eyelashes. I never knew Tia’s lashes were that long. Or thick. They’re amazing.”

Okay, enough conversation about my physical appearance. I’d never been one for ranting and raving over such things. I rose and pulled off the beauty apron, then turned to my sister with a smile. “Thanks, Benita. You’ve been really sweet. But I need to talk to Athena and the other writers now, so—”

“No, that’s what I came to tell you.” Athena shoved a script into my hands. “We’re ready for you. We’ve made all those changes you asked for.”

“You rewrote that scene where Scott and Brock are at NASA with the kids?”

“Yep.”

“And you added the scene where the guest star accidentally misplaces one of the kids?”

“Sure did. It’s all done, Tia.” Athena gave me a reassuring smile. “So our meeting won’t take long. Then you can rest easy.”

“Oh, I can’t do that. I’ve got a meeting with Rex to talk about our plan of action without Kat. There’s so much to do.”

I rose, and Benita’s gaze narrowed as she glanced down at my jeans and shoes.

“Wait a minute.” She put her hand up. “Before you go, I have to ask you about one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your clothes.” Benita gestured to my jacket.

“My clothes? What about them?”

“That shirt is gray.”

“Okay. So what?”

Why is everyone commenting on my gray clothes all of a sudden? Did someone stick a “bland and boring” sticker on my back?

“I’ve noticed it too.” Athena crossed her arms and gave me a funny look. “This is just a thought—call it analysis—but I wonder if maybe you’re wanting to go backwards in time to a kinder, simpler era.”

“What in the world?”

“Watching you in these outfits is kind of like watching reruns of TV shows from the fifties and early sixties. Safe. Maybe a little too perfect.”

“And very, very gray,” Benita added.

“I happen to like gray,” I said. “It’s a nice color on me.”

“It’s a nice color on nuns,” Athena said. “And flight attendants and lab techs. But definitely not on a hot tamale like you.”

“Wait, a what? What did you just call me?”

“A hot tamale. That’s what you are, Tia. Look at yourself.”

I glanced in the mirror once again, getting a pleasant jolt at the reflection. Maybe I was a hot tamale. My spicy exterior had been cleverly buried underneath mounds of gray clothing.

“Come with me.” Athena grabbed me by the hand. “I have the best idea ever.”

“W-what?”

“Ooo, I’m coming too!” Benita followed on our heels as Athena pulled me out of the room and into the hallway.

Within seconds we were standing in the wardrobe room. Benita looked around, her eyes widening. I could read the glee on her face. “Oh, I’ve died and gone to glam-squad heaven!”

“You know that most of these outfits just get shuffled back and forth from one wardrobe department to another on the lot,” Athena said. “It’s fine to borrow whatever’s in here. Jana has given us free reign.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“You’re long overdue for a loan, Tia.” Athena picked up a soft blue blouse and held it up to me. “This would be great, but it’s not perfect.”

“I have wonderful, expensive clothes,” I argued. I pointed to my gray blouse. “I bought this from a store on Rodeo Drive.”

“I’ve never questioned that. I can tell your clothes are beautifully tailored. Maybe too beautifully tailored. They’re just so . . . so stiff. And proper.”

“And gray,” my sister threw in.

Athena headed to the back of the room and began pushing clothes on the rack one at a time. She stopped when she got to a gorgeous teal blouse. I had to admit, it made my eyes pop. “Ooo, this is amazing.” She held it up. “And can you even imagine that color against your skin? It’s going to be like the waters of Grand Cayman lapping the sandy shore.”

“Spoken like a writer.” I grabbed it and turned toward the mirror. “Let me have a look at that.” The gorgeous color did made my skin look really pretty, especially with the new hair and makeup. “Okay, I’ll try it. But I’m not making any promises.”

A half hour and seven outfits later, I’d been transformed from head to high-heeled toe.

Benita wiped tears from her eyes as she looked at me again. “I’m calling Mama. She’s going to be thrilled.”

“Don’t.” I shook my head. “I’ll just surprise her tonight at dinner.”

I walked out into the hallway and bumped straight into someone. Papers went flying, and I realized I’d hit Jason. We knelt to collect the papers, then rose. The moment he saw me—my hair, my makeup, my blouse, the bright-colored heels—the man was rendered speechless. He tried to move his lips, but no distinguishable sounds emerged.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I . . .”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. Without even trying, I’d flustered him.

Not that I minded. Flustering a handsome man gave me quite a rush, in fact. And the way he looked at me made me feel like I’d somehow grown up overnight.

Yes, a girl could get mighty used to this.