The door to the makeup room was open, but no one was inside.
Doris was probably strutting around the halls in that crossword-puzzle costume, Abigail thought as she walked in and inspected the contents of the giant makeup case on the counter. Shelves of foundations, creams, eyeshadows and lipsticks. Abigail glanced at the wall clock. Eliza would be coming down any minute to be made up for the broadcast. Abigail wanted to avoid a potentially uncomfortable meeting.
She picked up one of several containers of dark pancake makeup. It was exactly what she needed. If Doris were there to ask, Abigail was sure she wouldn’t refuse her. Abigail would bring it back tomorrow.
She stuffed the plastic container into her pocket.
Eliza was sitting in the Fishbowl, reading through scripts, when Keith arrived out of breath.
“Cindy’s water broke! I’ve got to go.”
“Good luck, buddy,” called Range, barely looking up from his computer screen.
“Yes, Keith. Good luck,” Eliza wished him. “Make sure and call and let us know as soon as the baby’s born. You’ve got my home number,” she reminded him.
“I will,” said Keith. He turned and ran across the studio.
Range turned to Eliza and smirked. “Can you imagine having that nervous Nellie in the delivery room with you?”
“It’s better than no one at all, Range.”
Remembering the circumstances of Eliza’s delivery, the executive producer, for once, had nothing to say.