I shrugged. “I dunno. I can’t see how.”
“Well, have you pissed anybody off lately?”
I picked up the remote and started flipping through channels. “Besides Ramirez?”
She gave me a look.
“No, I haven’t. I mean, unless you count how grouchy Tot Trots was when I turned in the Dora the Explorer light-up sandals two weeks late.”
Dana got up and crossed the room to the kitchen, rummaging in my cupboards. “Well, one thing’s for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Ricky is on the top of our list of suspects.” She paused. “Too bad. He’s so totally hot. You know, I think he looked at me today. I mean, he was talking to Nurse Nan, but I think he kinda looked past her at me for a second.”
“That’s right-what happened on the set while I was gone? Who’s the father of Ashley’s baby?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Argh!” Dana threw her hands up. “You would not believe it. We never got the scene finished. Mia refused to come out of her trailer until Margo apologized. And Margo refused to apologize until Mia apologized for calling her an old cow. And then Steinman got so mad he said they both owed him an apology. Then you showed up, and we all went home. Maybe tomorrow.” She paused, holding up a box of Cap’n Crunch. “Maddie, do you have any idea how bad this stuff is for you? It’s like eating pure sugar. Please tell me you don’t eat this stuff for breakfast.”
I ignored her, surfing through the cable channels. I passed through Animal Planet (where a guy was poking a “beauty of a snake” with a stick), Lifetime (where Valerie Bertinelli’s husband was leading a double life with a secret second wife), and VH1 (airing a mud-wrestling match between two overweight has-been celebs). I paused when I hit Spike. I usually stopped on this channel only to watch those hot guys on the CSI reruns. But this time, my clicker went still for a whole new reason.
“Lonely tonight? Need a little company? My girls are always ready to play.”
“Oh brother.”
“What?” Dana popped her head out of the kitchen.
I gestured to the TV where “Sexy Jasmine, ” wearing a black lace teddy, was strutting seductively across the screen.
“Hey, isn’t that-”
“Yep.”
“I thought I saw her on a billboard down on Pico. Wow, she’s on TV now, too?”
“Come visit my Web site. We’re open twenty-four hours a day, and we’re always having fun.” Her Web address flashed across the screen as she pouted and said, “You know you want to watch.”
“Do guys really go for this stuff?” I asked.
Dana shrugged. “There’s this guy at SA, Gary, who’s totally addicted to Internet porn. He loves those live Web cams. Says the girls do anything he asks them to.”
“Creepy.”
“Want to know what’s even creepier?”
“What?”
“How much sugar is in these crackers. Maddie, you really should take better care of yourself.”
I was standing on the edge of a cliff, a sheer drop off the side, with water rushing beneath me. And the water was rising. I had to get across. I was starting to freak. Then I spotted him on the other side of the cliff-it was Ramirez. He was silhouetted against the sky like some cowboy hero. I waved, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t move-just stood there. I called out his name, screaming at the top of my lungs as the water rose higher and higher. My feet were soaked now, the water covering my ankles. But still, Ramirez didn’t move to help me.
Then out of nowhere this giant squirrel rose up from the water. He had huge teeth and sharp claws and a big tire tread across his middle. In the distance I could hear the roar of an engine.
“You’re next, ” the squirrel told me, then pointed over my shoulder. I turned around just in time to see a huge monster truck heading straight for me.
I screamed, calling out Ramirez’s name again, and started running. But somehow my legs just wouldn’t move. It was like they were stuck in molasses. The truck was getting closer and closer, the roar of the engine echoing through my head.
I sat up in bed, sweat pouring down my back. My eyes flew around my apartment as if I were expecting a giant rodent to appear out of nowhere.
No squirrels. No monster trucks.
Just the sound of my phone ringing.
“Make it stop, ” Dana mumbled from the futon beside me, a little puddle of drool forming at the side of her mouth.
I fumbled for the receiver, finally finding it beneath a crumpled Macy’s bag, and croaked out, “Hello?”
“Maddie? Um, hi, it’s Dusty.”
“Dusty?”
“Yeah, sorry to call so early.”
I rolled over and looked at the clock. 6:15. No wonder my voice sounded like I’d swallowed Kermit the Frog. “No, it’s fine. What’s going on?”
“I, uh…” She paused, stammering. “I-I’m not going to be able to make it in again today.”
“Why?” I sat up in bed. “What’s going on? Dusty, are you okay?”
“Uh-huh. Yeah. Fine. Look, I just wanted to let you know. So, if Steinman’s looking for me, just tell him…uh, just tell him I’m taking another personal day.”
“Okay. But, Dusty…”
But I realized she’d already hung up.
“Who was that?” Dana asked, rolling over.
“Dusty. She’s not coming in again today.” I stared at the receiver. Dusty had sounded odd. Nervous. I wondered what was going on. Had finding Veronika really hit her that hard?
“Holy crap, is that the time?” Dana rolled over, pointing to my alarm clock.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’ve got a seven-o’clock call time today.”
I did a stretch and yawn, still trying to shake from my head the strange dream and the odd note in Dusty’s voice. “You hit the shower. I’ll make the coffee.”
After dressing in a pair of jeans, cork-heeled wedges, and a pink sleeveless blouse, I threw my hair into a quick French twist and Dana and I were on the 101, heading toward Hollywood.
The traffic gods were with us, and it took only twenty minutes before we were pulling into the garage behind the Sunset Studios. As with yesterday, there was a string of PAs, extras, and assistants lined up at the security checkpoint.
Dana and I took our place behind an extra lugging a suitcase and wardrobe bag. Two beats later an out-of-breath Kylie came jogging up behind us.
“Oh, wowzers, can you believe this line?” she asked, panting.
What was hard to believe was that anyone over the age of twelve used the word wowzers. Though, looking at Kylie, I found it kind of hard to believe she was over the age of twelve. She was like Britney Spears (pre K-Fed), Jessica Simpson (post-Newlyweds) and Nicole Richie (pre-eating disorder) all rolled into one. Perky little ski-jump nose; fresh pink cheeks; round, sort of vacant blue eyes; and blonde hair cut in a flirty layered look. This morning her locks were pulled back in a messy-chic ponytail, and she wore Uggs with pink sweats that read JUICY on the butt.
“It’s, like, so unfair we have to go through this, ” she said, pulling a compact out and dabbing concealer over an invisible blemish. “I mean, Veronika was killed with panty hose, not a gun. What’s with the freaking metal detector, ya know?”
I had to admit she had a point.
One that seemed more and more valid as we inched forward in line until I spied my nemesis-the plastic security doorway.
“God, I hate this thing, ” I muttered under my breath.
“It’s no big deal, ” Dana said, slipping her Fendi off her shoulder and onto the belt. “Oh, crap, I forgot my cell in your Jeep. I’ll be right back. Grab my bag on the other end for me, ’kay, Mads?”
“Fine, leave me alone with this thing.”
Dana waved me off, jogging back to the parking lot.
Considering that there were about fifteen guys lined up behind Kylie, I figured all I could do was plow ahead.