Free Glamour by Louise Bagshawe

some makeup on her.” Maurice preened. “I am magician, no?”
    “No—you had great stuff to work with,” Sally said, smiling. “But you are good.” She pressed forward and gave the outraged stylist a kiss on the cheek—and put five hundred dollars into his hand.
    Maurice smirked back. “ Merci, chérie. It was un plaisir .”
     
     
    “Now we get you a dress,” Sally announced briskly.
    “You’ll look fantastic,” Helen said delightedly, beaming at Jane. It was so good to see her blossom . . .they had brought the beauty out from the shadows. Now who could bully Jane? What girl would even dare to try?
    Her friend was transformed. Jane—prettier than Helen . . . but it wasn’t in Helen’s nature to be resentful. She was happy for her—after all, poor Jane. For all Baba annoyed her, at least she had family. Like Sally. What did Jane have? A useless father, not worthy of the name.
    And Jane Morgan was so cold, so walled-off all the time. Angry at the world. At life. Helen, who was soft and gentle, hoped her friend would marry one day, but she wasn’t sure. Sometimes Jane gave every indication of wanting to be a bright, crabby professor somewhere—a distinguished old maid. And that would be a pity, because if Jane needed one thing, it was family. A real family, of her own. Maybe loving her own children would heal her, Helen thought.
    “Not just her— you .” Sally’s warm southern tones interrupted her reverie.
    “You can’t get me a dress!” Helen was half-flattered, half-offended. Unlike Jane, her family had their own cash. “I’ll bring my own.”
    “I want to style you,” Sally wheedled.“Like Jane. Just imagine when we get the makeup girl on her!”
    “Nuh-uh.” Helen shook her head. “I don’t do low-cut, Sally. I’m not like you.”
    “What? Are you calling me trashy?” Sally’s eyes flashed. If she had a weakness, it was being laughed at. She just hated that. So what if she wasn’t book-smart? She was street -smart.
    “Of course not,” Helen prevaricated. Her eyes slipped to Sally’s tight white dress, which left very little doubt as to the impressive curves and golden tanned skin beneath. If Baba saw Helen wearing something like that he’d have a fit! “I just don’t think we have the same style.”
    “Relax. I know that, I know what’ll suit both of y’all.” Sally nodded. “I’m throwing this party for you .Trust me.”
    “For us,” Jane said, nudging her. Come on! Sally loved being the leader of the gang of three. The party was hers; it would only highlight her untouchable star status, her truly limitless wealth.
    Whatever Paulie had would someday be Sally’s. So what if the other girls’ fathers were famous directors or noted producers? When Sally Lassiter grew up, she’d be able to buy a damn studio and hire—or fire—any of them.
    This party was just Sally flexing her muscles.
    “Okay, then. For us.The three musketeers!”
    “Excuse me?” asked Helen.
    “Never mind,” Sally said. Impatiently, she tugged at the two girls. Making them over was like playing with grown-up Barbies. She adored her friends, and wanted them to look as hot as she knew they could. “Neiman Marcus. Now. I got a personal shopper waiting!”
    Helen looked at Jane and shrugged. In this mood, Sally was a force of nature.
     
     
     
    “You ladies look wonderful,” the manager gushed. Of course it meant sales for him, but Jane could see the light in his eyes; he really did seem enthused. “Truly, you are something else.You’re going to wow them!”
    “What do you think, ladies?” Sally didn’t trouble to keep the triumph out of her voice. Her two friends had emerged from the chrysalis, and they had her to thank for it.“We make a pretty cute trio, don’t you think?”
    Their reflections in the mirrored wall opposite confirmed that diagnosis.
    Sally—blonde, tanned, and stunning in a knockout dress of golden sequins, with a scalloped neckline, tiny fluted sleeves, and a