Free Variations Three by Sharon Lee Page B

Maine
stride purposefully down the ramp, looking neither to the left nor
the right.
    She’s right, Brandi thought. The blonde’s
right. Excel at whatever you take in hand, isn’t that what Mom used
to say?
    "Number 21!" brayed the announcer. "Miss
Maryland!"
    "Harvard Business School," Brandi whispered.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose, waited for the music to come
around and began her strut down the ramp.
    * * *
    "DARLING, YOU WERE wonderful!" Trish
finished tucking in the velour blanket and touched the intercom
switch. "Take us home, Peter."
    The limo surged down Ventnor Avenue,
shouldering aside lesser vehicles. It swept through the Atlantic
City business district, accelerated smoothly through the traffic
circle and headed for Margate.
    "It won’t be long now, darling," Trish
cooed, handing Brandi a chilled glass bubbling with pale yellow
liquid. She sat back and clasped her beringed hands together, eyes
glittering like an owl’s in the limo’s dim interior. "Wherever did
you learn to dance like that?"
    Brandi sighed and took a cautious sip from
the glass, expecting the salt-bitterness of champagne. The wine was
surprisingly good--sweetish and light. She had another sip.
    "I grew up in Fells Point. We all used to
think it was a big joke, back in high school--bunch of us would
take the bus over to the Block, sneak past the bouncers, order
rum-and-cokes and watch the strippers..."
    She sipped, leaned back and closed her eyes,
thinking it was just like her manager to be impressed with the
dancing--the glitter, more than the substance. Trish made her
living by making ugly girls pretty, after all. Brandi snuggled
under the soft blanket and waited wearily for the next
question.
    But for once Trish was silent. Brandi
relaxed into the seat, raised the glass and sipped without opening
her eyes, thinking with a sudden, light-headed elation that she had
done it, had made the BeforeVid; that tomorrow morning they would
start the make over; that in six weeks a new Brandi Schenk would
walk down the ramp and deliver her speech before an awe struck and
admiring audience. She would win. It was certain that she would
win--there were the IQ tests that Trish had given her during the
pre-qualifiers.
    "Oh, you’re a clever one, you are!" the
little woman had said, playfully slapping Brandi’s wrist. "That’s
what we like to see. It’s so much easier, you know darling, to make
a smart girl pretty than it is to make a silly girl smart."
    "We’re going to win," Brandi murmured,
half-asleep.
    "That’s right, darling," Trish said,
slipping the glass from between the girl’s slack fingers. "We
always win."
    * * *
    "THIS MAY STING a bit," the nurse said
pleasantly.
    Brandi didn’t answer. Trish had woken her at
dawn, hustled her into a robe and turned her over to a hefty young
woman whose name, according to the tag on her shirt, was Susan.
    Susan had ignored Brandi’s request for
breakfast, taking her instead to the "back of the house," where she
had been poked, prodded and examined by at least a dozen white
coats. When she’d protested that she’d had a thorough physical as
part of the pre-contractual, and that Trish had the file, she’d
been variously soothed and ignored. When she demanded an
explanation of Susan, that stoic individual had lifted her
shoulders and let them fall, heavily.
    The nurse finished swabbing her ankle, broke
the seal on the needle and made the injection. Brandi barely felt
the prick; or the second one, delivered a moment later in the other
ankle.
    "There now," said the nurse happily. "The
techs will be here in just a minute and we’ll get started on your
make over." She patted Brandi’s hand and smiled. "Feet to
head-top," she burbled; "a brand-new you." Carefully, she tucked
Brandi’s unruly hair back under the blue paper cap. "You’re a lucky
girl. Veela and Jeffrey are very, very good. They did my own make
over, you know--and Suzie’s. Didn’t they, Suzie?"
    Susan shook her massive head from