Free The Athena Factor by W. Michael Gear Page B

her slim waist, advertised her rounded breasts, and clung to her thighs.
    â€œIt’s looov’ly,” Fiona Borg cooed, a rapturous look on her wrinkled face. She had her gray hair tucked in a wretched hat—the sort of thing she would have paid a fortune to an obscure Italian designer for—and wore something that reminded Lymon of a silver sheet wrapped around her bony frame.
    â€œI look like the princess in Dune !” Sheela countered. “The wings go … and the color can be anything but bright red.”
    â€œBut vee ’ave already chosen. Bernard loooves it!”
    Sheela whirled, her finger like a dagger. “Change it! I could give a shit what Bernard loves. This thing makes me look like the vampire whore in Blood Guzzler .”
    â€œBut I—”
    â€œDo I have to call Felix to read you the clause in the contract? The dress goes, or I do.” She reached back and struggled for the clasps in the back.
    â€œThe dress is out, Fiona,” Rex interjected with authority. “If Bernard’s got questions, he can call.”
    â€œSo, vhat?” Fiona asked, waving her thin arms. “Vee got vhat? Two veeks to shooting, huh? You vant me to conjure from t’in air?”
    One of the assistants had sprung up to help Sheela with the clasps and zippers. Lymon could see Sheela’s frustration in the tight movements of her arms as she wiggled out of the fabric. In a bra and panties, she stepped free, and then with a toe, kicked the gaudy creation off the stage. She noticed Lymon for the first time, smiled, and rolled her eyes in an indication of frustrated endurance.
    For his part, he tried not to stare. Sure, he’d seen her body before, at fittings, when she was in the pool, and during photography. That was before that same body had been pressed so close to his on the bike. Before she’d given him that haunting look.
    â€œWe’ll figure something out,” Rex said, trying to placate Fiona. The woman had won two Oscars for costume design, which placed her in the sacred realm of the Hollywood gods.
    â€œYa, ya. You try dis, huh?” Fiona thrust a hand at the racks
of clothing. “You t’ink dis is easy? Making de dress, makes de scene, ja?”
    â€œWe’ve got some problems with the screenplay as it is,” Rex soothed. “Just find something Sheela likes. It’s the wings, Fiona. She looks like an overbruised bat in them.”
    â€œAnd the color!” Sheela sang out.
    â€œAnd the color,” Rex agreed. “The set’s basically painted what color? Blue or something?”
    Sheela held up a hand. “I’ll do red. Just not in that contraption.” She glanced meaningfully at Lymon. “Give me five, people. I need to talk to Mr. Bridges for a moment. Business.”
    The assistants and Rex clustered around Fiona, all talking in serious voices as Sheela stepped off the dais, grabbed a white terry cloth robe, and wrapped it around herself before walking over to Lymon.
    â€œI thought I’d give your eyeballs a break,” she said with a smile. “I’ve never seen you look at me like that.”
    â€œSorry,” he muttered, hating himself for feeling slightly embarrassed. “Thought I’d let you know: We’re square with the studio. Everything’s set. Paul’s your guard dog and gofer when you’re on the lot. If you need anything special, just ask him. He calls the office, and we’re on it. Like always, the more advance notice, the better off we are.”
    She nodded, looking back at the pile of red fabric with the two wings lying akimbo. “Can you imagine they wanted me to wear that? I’m supposed to shoot my father, for God’s sake. Wearing that? What are they thinking of?”
    â€œTinkerbell goes vamp?” he wondered.
    â€œMaybe.” She turned back toward him. “And the other subject we discussed the other day?”
    â€œJune picked