Celebrity Sudoku (3 page)

“Hi, everyone.” Darrie Brunswick, the show’s co-host, looked tiny and a little washed-out without the dramatic makeup and flossy costumes she wore onstage. “We’re going to have a little tour of the facilities and a chance to meet the great people who really get this show on the road.”

I guess that’s better than the “little people” we used to hear about in Oscar speeches,
Liza thought. As she and Michael joined the tail end of the group following Darrie and Wish, Liza glanced down at her blazer. Damn. Croissant crumbs.

They stepped onto the show’s set, facing raised banks of seats with cameras positioned in the aisles. It was a good size for a soundstage, but the amount of seating was really about the same as she might have found in a multiplex movie theater—one of the rooms showing a less-popular film.

The set itself looked smaller than it did on TV. Instead of the wide-open spaces that Wish and Darrie traversed on the way to the game board, the host’s podium was little more than a brief stroll.
Chalk one up for deep-focus lenses on camera cranes,
Liza thought.
Well, maybe the disappointing reality will help Sam Pang get her feet under her.

She looked around for the young mathematician in the crowd but couldn’t spot her. Then Liza realized she’d managed to lose Michael, too. She found herself standing beside Will Singleton and Wanda Penny as the director and head cameraman made brief speeches.

In whispers, Will made introductions. “I’m afraid Wanda is suffering from a bit of sensory overload.”

“It’s natural,” Liza told the acrostics expert as they got to see where the contestants stood, the host’s podium—Liza couldn’t help but notice the platform built in to make Wish look taller—and Darrie’s game screens.

“You’ll see that we have a new set for our twenty-fifth year,” the director said.

Liza nodded. The show’s original set had looked like a cheesy carnival sideshow, and then they had gone Vegas. Now the various consoles and screens wouldn’t have looked out of place on the bridge of the starship
Enterprise
.

“And we’re building a special section here for our experts,” the director went on.

This was a much less impressive construction, more like something Liza would expect to see in a fan film. The stand-up podium didn’t have as much of the muted blue neon as the rest of the set. And the arch and doorway behind it weren’t even finished, just bare lumber without any flats erected to cover the framing. Most of the visitors still clustered around the contestant area or fantasized about being Wish or Darrie.

Instead, Liza moved behind the console where she would be filmed, noticing that at least the electrical innards had been installed. One of those touch screens with a pen stood ready for experts—she had a hard time considering herself in that category—to demonstrate moves.

She stepped aside when she noticed Will and Wanda had joined her. “I guess we should be glad we’re actually on the set,” Liza said ruefully. “They could have just shot us somewhere else and cut us in as needed.”

Wanda stepped behind the console, peered out at the empty seats, and then stared up at the spotlights set on metal frames above her. “I saw you both on that televised sudoku tournament,” she said. “Will told me that you actually had makeup artists working on you.”

“They just dusted a little powder on us so no one would see us sweat on camera,” Liza joked.

Then she noticed how tightly Wanda’s hands gripped the edges of the console.

“I can tell you for a fact that the makeup people here can work miracles,” Liza told her. “We hired Gloria Harrigan, the head of the department, when we had to get a client who will remain nameless to the Music Awards after her boyfriend gave her a shiner.”

“Was that the case where the police leaked the photo?” Will asked. “What was that girl’s name? Jessie Something?”

“You won’t hear it from me,” Liza said firmly, “except to say that Gloria literally fixed our client’s face so she could sit in the audience without looking like an extra from one of those living-dead movies.”

She broke off. “Speak of the devil.” She stepped over to the outskirts of the crowd, where a more casual dress code marked the show’s tech people. “Gloria? I’m Liza Kelly. You did some work for me and Michelle Markson—”

“Whoa, I remember her,” Gloria said, a shudder going through her plump form. She looked more closely at Liza. “And I remember you—the nice one.”

Liza quickly explained about the celebrity experts and how it was apparently Wanda’s first TV appearance. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you let her know what she can expect?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gloria replied. “The big shots don’t pay much attention to us techie types at these hoedowns. If it weren’t for the free croissants, we probably wouldn’t turn up.”

She followed Liza to Will and Wanda and went through the introductions.

“We’ll expect you early for makeup, but it shouldn’t take all that long,” Gloria assured Wanda. “It’s gotten a little crazier since we started shooting in HD, but all of you have decent enough skin. You wouldn’t believe some of the people we have to paint up. Do they have pores, or are those extra nostrils?”

She glanced around as the official tour began moving off. “Wanna see my part of the operation?”

They followed the main body down a hallway, but then Gloria went right when the group turned left.

“Right down here,” the makeup supervisor said, opening a door. “It’s not the biggest—”

She broke off, blocking the way into the room. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Liza stepped through the doorway at Gloria’s heels but froze just inside as the makeup supervisor had.

Samantha Pang blinked up at the newcomers. She sat in a makeup chair facing them—and away from the large mirrors on the wall.
Maybe that is a good thing,
Liza thought.
Her face . . .

Someone had been very busy. An extremely pale makeup base had been liberally applied, turning Sam’s face almost clown-white. But more makeup had been skillfully applied with just the opposite intention of the usual beautification job—emphasizing all of Samantha’s facial flaws. The young academic had slightly wide lips, but a liberal application of bloodred lipstick stretched them almost to her ears. The addition of pinks and yellow to her small nose had turned it into an eruption—a giant pimple ready to pop right in the middle of her face. A thick black unibrow stretched over her eyes, and although the top of her black hair had been left alone, big, foamy masses hung in the hair on either side of her face.

Liza finally tore her eyes from the spectacle to look at the perpetrator—Ritz Tarleton.

“I was just—” The heiress stood with both hands behind her back, but Liza caught a glimpse of Ritz stashing something in her rear pocket. “I mean, Samantha here was kind of worried about going on TV, so I figured I’d show her what goes on here—and maybe change her look a little.”

“A
little
?” Liza echoed, unable to keep her eyes from the train wreck that Samantha’s face had become.

“Maybe I got carried away a bit,” Ritz admitted. “We were just going to lighten her hair a little, so I used this stuff—”

She pointed to a set of bottles on one of the taborets beside the chair.

Gloria swung around. “You used
that
? It’s only supposed to be for instant streaks, and a little goes a long way. How long has it been on?”

“Not too long,” Ritz said a little nervously.

Sam looked a lot more nervous as Gloria hauled her out of the chair. “We’ve got to wash that out—now. It’s far too strong.”

She continued to tug at Samantha’s arm, but the young woman had finally seen herself in the mirror and stood rooted to the floor, a little squeak coming out of her throat.

Sam stared at Ritz. “What did you do to me?” A tear gathered at the corner of her eye and dribbled down her left cheek, making a trail through the clownish makeup.

Gloria finally hustled her over to one of those beauty salon sinks with the built-in headrest and began washing out the hair bleach. “Too damaged,” she muttered. “It’s breaking.”

She whipped around, pointing a gloved finger at Ritz. “You—out!” Gloria was a little more conciliatory with Liza. “You’ll have to forgive me, but this young lady really needs my attention.”

Liza could see that. Splashing water on the makeup job had only left poor Samantha looking even more grotesque—especially with two uneven wings of bleached white hair flanking the untouched glossy black on the crown of her head.

Hearing a click, Liza turned back to the doorway, but Ritz Tarleton was already gone. Wanda Penny stood in the opening. All the worries that Liza had hoped to allay stood out more clearly on the puzzle maker’s face as she unconsciously patted her mouse brown, frizzy curls. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Wanda said faintly, staring at Samantha.

Liza could only sigh. “Let’s see if we can catch up with the official tour,” she suggested.

Since we’ve had so much fun with our personal, behind-the-scenes look,
she added silently.

After wandering down three dead ends and giving Wanda two assurances that they’d witnessed a freak accident, Liza got them onto the tail end of the larger group. Wanda immediately made a beeline for Will. One look at his jittery friend, and he shot Liza an exasperated look.

Liza had time for only an apologetic shrug before Michael showed up beside her. “Where were you?” he demanded in a whisper. Then, as he took in the expression on her face, he added, “Do I want to know?”

“I stumbled across Ritz Tarleton playing head games—literally—on Samantha Pang,” Liza told him.

“I can’t believe an innocent flower like our dear Ritz would be up to no good.” Michael’s sardonic grin belied his pious phrasing.

Liza told him what she and Wanda had found in the makeup department as they trailed along behind the tour.
Boy, I hope they’re not saying anything I really need to hear,
she thought as she finished her description.

“As for ‘our dear Ritz,’ the only flower she reminds me of is a Venus flytrap,” Liza ended.

“Yeah, she looked pretty willing to eat me up until she blew me off,” Michael said.

The tour meandered its way to Makeup, but neither Gloria nor Sam Pang was in evidence. Probably just as well. The poor mathematician wasn’t exactly a shining endorsement for the department’s skills.

At last, the tour broke up, Darrie Brunswick taking the celebrities under her wing while Wish Dudek came over to the puzzle people.

“I hear we have you to thank for this,” Liza said as she greeted him.

“Well, the germ of it came on that plane ride we had together,” the host told her, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he gave his trademark mischievous grin. “The powers that be like to start each season with a Celebrity Week.” He shot another grin at Liza. “It’s great publicity. So I thought, if celebrity contestants were good, celebrity puzzle artists would be better.”

“I never considered myself an artist,” Wanda Penny said.

Liza didn’t answer, because most of her attention was on the statuesque woman kissing Michael.

Will followed her gaze. “Isn’t that your husband?”

“Supposedly,” Liza replied, walking over.

Michael broke the lip-lock just in time to see Liza arrive. “Oh, Liza, er . . . this is Rikki Popovic. Rikki, my wife, Liza.”

The woman turned around. Close up, Liza could see this Rikki had a good fifteen years on her—and still had impressive cleavage.

“It’s short for Ulrica,” she said, shaking hands. “Your husband is a very talented man.”

Michael colored a little. “I mentioned that Rikki worked on a picture I scripted.”

The name finally registered—along with Ritz Tarleton’s catty comment about Rikki Popovic sleeping with writers.

Rikki evidently misinterpreted the look. “Nowadays my reputation pursues me,” she said. “Back home in Poland, I was Ophelia in
Hamlet
. Coming to America, my English wasn’t so good, but my boobs were.” She gestured to that cleavage, revealed in a low-cut purple sweater. “That was how I got work.”

She sighed. “Now my English is fine, but I don’t get work playing sexy girls anymore. The sexy girl’s mother, sometimes the sexy girl twenty years later ...”

“At least your daughter might have a different career,” Liza said.

Rikki Popovic’s full lips pursed. “I didn’t even want her in the Business. We saved up all the money she made for college. And then she says she wants to put it off because of this show she’s in.”

“Well, it led to a movie deal, didn’t it?” Liza shrugged. “I read about it in
Variety
—Stanley Lumiere’s latest project, where just about every actress under thirty was angling for the lead.”

From the expression on Rikki’s face, she’d heard that a little too often lately. “You know how quickly those deals, even Stanley’s, can turn into thin air,” she replied. “How frequently.”

She paused for a moment. “You work with Michelle Markson, don’t you? I wonder if you would mind having dinner with Lolly and me. Maybe you could speak to her—”

Liza blinked. “But you have more years in the Business than I do—” She broke off. That might not have been the most tactful way to put it.

“What I had—have—is a B-movie career,” Rikki said flatly. “That doesn’t match Lolly’s . . . dreams. But you—your agency—you deal with the big shots. You can explain what it’s really like.”

“I don’t know . . .” Liza glanced over at Michael.

“You were ready to help your friend Derek’s niece.” Michael shrugged. “Rikki is a friend of mine.”

I’m just not sure I want to know how good a friend,
Liza thought. Aloud, though, she gave in. “Okay, I suppose.”

“I can book a table for four at Villanova, the new Northern Italian place.” Michael dug out his cell phone.