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Do it, girl!”
    I hugged her goodbye and followed Jenkins. He escorted me to a limo where I found Simone and Brenda waiting inside.
    I was speechless as I sat down across from them. Jenkins climbed in the front with the chauffeur, and the car purred to life, smoothly pulling away from the mall. Simone smiled. “Thank you for coming.”
    As if I had a choice, right? I studied her in awe. She was a true beauty—long, blonde hair, big, blue eyes, a body men would love to ravish and women would kill for, and a voice that had venues around the country sold out months in advance. She was a cross between a younger Madonna and Mariah Carey, with a dash of Brittney Spears. To be sitting across from her was mind blowing, and my stomach did this swirly, feel-like-I’m-gonna-puke thing that always happens to me when I get nervous.
    “You are so genius,” Simone said. She took Brenda’s face in her hands and squeezed, bunching it up so she looked like a fat goldfish trying to breathe. “The hottest guy at this party last night hooked up with my sister. He wanted her, not me! And I was so working it, too. He didn’t even look my way. Usually she looks kind of dorky. Cute, but dorky.” She let go of Brenda’s face and patted her cheeks gently.
    Brenda rubbed her face. “Gee, thanks Sis.”
    “I asked her who did her face and she told me this chick at the MAC counter at Nordy’s. I’m like, I so have to meet this woman! And, well, here we are. Is it your fucking lucky day or what?” Simone smiled, shiny, bleach-white teeth gleaming in the darkened limo.
    “Well, thank you for the compliment.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I mean, what do you say to someone with a planet-sized ego who has graced the covers of Vogue , Rolling Stone , and Vanity Fair , won a handful of Grammy’s, and talks like a truck driver? I almost had to pinch myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming, but then the car made a quick turn and Simone spilled her glass of champagne in my lap.
    Without an apology, she said, “I need a new make-up assistant. That last one was the shits. Oh, check this out . . .” She rolled down the privacy glass between us and the driver. “Harvey, take us over to Blake’s place so I can show . . .” She glanced at me. “Hon, what the fuck is your name?”
    “Evie.”
    “Right.” She looked back at the driver. “So I can show Evie her new digs.” She rolled the window back up.
    “I’m confused. I thought this was a job interview,” I said. Brenda poured me a glass of champagne, handing it to me. “Thanks, but I don’t drink and definitely not before noon.”
    “First, confusion around my sister happens a lot,” Brenda said.
    Simone punched Brenda lightly in the arm. “Ha, ha, little sis thinks she’s soooo fucking funny.”
    Brenda nodded. “And two . . .” She held up two fingers, “If you’re hanging with us, which you will be, because big sis doesn’t go far without her makeup and the one who puts it on her, you are going to have to learn to party like a rock star.”
    “Drink up.” Simone clinked my glass. “Cheers. Here’s to your new home.”
    I looked out the window and my jaw dropped. Literally. We’d pulled up to a large gate with a long, winding drive. I sucked back the champagne to calm my nerves. This simply could not be happening. “What do you mean?”
    “Well, Edie,” Simone started. “I’m pretty sure you don’t live in a place like this . . .”
    “It’s Evie.”
    She waved a hand in my face. “My buddy Blake, this big producer guy, is in Europe for, like, a year or something, and he needs a house sitter. I volunteered Brenda, but she says she’s afraid of the house and won’t do it.”
    “Place is creepy.” Brenda poured herself another glass of champagne.
    “Shut-up,” Simone said. “So if you come on board as my makeup chick, you get to live in luxury, baby. This place is way cool.”
    I had to agree with her. Palm trees and an iron gate, with a retro, Spanish