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cemented her position very early in the location scouting process when she made two excellent recommendations for critical scenes that worked from both a technical and a visual perspective.
    While Stephen was mining her for more golden nuggets they’d all drink themselves silly. Fiona would get tipsy, someone would make an oblique pass, and she’d use it as an excuse to leave. Predictable and she supposed not necessarily essential, but it would be better to go and not s tay than to miss it altogether.
    “She can do it,” Sugar agre ed. “All she gon’ do is drink a brew and bounce.” It was her standard MO.
    Fiona gave the thum bs up. The phone rang.
    “Peace,” Netty answered. “Yeah. She r ight here. No, she’s not smoking! What are you talkin’ about? We gettin’ ready to go for the humidifier now.” She listened intently and hit the joint. “Yeah? Cleo just ran into one of the producers of that show Transplants.”
    What? Fiona mouthed.
    “You know! They say it’s the new hot shit.”
    “With that green-eyed cat on HBO?” Sug ar asked, laughing. “The one that looks like Daney?”
    “ Cleo says can you be ready for a lunch meeting?”
    Fiona nodded. Meeting was a loose term. Cleo would have told the cat she’d be dropping by on their way somewhere. It would look like a happy coincidence.
    “Bet. Get up, bitch!” Netty hopped up, geeked. “She told me sexy sheik. Apparently, pretty boy from the show might show up. He’s in town hiding out from the paparazzi. We could pour you into that gold strapless I just finished. Whatchu’ think? And before you ask, no. It’s not too much for day when you’re Fiona Love.”
    Fiona looked doubtful. N etty always came up with fabulous things for her to wear, but sometimes her outfits took a little getting used to.
    “It’s not shiny,” Netty wheedled. “It’s matte, a day dress for you. Really! Shower.” She pushed her boss toward the bathroom.
    Of course when Fiona saw the outfit later it was neither matte nor shiny but an attractive hybrid of both. It was a gorgeous metallic fabric, a beaten gold color that felt great. Cotton, Fiona mouthed, and Netty winked.
    “ Pima.” She’d bought the fabric over the Internet, which she was addicted to. Thank God she knew how to sew.
    Twenty minutes later Fiona was again smoking while Sugar polished her finger and toenails a rich violet so dark it appeared black.
    Different, she mouthed when Sugar first held up the bottle.
    “Switch hands.”
    Fiona inhaled – she had imposed a two hit limit on herself, per joint. It wasn’t much but it made her feel better for being weak – and dropped the pinner in the ash tray.
    “You shouldna’ smoked that last one. I’ma need toothpi cks to keep your eyes open.” Sugar put her boss’s hand off to the side. “In front of the fan.”
    “Where the fuck are those dark gold platforms with the ank le straps?”
    Fiona turned to look at her friend/assistant/stylist’s round ass weaving raggedly from side to side. Its owner was buried head first in the floor of her accessories closet.
    “I organized this shit perfectly the other day. I told you if you need something, just tell me ,” Netty said. “Now everything’s fucked up, and I can’t find what I want! We may have to change outfits.”
    “Dude, you can’t change outfits. I picke d this color special for this.”
    “Sugar, it’s black. Black goes with everything. A gold, strapless, wide-legged vintage-looking fucking pants suit goes with gold platforms with ankle straps. Would you hurry up? Her hair’s not done! I don’t wanna hear Cleo’s mouth.”
    Speaking of, Fiona pantomimed eye drops.
    “And it’s not black, either. It’s purple.” Sugar caught sight of Fiona’s act. “Yes, Lord! We gon’ need a few applications to hook you up.”
    “You know what? I haven’t seen momma’s angel in days.” Fiona said suddenly. Her voice sounded rusty, gritty. “Netty, call and get my baby.”
    The phone