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Raeann

T he stylist tugs at my hair, the straightener somehow working magic to make it curly. I watch in fascination as near-perfect ringlets hit my shoulders. How does it do that? It’s a straightener, not a curling iron. Or an enchanted wand. New York really is made of different stuff.

Cassie—the stylist, who seems to be about my age—is oblivious to my wonder as she chats animatedly about meeting this celebrity and that celebrity.

She seems different from me. More worldly.

If that wasn’t enough to tell us apart, her makeup game is on point, right down to the way she drew her eyeliner.

I suddenly and completely understand that Taylor Swift lyric now: Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man.

I’m lucky if I remember to put on color corrector before I head down to the shop in the mornings.

More honey-blonde curls fall next to the others, and before long, I look like I’m about to walk a red carpet. My hair hasn’t been this cooperative…ever. I’m usually a low pony type. A set it and forget it type of thing. Plus, it helps keep my hair out of the way when I’m sewing.

That’s it. I need a Cassie in my life. If Pet Threads takes off, maybe I can even afford one. A cook, too, because Lord knows I’m about as good at cooking as I am at makeup and hair.

The longer I stare at myself, the more the rolling in my stomach intensifies.

As if she can hear my inner turmoil, Athena licks the tips of my fingers.

I stare down, and her doe-brown eyes latch to mine and melt my soul.

If a dog could be a life partner, there’s no doubt she would be mine.

“You’re a good girl, huh?” I ask, scratching her head before reaching over to straighten the dress I made her.

“She really is a beautiful dog,” Cassie says, her voice a sigh, like it’s said with a handful of wistful memories. “A golden, right?”

“She sure is, and she’s the cutest golden retriever ever,” I agree. Modesty goes out the window when it comes to Athena. I’d plaster her face everywhere if I could with the title: Cutest Dog Alive.

Cassie finally sets the magical straightener down on her workstation and rubs some product in her hands. Squishing her palms together in fast circles, she beams at me through the dressing room mirror. “You ready?”

She doesn’t give me time to answer, but my gut reaction is to say no.

Nothing about what’s happening this morning—including the criminal wake-up call—is something I’m prepared to do.

This isn’t my life. I don’t have dressing rooms with my name on it, or makeup people, or assistants asking if I’ve eaten.

Or a really insistent one who keeps popping in to tell me how much time I have left before we’re on air.

Cassie threads her fingers up through my hair and does some shaking that can only be described as straight up spell casting because when she carefully pulls her fingers free, I’m most definitely not Raeann Gorman anymore. Cassie has somehow turned me into a sex goddess.

I swallow. In the mirror, wide green eyes stare back at me. Carefully, I drift them toward Cassie. She’s still picking and plucking to make my hair fall perfectly. “Do you think I have time to make a phone call?” I squeak out.

Cassie moves to stand behind me, her eyes lifting to peer at my hair in the mirror.

She tugs on a few more strands. Her voice comes out absentmindedly, as if Raeann the person is not her entire focus.

Raeann the face and hair is. “You can do whatever… you… want.” She pauses.

“There.” Beaming at me through the mirror, she squeezes my shoulders.

“Now he won’t even recognize you if he’s already seen the video. ”

My heart jumps in my chest, and I swallow the acid rearing up in my stomach.

Athena moves to a sitting position and puts her paw on my thigh.

I rub it as Cassie loads up her cart, but my mind plays the video on repeat, almost as many times as it’s been watched worldwide, which is a bald-faced lie because it isn’t possible to watch the video as many times as there are people who’ve seen it.

I reach for my phone and immediately press on Tab’s name. It picks up on the first ring, her voice calling out all the way from back home. “Oh my God, where are you? On stage? Have you met Paula yet? What does she smell like?”

“One, I’m in my dressing room.” I have to talk over a squeal because this is not a friendly phone call with my business partner and best friend.

This is a DEFCON level two emergency. “Two, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.

I should’ve said no,” I whisper furiously.

“I don’t belong on this show. You should see what Cassie did to my hair. It’s voodoo shit, Tab. Voodoo.”

“First of all, who’s Cassie? Because if she thinks she’s taking the spot as your number one best friend, she’s crazy. I will cut a bitch.”

“Excuse you.”

“Ugh. Number two best friend. It’s just weird you make me say I come in second to a dog.”

Athena’s tongue lolls out of her mouth, and her cute muzzle looks like she’s smiling. I pat her paw.

“Because Athena doesn’t record me in my most vulnerable moments and put me on the internet for everyone to see and then,” I exaggerate before taking a deep breath, “make me come on TV to discuss it.”

“Well, that’s ludicrous,” Tab says. “Athena doesn’t have opposable thumbs, so of course she wouldn’t record and then upload your video to the internet. If she could, she would, though.”

I lie back in my chair. In the mirror opposite me, my eyes narrow like I can shoot lasers from here all the way to Tennessee and hit my number two best friend square in the forehead. “Sounds like you want to start a fight this morning.”

“Me?” Tab asks defiantly. “You’re the one acting crazy.”

I think about the past few days. The panicked phone calls to Tab. The anxiety texts. Okay, maybe I’m not squeaky clean in this either. “It’s the New York air. They’re all crazy up here.”

“Yeah, all that success.”

“It’s the smog.”

“I thought that was in California?”

“Oh, like the Big Apple doesn’t have pollution?”

“No, because the money tampers it. Fame. Dreams. Taylor Swift lives there, you know. You should look out for her.”

I resist the urge to tell Tab about Cassie’s deathly eyeliner straight out of the pop star’s song for fear of devolving the conversation into a best friend hierarchy fight again, so instead, I lead with, “I saw a homeless guy outside my hotel this morning with a brand-new Yankees cap on. Does that count?”

A quick knock sounds on the door behind me. My breath hitches.

“Ooh, that sounds serious. Is that how show biz knocks? I need to up my game. No more timid knocks for me.”

“Come in!” I call out, ignoring my best friend.

The time-conscious assistant walks in wearing a new accessory: a headset. “You’re on in five. Shall we start walking?”

“I have to go,” I tell Tab, suddenly wishing I was back in Tennessee with her, getting ready to open up the store.

“You’re going to kill it. Be yourself. Everyone loves you. Show the world why you have two best friends.”

My lips quirk into a smile. “Will do. Love you, Tab.”

“Love you, too.”

I end the call and set the phone on the vanity. When I stand, Athena does too. She’s right by my side as I walk toward the technology-wearing assistant. He’s most definitely younger than me. He looks like he’s barely out of high school, let alone college.

The youngin’, as my grandfather would call him, leads me through a maze of hallways until we’re suddenly in an open space and I can hear Paula talking.

She sends to commercial, and important-sounding people tell her she’s off camera.

Mr. Too Young To Be Having A Fancy TV Job moves me around a dark wall, and suddenly, Paula is walking toward us.

A host of makeup artists dab her with brushes, and one specific person fluffs her hair. A hair fluffer. Imagine that.

“Raeann Gorman,” she says brightly, holding out her hand.

A famous person has never said my name before. Well, that’s a little lie. When my video was going viral, a bunch of famous people said my name when they continued to show it on shows like this. I guess the correct thing to say is that a famous person has never said my name to me in the flesh .

I shake her hand, hoping mine isn’t sweaty. “Nice to meet you.”

“Aww, listen to you. Your cute little southern accent. They’re going to love you.”

They? Who’s they? Like an existential they? Are we talking about the world at large? Or a subset of people that she wants to please?

My question gets answered immediately when someone says, “Who’s that?” rather loudly.

I turn to find an entire audience staring at me. My social battery drains out of me from head to toe in the matter of seconds.

“Oh, dear, you look petrified.” She moves next to me, blocking my view from all the people, and puts her arm around my shoulders. “Nothing to be scared about. Just two friends having a cup of coffee together.”

Another assistant who I haven’t seen before pops up next to us. “Two creams, one sugar,” she verifies.

I nod. Truthfully, I don’t drink coffee, so I ordered it like Tab does. I didn’t want to be seen as some small-town girl who doesn’t do what the cool kids do. “I can do that.”

“Two minutes,” the time-conscious assistant says.

“Thanks, Mike.”

Paula starts moving me toward a short set of stairs that lead to two modern chairs facing each other. Athena pushes her head into my palm, and I stroke her absentmindedly.

“The dog!” Paula suddenly says, stopping us.

“She’s right here.”

Athena pops her head around the hem of my dress and stares at Paula.

“Oh, goodness. Look at her. Good. We’ll have her sit next to you.

” She moves her stare from Athena to me, and I can’t help but smile back.

She doesn’t seem fake at all. Her eyes are genuine.

Even though people fuss around her, she appears unfazed.