Ashley followed them into the dressing room, which was filled with mobile closets, labeled clothes, privacy screens, and long mirrors. “What’s going on?”

Before the AD could answer, Cutter scooped up a measuring tape and a pair of scissors, a panicked expression on his face. “PA.”

“What do you need?” Olive wore new running shoes and she’d attached some black binder clips to a string around her waist.

“I need—”

The AD held up his hand to Cutter. “Wait. PA, I need you to run these pages up to the executives’ office.”

“I’ll do it,” Ashley said, thinking she could say hi to her dad.

“You’re assigned to Cutter today.” Olive snagged the papers from the AD’s hand.

Ashley reached over to take the papers from Olive, but she backed away fast and trotted toward the door. Short of chasing her, the errand belonged to Olive. Ashley eyed her short legs and small feet. She could catch her.

The AD chuckled and Ashley swung back to him, but her gaze was caught by an actress stumbling from behind a privacy screen. She had perfect skin, red hair long enough to swing around her waist, and was barely dressed. Lorene.

Lorene’s amber eyes stabbed a hole in Cutter, and she slurred her words. “I’m not an eight, I’m a six.” The actress stepped forward and almost fell. She stayed upright by grabbing the side of the dressing screen and using it to steady her legs.

“You were a four when we fit the dress,” Cutter said to her. He used his hands to demonstrate the differences in those two sizes, stretching the two out as far as he could reach. From the green hue covering her perfect skin, Lorene didn’t appreciate his exaggeration.

The AD said, “Lorene’s here. Place her in the hoop so we can get the blocking done. Recut the dress later.”

Cutter gasped as if the director had proposed mass murder. “It’s a Harlon Ramonannini wedding dress. The silk cannot be recut. It can only be revered.”

The AD suggested, “Add elastic.”

Cutter paled and let out a whimper.

Adding to the sounds of misery in the room, Lorene groaned and wiped a hand over her sweaty forehead. “Where’s the makeup lady? I need makeup.” She followed that request with a retching belch.

Ashley backed up a step, and someone brushed by her from behind. Petra.

Petra swaggered into the dressing area without a word of greeting and went straight to a mobile closet rack. She flipped through the costumes. After finding what she was looking for, she waved a red outfit at Cutter. “You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for his response, she stripped off her shirt. “I’ll need to switch out my jewelry too.”

Ashley quickly looked away because she knew that Petra would keep stripping. Her nudity had lost its shock value because Petra walked around without clothes no matter who was there. Even so, Ashley had no interest in seeing more. She wished there was a way to un-see what she’d already seen. Her gaze returned to Lorene.

Evidently, Lorene and Petra knew each other. The redhead weaved toward the disrobing brunette and latched a hand onto Petra’s mobile closet. Her weight jolted the rack and the hangers swung outward, threatening to dump the clothes. A few of the empty hangers clattered to the floor. Those working in the room paused and turned at the sound.

Petra slid off her gray skirt with supreme indifference and slipped on a new cranberry-colored one. “I’ll need rubies or garnets.”

“If I’d a known you’d be on set today,” Lorene said, “I’d have had a drink.”

“Yeah, that’s what you need, another drink.” Petra turned to Cutter. “I’m borrowing a costume.” She tucked her blouse in and smoothed her hands over her hips. “ Ihave an interview with the press. Ishow up for work.”

“What a shock,” Lorene said. “There’s a camera and there you are.”

“She actually helps the movie by doing press,” Cutter said in Petra’s defense. He picked up a fallen hanger and returned it to the rack.

Lorene snorted.

“God,” Petra said, staring the actress up and down. “Cutter’s right. How large are you? I’d help with the blocking, but I’m only a size zero. I’m always a size zero or a double zero. You can ask anyone. They all know I’m a size zero.”

“Zero brain. And the leading men always go for me, and you go home alone.” Lorene stepped closer to Petra. The wheels on the mobile closet slid sideways. Cutter jumped clear, keeping an anxious eye on the swinging costumes.

Olive was going to be so pissed she missed the drama, Ashley thought, and wondered how the AD would break up the argument.

Petra wiggled to adjust the fit on the skirt. “Leading men maybe, but the leading part? Those always go to me.”

Lorene gurgled.

“I don’t have any scenes with you, thank God.” Petra eyed Lorene’s frame. “I’m smaller framed than you, but I could carry off more weight. I could go up several sizes. More than you, and the weight would work on me because of how I’m built.” She sniffed and turned to Cutter. “This is perfect. The color is so me. Cranberry is the new garnet. I’m going to—”

“I’m the—” Lorene bent toward Petra and heaved the contents of her stomach.

Ew.Ashley pulled the neck of her T-shirt over her nose so she wouldn’t have to smell the spew.

Lorene fell to her knees and retched. Cutter threw himself in front of the clothes to protect them. Petra began a piercing shriek, which made Lorene clutch at her head and glare upwards. “Shut up,” Lorene said between gags.

“Lush,” Petra said.

Ashley, suddenly worried she’d have to perform some type of nursing or janitorial duty, took quick steps back and out of the dressing room. She kept her nose covered until she cleared the area.

It didn’t seem as if she’d like Lorene any more than she liked Petra. How unfortunate. Poor Lorene, though; Ashley hated getting sick. Powder would have to double up on her makeup to conceal the green in her complexion. Ashley smiled a little and was no longer jealous at the thought of Caz’s kissing scene—good luck to him. She curled up on a counter in the makeup station and took out her notebook, intending to sketch until the drama died down. Using the edge of her pencil, she added shading and hadn’t done more than half the page before she heard them again.

“It’s worse than that.” Cutter’s voice rose dramatically with each word. “She’s a balloon. She was already a jumbo-sized four.” He came into view and Ashley watched as he held out his arms around his body in a balloon shape and wobbled from one leg to the other like a two-week-overdue pregnant lady. “Now she’s a gargantuan size eight.” Cutter tipped sideways as if he’d fall to the ground, kicking one foot out, shaking it like a dog.

“Stop it,” Ashley said. “Eight’s not big.”

“Fine,” Cutter said. “Then you squeeze my size four Harlon Ramonannini wedding dress on her. Oh wait. You can’t. Lorene’s in the toilet, vomiting.” He wrinkled his nose and ran his eyes from the top of her head to her tennis shoes. “No wonder you’re defending her, you’re another jumbo. What size are you?”

“Shut up.”

The AD said, “No, answer him. What size are you?”

Ashley glared at him too. Hollywood. “Three.”

The AD shoved his hand through his hair. “Thank God. Problem solved. Put the hoop skirt on the PA, and she can do the blocking. We’ll work with Lorene when she sobers up.” The AD looked around the makeup area and called, “Powder.”

Ashley tucked her notebook into her bag and whipped out her cell phone. She shot off a text to Marissa. “Preparing to wear a hoop skirt. Dignity in jeopardy. How is Fry Hut?”

Marissa’s reply was immediate. “Dignity long lost. Restoration hopes limited.”

“Hurry up,” Cutter said. “You’re ruining the schedule.”

Today, Powder wore a green micro mini, a purple sweater, and messy hair. She showed up and raised a pierced eyebrow.

The AD said, “Lorene’s sick. Put Ashley in her makeup until we can get Lorene ready.”