“Brand-new brush, never been used.”
“Go ahead,” Sonya said. “Brush it out.”
Kim brushed the wig with long strokes, pulling most of it toward her chest.
That girl is actually happy, Sonya said. I’ve never seen her eyes dancing so much. Thank You, Lord, for this moment.
“Done?” a brusque voice said.
Sonya saw a petite blond woman in a lab coat. What’s she want? A blood sample?
“Yes, Lynn,” Twan said. “All done.”
“Thank you very much, Twan,” Sonya said.
Kim was still mesmerized by her hair.
“My sister thanks you, too,” Sonya added.
Twan nodded and left.
Lynn stood between Kim and Sonya. “You two need to be waxed,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Sonya said.
“Bob Freeberg’s orders,” she said.
Lord, is it okay to hate Bob Freeberg? I doubt that he’s ever been waxed. “Oh.” Sonya beckoned Lynn closer. “I usually keep things tidy down there myself,” she whispered.
“This is TV, not porno, ma’am,” Lynn said. “Bob says to give you a bikini wax if you need it.”
But if I don’t wear a bikini … “Oh, I don’t wear bikinis,” Sonya said. “I wear a one-piece suit.”
Lynn frowned. “I still have to check.”
No, you don’t. “You tell Bob Freeberg that I won’t get a bikini wax until he comes down here and gets a bikini wax with me.”
“Gotcha.” Lynn nodded. “Men, huh?”
Sonya nodded. “Men.”
Lynn stared above Sonya’s eyes. “You need your eyebrows shaped.”
“Bob’s orders?” Sonya asked.
Lynn shook her head. “No. You just need your eyebrows shaped. The hairs are going in every direction. You wouldn’t believe how many people call TV studios to complain about wayward eyebrows.”
This woman is tripping, Sonya thought. Either that or she really loves her job. “If you think it’s necessary. Do you wax or tweeze?”
“I wax. I’ll try to be gentle.”
I doubt having parts of my eyebrows ripped off my head will be a gentle experience.
Michelle returned just as Lynn had turned Sonya’s “bushes” into “commas.”
“Can we go somewhere to chill?” Kim asked. “I’m tired.”
“No,” Michelle said. “Not yet. We have to get Sonya decked out in her princess gear over at WB.”
In an uninteresting, dreary room full of mirrors at Warner Bros. Studios, just down the way from the original Friends set, a team of costume designers, makeup artists, and several useless sycophants changed Sonya into Jazz. First, they slapped electric blue contacts into her eyes.
“To match your dress,” one of them said.
Then they supplied her with several padded bras, fussing over whether C or D was “in” this year.
They chose D.
I will tip over, Sonya thought.
Kitting Sonya out with jewelry took an hour.
“We want her to look regal,” someone said. “A princess should have a lot of bling.”
I will tip over quickly, Sonya thought, and make a loud crash.
Fitting Sonya into her electric blue, velvet party dress took almost half an hour.
If they had buttered my body first, Sonya thought, the whole process would have taken only a minute.
Kim, who enjoyed throwing her new hair over her shoulders, suggested a shoehorn.
Sonya was not pleased.
Sonya tried on several dozen pairs of high heels, each more painful and ridiculous than the last pair. When Sonya suggested going barefoot, the sycophants gasped.
Sonya liked making the sycophants gasp. It almost made the entire process bearable.
After a photographer captured Sonya in her full Jazz regalia for the Web site splash page, the lead makeup artist, Jillian, told her to arrive early Monday morning. “We have a lot of painting to do.”
Kim said Sonya would need the twenty-year paint.
Sonya was not amused.
On the ride up 110 to Casa Malibu, Kim rolled down the back windows to let her new hair flutter in the breeze.
“You really looked like black Barbie, Sonya,” Kim said.
“I felt like a fool,” Sonya said. “Have you ever seen so many suck-ups in
“Go ahead,” Sonya said. “Brush it out.”
Kim brushed the wig with long strokes, pulling most of it toward her chest.
That girl is actually happy, Sonya said. I’ve never seen her eyes dancing so much. Thank You, Lord, for this moment.
“Done?” a brusque voice said.
Sonya saw a petite blond woman in a lab coat. What’s she want? A blood sample?
“Yes, Lynn,” Twan said. “All done.”
“Thank you very much, Twan,” Sonya said.
Kim was still mesmerized by her hair.
“My sister thanks you, too,” Sonya added.
Twan nodded and left.
Lynn stood between Kim and Sonya. “You two need to be waxed,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Sonya said.
“Bob Freeberg’s orders,” she said.
Lord, is it okay to hate Bob Freeberg? I doubt that he’s ever been waxed. “Oh.” Sonya beckoned Lynn closer. “I usually keep things tidy down there myself,” she whispered.
“This is TV, not porno, ma’am,” Lynn said. “Bob says to give you a bikini wax if you need it.”
But if I don’t wear a bikini … “Oh, I don’t wear bikinis,” Sonya said. “I wear a one-piece suit.”
Lynn frowned. “I still have to check.”
No, you don’t. “You tell Bob Freeberg that I won’t get a bikini wax until he comes down here and gets a bikini wax with me.”
“Gotcha.” Lynn nodded. “Men, huh?”
Sonya nodded. “Men.”
Lynn stared above Sonya’s eyes. “You need your eyebrows shaped.”
“Bob’s orders?” Sonya asked.
Lynn shook her head. “No. You just need your eyebrows shaped. The hairs are going in every direction. You wouldn’t believe how many people call TV studios to complain about wayward eyebrows.”
This woman is tripping, Sonya thought. Either that or she really loves her job. “If you think it’s necessary. Do you wax or tweeze?”
“I wax. I’ll try to be gentle.”
I doubt having parts of my eyebrows ripped off my head will be a gentle experience.
Michelle returned just as Lynn had turned Sonya’s “bushes” into “commas.”
“Can we go somewhere to chill?” Kim asked. “I’m tired.”
“No,” Michelle said. “Not yet. We have to get Sonya decked out in her princess gear over at WB.”
In an uninteresting, dreary room full of mirrors at Warner Bros. Studios, just down the way from the original Friends set, a team of costume designers, makeup artists, and several useless sycophants changed Sonya into Jazz. First, they slapped electric blue contacts into her eyes.
“To match your dress,” one of them said.
Then they supplied her with several padded bras, fussing over whether C or D was “in” this year.
They chose D.
I will tip over, Sonya thought.
Kitting Sonya out with jewelry took an hour.
“We want her to look regal,” someone said. “A princess should have a lot of bling.”
I will tip over quickly, Sonya thought, and make a loud crash.
Fitting Sonya into her electric blue, velvet party dress took almost half an hour.
If they had buttered my body first, Sonya thought, the whole process would have taken only a minute.
Kim, who enjoyed throwing her new hair over her shoulders, suggested a shoehorn.
Sonya was not pleased.
Sonya tried on several dozen pairs of high heels, each more painful and ridiculous than the last pair. When Sonya suggested going barefoot, the sycophants gasped.
Sonya liked making the sycophants gasp. It almost made the entire process bearable.
After a photographer captured Sonya in her full Jazz regalia for the Web site splash page, the lead makeup artist, Jillian, told her to arrive early Monday morning. “We have a lot of painting to do.”
Kim said Sonya would need the twenty-year paint.
Sonya was not amused.
On the ride up 110 to Casa Malibu, Kim rolled down the back windows to let her new hair flutter in the breeze.
“You really looked like black Barbie, Sonya,” Kim said.
“I felt like a fool,” Sonya said. “Have you ever seen so many suck-ups in
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