Drop Dead Gorgeous by Suki McMinn

work?”
    “Yes. Jim Cavanaugh’s pitching him to the client now. He loves him – can’t get over the resemblance.”
    “Excellent. I’ll be by to get the agency contracts this afternoon. Just leave them at the front desk and leave some vouchers for me too. He can sign it tonight and I can bring it over tomorrow.”
    “Can you drop it by my apartment tonight? I’d love to meet him.”
    “Sure. I’ll let you know what time’s good for him.”
    “Damn, Clara, I think you found a live one.”
    A dead one, actually. “Yeah, I think so too.”
    When Derek came over later, she jumped up and wrapped herself around him, squealing with delight about her good news.
    “Monica wants to sign you. Jim Cavanaugh wants to shoot you. You’re on your way, baby!”
    He kissed her and they sat down and talked about rates and rules. He was fine with making half his old rate, knowing it would build quickly once clients were pleased with his work. They decided to tell people he was a germophobe so they wouldn’t shake his hand. His cool temperature might raise some questions. He liked her idea of his being a moody musician who would only work at night. He knew that would limit him on a lot of his jobs, but there was nothing to be done about that.
    She put the agency paperwork in front of him and he started signing.
    “We’re taking this to Monica tonight,” she said.
    “Shit, really? I’m not sure it’s a good idea for her to see me. She knew me pretty well.”
    “You think she’ll recognize you?”
    “Didn’t you?”
    “Well, yeah. Did you…you know…date her?”
    “No, nothing like that.” He stood and walked to the mirror by the front door and contemplated his image for a moment. “Maybe if I change my voice, have an accent. You said I’d been working in Europe, right?” He looked back at Clara.
    “Yes, but I didn’t say you were European.”
    “You know what? It’ll be a good test. If she freaks out, I can just make her forget she saw me.”
    “What if it doesn’t work on her like it didn’t on me?”
    “Don’t worry, it will.”
    Clara had warned Monica not to shake Adonis’s hand when she’d called to say they were on their way over. So Monica gave him a polite nod when they stepped inside her apartment and Clara introduced them.
    “Wow. You look so much like Derek Randall,” Monica said.
    “Yes, I geet dat a lot,” Derek said, his voice deeper than normal and with an odd accent. Clara caught herself and stifled a laugh. Derek gave her a quick glance and went on, “But I’m a leetle older dan he vas.”
    Clara thought of the Count on Sesame Street and bit her lip.
    “Well, you don’t sound like him. But, really, your face….”
    “Vell, I’ll be happy to take hees money.” Then he got more reverent. “It sucks that he died.”
    “Yes. It sure does.”
    Monica and Derek sat on the sofa while Monica briefly went over the contracts. Derek asked a few questions as she explained everything.
    Clara stood beside Derek and watched over his shoulder. She knew the standard agency contracts like the back of her hand, and she assumed he did as well, so her eyes wandered around the room while Monica spoke to Derek.
    Monica’s apartment was tastefully decorated. She was an art collector, so her walls were covered with interesting sights. Clara had seen them all before, but her eyes naturally scanned the room again. She stopped at a portrait – a stunning nude painting of a young man standing with his back to the artist, his face in profile. His body was flawless and she couldn’t help but admire the shape of his legs and buttocks, his broad back and shoulders. Her eyes followed the fluid lines of his body and came to rest on his equally beautiful face. Her heart stopped. Terence.
    That was why Terence had looked familiar to her. She’d studied this painting before. She remembered when Monica bought it at a gallery on Melrose. She recalled a little about the artist. He was known for his portraits