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problem!"
    Michaela started to ask her what it
was, but Camden hung up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've got to go.
There seems to be a problem at the store."
    "Go. It's no big thing."
    She walked out of the trailer. Another
problem; great.
    Four
    Camden’s face was flushed the color of
magenta; her arms flailed in obvious frustration as Michaela
entered the back room of the tack shop. A handful of models
clustered around, all eyes on a petite, dark-haired, gothic-looking
young woman, her lips painted a purplish black. Michaela had an odd
thought: dark fairy from beyond, or a woman trying hard to
resurrect 1985.
    Camden grabbed Michaela by the arm and
pulled her aside. "That's Erin Hornersberg."
    "Okay."
    "She's our makeup artist and she's the
best, but she is refusing to do the models' makeup. She's packing
up her stuff. Do something!"
    This was the crisis? Oh boy. "Camden,
hold on. First of all, I am not a mediator to every little problem
that springs up."
    "Yes, but you have a way with people.
Now go over there and convince her to stay."
    Michaela sighed. "What, is she claiming
that we didn't pay her enough, too?"
    "No. It's about Sterling."
    "Sterling?"
    Camden nodded. "She won't say what, but
within two minutes of him sitting down, she started screaming for
him to get the you-know-what off her chair and the hell out of
here. When he refused, she told me to forget it. She's saying that
she's not about to do anyone's makeup for the show."
    It was only makeup. Couldn't the models
do their own? "Just ask Sterling to leave. I need a few minutes to
shower and set my things in the office." She held up her mallet and
purse. With so many people milling around she hadn't wanted to
leave the polo mallet in her truck, and definitely not her purse.
Although she had no intention to play the sport any longer, the
mallet had been a gift from Ed Mitchell, and she wanted it as a
keepsake.
    "Are you kidding? You don't have time.
You have to talk to her now! Sterling was voted the most eligible
bachelor from Indio to Palm Springs and probably all the way to
L.A. Most of the women here today came to see him. I can't do
that."
    "Right. Do you know what he might have
said or done?"
    Camden shrugged. "I don't have a clue.
I wanted to put on the best show from here to flipping Timbuktu,
and dammit, it's all falling apart."
    Michaela turned back to see Erin
locking up her makeup box. She walked over to the woman, still
holding her mallet and purse, both starting to weigh on her. How
was it that purses got so heavy? It needed a good dumping-out, and
the mallet wasn't exactly light to begin with.
    "Hi, I'm Michaela Bancroft, part owner
of the store, and I'm sorry to hear there's a problem. Can we talk
about it?"
    "Nothing to talk about. He's an ass. I
want him out of here." She pointed at Sterling, who stood drinking
a Coke, seeming not to care at all about the drama swirling around
him.
    Michaela leaned in closer to her. "I
agree with you. I think he's a pompous piece of you-know-what.
Look, can you just come outside with me? We'll see if we can work
something out."
    Erin shook her head. "Nothing to work
out. I want him out of here. It's simple."
    "Okay, look, what if I make sure he's
not anywhere near you and you won't have to do his makeup or even
see him?"
    Erin eyeballed her. "And you'll make it
worth my while? You know, it's a pain in the ass to have to take
all my stuff out and now I had to put it back, and then I'll have
to take it back out again, and—"
    Michaela held up a hand. "I'll see what
I can do." Great. Erin and Pepe Sorvino must have gone to some sort
of lecture on how to screw a client prior to an event. If her
instincts were right, she'd be paying out more money than they'd
planned to the makeup artist. But she was still curious about what
Sterling had done to get under the woman's skin.
    "I could use a smoke."
    "I'm sure you could."
    And right about now, she could use one
of those shoulder massages Jude Davis was famous for. She