Chapter Forty

  Aside from the awkward bathing suit fitting, Ornette didn’t have to do much that week. She had a spa appointment, which she was told was arranged for her by the designer who made her bathing suit, but she didn’t believe it for a minute. Varner arranged for it and paid for it. It was his way of making sure she was clean after her ‘outing’ with Desmond. He didn't want to touch her if she still had Desmond's fingerprints on her. She had encountered a few guys with quirks like that. A woman wasn’t clean unless he had paid someone to clean her. As revenge, she spent the whole massage pretending it was Desmond rubbing her. She would have done the same with the pedicure if the tech hadn’t needed so much feedback from her.

  The only other thing she had to do on the last day was try on the bathing suit the designer made for her.

  She still didn’t catch the man’s name.

  They had a whole meeting, and she asked for his name twice. Both times, she was rewarded with a word so incomprehensible that she began to doubt whether or not he was actually a designer and not just a plant Varner hired so that he could have more access to her. Except, Varner thought she’d slept with Desmond and enjoyed it, so he was too disgusted to come see her himself.

  The bathing suit was not something she would have chosen for herself, but it was perfect for the occasion because it was more like the bodice of a dress. From the look of it, no one intended for her to get wet in it, so the enormous white bow that cinched her waist and dangled its tails on the floor was not a problem for anyone. The suit was black with white edging at the chest, strapless, backless, and it needed adhesive tape to stay on.

  Ornette got prettied up in the dressing room by her designer before the show, who fussed over her and made sure her blonde curls were unlikely to fall. He checked her body everywhere and spent a solid hour making sure her white high heels fit to perfection. They were very high and likely to result in an embarrassing fall or an injury if they didn’t fit right. He was a nice man, but Ornette could not shake the idea that the designer was actually a stylist and that he was not prepping her for the show as much as prepping her for auction.

  Everyone knew she was going to be voted off the show and put up for auction. Everyone knew Varner was not going to bid on her. It would be unthinkable for him to bid on her. He had to stay on the show and bid on the very last girl. Except the show wasn’t going the way he planned… Would he still do what was expected of him, or would he go off-script?

  Ornette puzzled over it as she walked last in line through the revolving door to the stage.

  Just as she predicted, the secret door in the revolving door opened, and she was yanked into the little closet. Except it wasn’t Desmond who had grabbed her.

  It was Varner.

  “What do you want?” she hissed. “I have to get on stage.”

  “You can’t go on stage,” he replied hoarsely.

  “Why not?” she fumed.

  “Because you can’t go up for auction!” he hollered.

  Ornette rolled her eyes. “Just let me go. Let me get auctioned off. It’s for charity. It’s fine. I signed up for this.”

  A flash of silver caught Ornette’s attention to the right. She didn’t need to see exactly what it was to know exactly what it was. It was a set of metal handcuffs. He was going to lock her up to stop her from going to the auction.

  The metal brushed her hand as she slammed the heel of her palm into Varner’s nose. She wasn’t sure if she could break his nose when she threw out her hand, but she prayed she could. She heard the sickening crack.

  Varner’s nose hadn’t started bleeding when he automatically shot his hand out to hit Ornette. She turned her face away, but she took the impact on the side of her head, and just like she had done so many times before, she went flying. She expected to feel the thud of studs and drywall against the other side of her head. As expected, an impact came, but it was not the one Ornette was anticipating. She was thrown against the secret door that led to the revolving door. It gave way, and she was sent sprawling onto the floor of the revolving door.

  Unlike any other time that Ornette had been in the secret room, someone noticed she was gone. The Coordinator had been checking the line of contestants and noticed Ornette was missing. He was on the other side, banging on the glass and asking her if she could get up.

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  Ornette had taken so many hits that Varner might have cracked her skull, and she could still shut off the pain enough to get up and push through the doors.

  The door to the secret room had closed, and Ornette wasn’t sure if The Coordinator had seen Varner on the other side or even if he had seen there was a door.

  “Did you fall?” he asked, examining her tousled hair and the red marks on her cheek. “Are you hurt?”

  Ornette looked at him like he was insane. If it was business as usual, she needed to get a grip. “Do I look all right?” She straightened her swimsuit by picking at it to loosen the fabric. The whole thing had crawled uncomfortably up her body. Even the underwires in the top were out of place.

  “You need a touchup,” he commented drolly.

  “Then do it or get Desmond. He’s super good at makeup.”

  “Desmond is not here tonight,” The Coordinator informed her as he motioned for a hair stylist to fix Ornette’s hair. “I would have thought you would know that.”

  “I’m not his wife or anything,” she hedged as she was rushed to an emergency dressing table just behind the stage. A makeup artist joined them and turned a cool electric fan in Ornette’s face, and a hairstylist removed the pins holding Ornette’s hair up while the makeup artist tried to remove the redness on her banged-up cheek. The color did not look like blush.

  In the corner of the mirror, she could see The Coordinator’s face.

  “What happened in the revolving door, Ornette?” he asked sternly.

  She avoided eye contact. “You scraped me off the floor. What more do you need to know?”

  “I don’t think you fell on accident,” he pressed.

  “Why not?”

  Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist. Her Sleeping Beauty Inc. bracelet was administering shocks to her over and over. She just wasn’t feeling it because of the settings Desmond had put on it.

  “How come it’s going off like that?” The Coordinator asked. “There’s only one reason why it would go off like that.”

  Ornette knew the reason. She knew it because it had happened before. It only went off like that, with repeated shocks, if she attacked someone. And she did. She had hit Varner in the face, and her bracelet was attempting to punish her for it.

  She giggled to cover the truth. “It must be malfunctioning. Maybe you should call Stonic to help me with it. He’s the only Sleeping Beauty Inc. rep I have met since arriving on Venus. Why? Is there someone else you can call?”

  “It’s lucky you’re the last one to go on stage,” The Coorindator said elusively. Then he stepped away from the dressing table and started talking on his earpiece. “I need a location for Varner. Is he in position? Uncle Bear is welcoming everyone as the MC for the show?” he asked, completely confused. “Where the hell is Varner?”

  If there was more to that conversation, Ornette didn’t hear it. The Coordinator was too far away for her to pick up the rest. Instead, she relaxed in the hands of the stylists and breathed deeply.

  That was when her head started to hurt.

  “This is swelling up,” the makeup artist complained. “We need ice! This is really swelling up. I don’t think Ornette can go on stage like this.”

  “Someone tell this girl to shut up,” Ornette said, opening her eyes and issuing angry commands. “Get me a numbing agent. I know you morons have stuff like that in case you want to give someone a last-minute piercing. Get it. And you,” she said, pointing at the hairdresser. “If I’m a swollen walrus, I can’t have my hair up. Give me a middle part and mess up my curls to give me beach waves. That will cover both my cheeks. We’ll get that stylist to put glitter on my lips, and as long as I’m not wincing from the pain, no one will notice anything amiss. I need to be auctioned off tonight. Even if I have to go to the hospital instead of home with my bidder–I have to be sold tonight!”

  “I would never sell myself,” the makeup artist said as she dabbed the numbing agent onto Ornette’s cheek.

  “Neither would I,” Ornette replied. Then she shut up and held still while the two girls worked on her hair and makeup.

  When it came time for Ornette to hit the stage, the numbing agent had worked its way down to her jaw. She couldn’t smile evenly. One side of her mouth drooped.

  “How are you doing?” The Coordinator said, returning to help Ornette up from the chair.

  “I think she put too much on. I can’t feel my face,” Ornette stuttered a muffled reply.

  He took the tube of numbing cream in his hand and read the side. “She sure did.” Then he pulled on the curtain of Ornette’s hair and saw the bump forming on the side of her face. “You sure look beautiful tonight. I’ll arrange it so you don’t have to answer any questions. If you can stand there looking elegant, that will be enough.”

  He put out his arm and helped Ornette rise from the chair, then with their arms still linked, he walked her to her position outside the red curtain. “You broke Varner’s nose,” he informed her quietly. “He’s bleeding like a pig and crying like a baby. I see your bracelet has stopped buzzing. I heard you saying that you had to be sold tonight. I admire your bravery, and I want to tell you that if I were one of the men on the floor tonight, I would bid on you. You’re going to get scores of bids, and none of them will be mine, but I hope the thought counts for something.”

  Ornette tried to talk, but her face was so frozen that her mouth was wrecked. It was all she could do to stop herself from drooling. Instead of talking, she squeezed his arm and brushed the tip of her nose across his cheek.

  “That was better than a make-out session from one of you girls,” he said with a smile.

  Then he sent her onto the stage for the last time.

  Ornette was going to be auctioned off.