“Red,” they said at the same time.
“Definitely red,” Dora added. “It’ll be perfect with the green contacts. Jamal won’t know what hit him.” She returned to the sofa and scribbled some notes. “Don’t forget to use a loofah on your hands and feet. We need the henna gone as quickly as possible.”
Heidi stared at the reddish-brown pattern on her hands. Her honeymoon was long over before it had ever begun. How terribly sad.
“Clothes,” Fatima said, still circling her. “We decided she needs new ones but what kind?”
“Trashy,” Dora said flatly. “Skinny straps and short skirts.”
The queen frowned. “Are you sure? I thought maybe something elegant.”
“Elegant is good,” Heidi said quickly. “I don’t think I could wear a really short skirt.”
Dora shook her head. “Nothing elegant, Fatima. This isn’t a makeover for a princess, but for a mistress. Besides, she needs to be as different from her regular self as possible. Otherwise Jamal will see right through the disguise. I say show plenty of skin, wear makeup and high heels. He’ll be tempted and confused. Not a bad state for a man to be in.”
Heidi swallowed. “About the high heels. I’ve never been very good at walking in them. I don’t wear them much, and when I do, I always feel awkward. I think the elegant approach is better.”
“No, Dora is right,” Fatima said. “There are some boutiques on the waterfront. They cater more to the wealthy tourists. They should have what we need. All right, I’ll call the optician. Dora, you call the salon. Ingrid’s. You have the number.”
Dora grinned. “You’re going to love Ingrid,” she said. “She’ll transform you.”
Heidi was no longer sure she was transformation material. She felt like a cork bobbing along through river rapids. Every now and then she kept going under, and one of these times she wasn’t going to make it back to the surface.
“I need to sit down,” she said, moving to the sofa and plopping onto a cushion.
Dora continued to write. “Okay, I think the next thing is to figure out where the mystery woman is going to live.”
“We’ll set her up in one of the luxury hotels downtown,” Fatima murmured. “Something expensive. I’ll pay for it, of course. I don’t want you having to explain any expenses to Jamal. We can put a special phone line into your dressing room so that when he contacts the hotel the call is routed back to here. Not a problem. But I don’t know about a name. It should be something close to your own so you’ll remember it.”
“I have to change my name?” Heidi asked, then held up her hand to silence them. “Sorry. Dumb question. Of course I do. But what?”
“Something fun,” Dora suggested. “Maybe Bambi or Amber.”
Heidi wrinkled her nose. “No. Those are so not me.” Although the point of the exercise was to be someone other than herself, she thought. “I agree with Fatima. It has to be close. What about…” She thought for a moment, then was rewarded by a flash of divine inspiration.
“Honey Martin,” she said, and dropped her voice to a sultry tone. “Hi there, Jamal. I’m Honey.”
Dora didn’t look completely convinced, but she jotted down the name. “Honey Martin it is. You’ll have to think up a history.”
“I know exactly what it’s going to be,” Heidi said. “My college roommate for all four years was Ellie Calloway. Her family is from Oklahoma. They’re in a lot of different businesses, but they started in oil. Ellie has four brothers, one of whom handles the oil side of things. I could be here visiting with him.”
Fatima pressed her hands together. “It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Jamal will never put you together with Honey Martin of Oklahoma.” She leaned over Dora’s shoulder and studied the list. “Except for deciding how the two of you are going to meet, I believe we’ve covered all the important points. So let’s get started.”
In less than a week, she’d lost the ability to see, walk and speak. Heidi hobbled toward what she thought was the table. Unfortunately her eyes were watering so much that she didn’t notice the pile of cushions on the floor and stumbled into them. Her body weight shifted, her ankles flexed back and forth in a very unnatural way that sent pain shooting up her legs. Her feet went along for the ride, which was too much for the three-inch heels she was wearing. One shoe went east, the other west, and Heidi sprawled down the middle. Fortunately the cushions broke her fall.
“You need to practice,” Fatima said kindly from her place on the sofa. “The shoes need getting used to.”
That’s what she’d said about the contact lenses, Heidi thought grimly, blinking away the sensation of having a small car lodged under her eyelid. Soft lenses were supposed to be so easy to wear. So comfortable. Ha!
She opened her mouth to complain, then closed it. Her throat hurt too much for her to speak. That was the result of trying to talk in a sultry tone that was nothing like her regular voice. She’d strained her throat or her vocal cords or something.
Heidi sat up and adjusted the skinny strap of the dress she wore. She tried not to notice how the skirt fluttered around her thighs or the fact that a dishcloth had more fabric to it than she had in this entire dress. Did they really expect her to go out in public like this?
She blinked several more times and actually achieved something close to normal vision. She centered her attention on the queen so that when her contacts slipped again and she could no longer see, she would at least have her head pointed in the right direction.