the sofa and closed her eyes, feet tucked under her. Pagan kicked off her own shoes and flung them into her bedroom. They thumped satisfyingly against the wall. âOkay. Iâm ordering us some sandwiches and putting up the Do Not Disturb sign. I need to rest up before wardrobe tests tomorrow.â
âBut what if Devin Black comes knocking?â Mercedes said with a sly, sleepy smile.
âDamn you,â Pagan said. Without even opening her eyes, Mercedes knew exactly why Pagan was so agitated.
Mercedes started giggling, burying her face in the pillows as her shoulders shook. She must be tired indeed to descend into such girlishness.
âWhile Iâm at it, damn him, too,â Pagan said. âDevin Black can sit on it. And rotate.â
* * *
Devin did not appear that night, and he still hadnât called by the time Pagan left for costume fittings the next morning. Sheâd awoken at 2:00 a.m., unable to fall back asleep while her mind raced, wondering whether sheâd made the right decision to come all this way to shoot a terrible film.
She was risking her career, a career that had recently been revived on the brink of death due the accident and her conviction for manslaughter. The comedy sheâd shot in Berlin had started to warm the public to her once again because it was actually funny. And Daughter of Silence was likely to win over the critics. But one truly terrible picture and not only might the audiences turn away, but the studio might rethink using her in anything else of quality. She was still a box office risk. Taking this part in Two to Tango might turn her into something worseâbox office poison.
And what if Devin never showed up? What if heâd been hurt or killed? Okay, so that was a farfetched late-night fear whispering in her ear. But he couldâve been pulled into another assignment, in which case theyâd stick her with some idiot who didnât understand her, someone who wouldnât allow her to get what she needed out of this whole patriotic mission thing.
And now, fittings. Given how much she hated the character she was playing in the movie, Pagan was not looking forward to seeing the clothes Daisy would wear.
âIf there are too many frilly dresses, Iâm rioting,â she said, finishing her second cup of coffee.
Mercedes didnât look up from the morning paper. âTrying on hand-tailored clothes is such a chore.â
Great. She couldnât even be grumpy with justification. Because Mercedes was right. It was one of the most irritating things about her.
âGirdles are torture devices,â she muttered, and put her cup down with a click.
âBras are worse,â Mercedes said. âBut on the plus side, they make your chest look like itâs about to launch two rocket ships. And rockets are cool.â
Pagan laughed, threw a long trench coat over her jeans and wrinkled white shirt and left to find Carlos waiting for her in the hotel lobby.
The day was already slightly breathless with heat as she walked out of the hotel. Overhead, the flags flapped in a strong summer breeze. Sunshine blared off the windshields of passing cars. Carlos drove her by the gates of what he said was a famous cemetery and north to an area called Palermo.
Through her open car window, Pagan watched stylish women in pencil skirts walking small dogs on the sidewalks and men in summer suits eating outside at cafés or gazing at shop windows. Large leafy trees lined many of the streets, and between the tufts of greenery she caught glimpses of multistoried blocks of gracious stone buildings and open parks with splashing fountains.
What a contrast to the divided city of Berlin. When sheâd been there in August, Berlin had been visibly recovering from the huge destruction wreaked by the Allies during the war. Buenos Aires had avoided the war altogether, like all of mainland United States, but with these magnificent mansions and wide,
âBut what if Devin Black comes knocking?â Mercedes said with a sly, sleepy smile.
âDamn you,â Pagan said. Without even opening her eyes, Mercedes knew exactly why Pagan was so agitated.
Mercedes started giggling, burying her face in the pillows as her shoulders shook. She must be tired indeed to descend into such girlishness.
âWhile Iâm at it, damn him, too,â Pagan said. âDevin Black can sit on it. And rotate.â
* * *
Devin did not appear that night, and he still hadnât called by the time Pagan left for costume fittings the next morning. Sheâd awoken at 2:00 a.m., unable to fall back asleep while her mind raced, wondering whether sheâd made the right decision to come all this way to shoot a terrible film.
She was risking her career, a career that had recently been revived on the brink of death due the accident and her conviction for manslaughter. The comedy sheâd shot in Berlin had started to warm the public to her once again because it was actually funny. And Daughter of Silence was likely to win over the critics. But one truly terrible picture and not only might the audiences turn away, but the studio might rethink using her in anything else of quality. She was still a box office risk. Taking this part in Two to Tango might turn her into something worseâbox office poison.
And what if Devin never showed up? What if heâd been hurt or killed? Okay, so that was a farfetched late-night fear whispering in her ear. But he couldâve been pulled into another assignment, in which case theyâd stick her with some idiot who didnât understand her, someone who wouldnât allow her to get what she needed out of this whole patriotic mission thing.
And now, fittings. Given how much she hated the character she was playing in the movie, Pagan was not looking forward to seeing the clothes Daisy would wear.
âIf there are too many frilly dresses, Iâm rioting,â she said, finishing her second cup of coffee.
Mercedes didnât look up from the morning paper. âTrying on hand-tailored clothes is such a chore.â
Great. She couldnât even be grumpy with justification. Because Mercedes was right. It was one of the most irritating things about her.
âGirdles are torture devices,â she muttered, and put her cup down with a click.
âBras are worse,â Mercedes said. âBut on the plus side, they make your chest look like itâs about to launch two rocket ships. And rockets are cool.â
Pagan laughed, threw a long trench coat over her jeans and wrinkled white shirt and left to find Carlos waiting for her in the hotel lobby.
The day was already slightly breathless with heat as she walked out of the hotel. Overhead, the flags flapped in a strong summer breeze. Sunshine blared off the windshields of passing cars. Carlos drove her by the gates of what he said was a famous cemetery and north to an area called Palermo.
Through her open car window, Pagan watched stylish women in pencil skirts walking small dogs on the sidewalks and men in summer suits eating outside at cafés or gazing at shop windows. Large leafy trees lined many of the streets, and between the tufts of greenery she caught glimpses of multistoried blocks of gracious stone buildings and open parks with splashing fountains.
What a contrast to the divided city of Berlin. When sheâd been there in August, Berlin had been visibly recovering from the huge destruction wreaked by the Allies during the war. Buenos Aires had avoided the war altogether, like all of mainland United States, but with these magnificent mansions and wide,
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