Lipstick & Zombies (Deadly Divas Book 1) (4 page)

"Did you see that girl?"

Maybe it wasn't about her.

"FEATHERS!"

Of course it was about her.

She couldn't help but smile. It gave her spine some additional strength for the next round, but she pushed her hands over her ears to block out the distraction. She needed a clear head. She went back to visualizing the rooftop of the building next door to hers. She could sing and write there for hours, without seeing a single face. It was bliss.

And yet, she wanted to gaze out at a sea of faces. She wanted her songs to be heard. Somehow, someway, she'd get used to being around people. It would become less draining. Or something. Someday. After she got through these auditions.

She pushed through a whirlpool of chattering and stood in front of the mirror. The feathers and the bottom row of bobby pins had to be pulled from her hair. It gave her a softer, but still carefully crafted look that framed her face well. She left the face paint on; it had held up well. Gingerly, she pulled rolls of gauzy fabric out from under her structured shoulder pieces. The first round was about showing off her skin; for the second round she planned to demonstrate that she could pull off a slightly more conservative glamour. The second round of judges would have the photos taken during round one. The paint on her arms showed through the gauzy fabric, offering a reminder of her previous look and a pop of color that helped her stand out. With a pull of a few straps, her short skirt descended into a gauzy, slinky, gown. She tucked one feather into the strap around her waist, and then pulled it out again. Simplicity was better.

She left the bathroom so those girls could go back to talking about her in relative privacy, and posed herself in the waiting room with the few others who'd made it this far. Most of them sat hunched in their chairs, curled in on themselves. You couldn't do that and succeed; their body language was informing their brains they were small and insignificant. She kept her hands on her hips and fully occupied her corner of the lounge, head up, full breaths. Her body was telling her brain:
you can do this
.
You are worth the attention you command
.
You don't need to worry about anyone else. You are on your way
. Or it better well have been, because she could not afford a panic attack at a time like this.

They called her name and she sauntered forward without hesitation. The eyes in the room followed her, but she ignored them. This was exactly what she needed to have happen; she was the one everyone couldn't take their eyes off. She was the obvious choice.

She stood in front of the judges, shoulders back, hands clasped in front of her. Less intimidating, yet still confident.

Four people in suits stared back at her. The way they slouched back in their chairs with their legs spread apart, chewed on their pens, and barely bothered to look her way told her they were dismissive and uninterested in their jobs. Good. These were exactly the type of people she was used to dealing with.

"God, she's the skinniest one yet," the one on the left end said. His hair was thinning, and he thought the way he brushed it was covering the worst spots. He wasn't checking the top of his head, though. With such an expensive suit, you'd think he could pay someone to take care of that.

"I know, we want young ones, but there's not a tit on the bunch," the blonde woman on the right said.

"That can be fixed," one of the middle men said. "Did you see her photos from this morning?"

"Weird one," the blonde agreed.

"So why'd they send her?" the balding guy asked.

"No," the blonde said. "Weird can be good. She's hard to ignore. The notes say she didn't say a word, and they still passed her on. Her audition tape notes say she was chatty." She twirled in her chair, and then leaned forward. "She's strategic. Look at her."

The men ran their eyes over her. Despite the ache in her shoulders, she stayed prim and poised.

"Do you think she'll be a problem?" one of the middle men asked.

"I'm not sure," the woman said.

The lot of them stood and circled her, crowding her space, and still, she didn't move.

"The nose," one of them said.

"I see it."

"But the lips are good," said the balding one. "Recognizable."

"You're right."

"What do you think of your lips, girl?"

"I think they'll do whatever they need to in order to be a successful part of Deadly Divas," she said.

They laughed. "See? Strategic," the woman said. "I think she's got enough of a suck-up in there to make it."

"Agreed," one of the middle men said.

"But round three?"

The woman shrugged. "That's not our concern."

JO

"Well, this is interesting."

"What were they thinking?"
"Well, no, think about it, it could be smart. We do need someone intimidating."

"There's intimidating, and then there's scary."

"We have
five
girls. That's it. To appeal to the widest demographic possible."

"This will turn off a large portion of our demographic, and you know it."
"Or make them wildly curious. Seeing something scary, in a safe space? That's everything."

"Right, okay. Hmm. Well, at least this one shouldn't die."

They laughed.
"There's promise." One of them rose and used a pen to poke at her pony tail. "You think she'll be willing to go along with the stylists? These ones are known to be difficult."
"What do you say, sweetheart? Do you think you'll be a good girl and let us make you pretty?"
She didn't know how to begin to respond to that.

"Oh god, is she mute?"

"Can you talk, girl?"

"Yes," she said, and cleared her throat. "I'll work with your stylists."

Another man in a suit stood and began circling her counter-clockwise, the opposite direction of the one who was poking her with the pen. "Good muscle tone," he said, and pinched her forearm.

Her jaw jutted out, her body tensed, but she remained still. "And there it is," the suit who'd pinched her said. "The scary. Excellent self-restraint."

"You know she'll pass round three, so if we give the go ahead on this one, this is it. We have to consider this carefully."

"As in all things," the poker said. "How much of the population are survivalists?"
"Twenty percent, at last estimate," the woman said.

"One fifth. How fitting. You may be perfect after all," he said. "Once we're done with you."

GERRI

"I called those other ones too skinny, so you brought me the chunkiest one you could find? Is that what happened here?"

“Oh honey, you're going to wish you hadn't said that.” Gerri smiled, but only because she knew the threat in her eyes was scarier that way.

“Lay off,” the older guy with the bad hair said. He smiled at her, and Gerri pulled the straps of her top up higher. Gerri was all for using her boobs to give her an extra edge, until some creeper looked at her like that. Between the guy calling her chunky, and the perv, she was having second thoughts on this whole thing.

“But she has boobs,” the girl said. She was chewing on the end of her pen, and had been doing it for a while now. The spit trail hanging off of it made it hard to look her in the face, but she was a safe haven, so Gerri kept her gaze locked in.

“That I do.” Gerri winked.

“I meant it when I said we need some talkers,” she said. “She is clearly the liveliest of the bunch.”

Gerri nodded. It had to be true.

“If you could describe yourself in one word, what would it be?”

Gerri pretended to think about it. Taking people's questions seriously showed you were thoughtful and respected the questioner. “Adventurous,” she said.

“I didn't mean chunky in a
bad way
,” the jerk in the suit said, backpedaling now that the woman in the group had shown him up.

“Of course you didn't,” Gerri said. She hoped he wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

“I hope Willa likes this band,” the woman said.

The man scoffed, rolling his whole head instead of just his eyes. He looked up in the corner, where a blinking light marked a camera. “If Willa wanted an opinion, she would have been here. She knows that.” He pulled the sheet away from the woman and stamped right in the center of the page.

Gerri was in.

WATM NEWS

"This just in from Fort Atlas Hall: the auditions for the all girl pop band, Deadly Divas, have entered the mysterious third round. The debate on the wisdom of such a group rages on, but the girls here today may as well—Oh! What's happened here? Excuse me! Miss! Miss!"

"Help! I need a hospital!"

"Yes, I see that. What happened here?"

"I was first alternate.
Alternate
! I didn't even make it in!"

"Yes, I see. But how did that piece of plastic wind up in your arm? And what happened to your face?"

"God, does it look bad? My face!"

"Yes, miss, I understand your distress, but could you tell us what happened here today?"
"I was waiting in the room with the other alternates from my school, and they took in that bitch Carrie, and—"
"Sorry, Carrie who?"
"The freak! They chose
her
with her
feathers
and she went in and I was waiting, just like we're supposed to, and MELANIE FRISKER stabbed me and went at my face!"

"Horrible, horrible. And did this Melanie Frisker explain why she was attacking you?"

"Because she was second alternate! She should have been happy she got that far! Have you
seen
her?"

"Well, no miss, I haven't. And what is that lodged in your arm?"
"Her mascara brush. She went at my face with her eyelash curler. I'm going to tear that girl apart. If they hadn't ripped her off of me—"
"And where is this Melanie Frisker now?"

"She's—she's still in there! They let her stay!"

"Horrible, horrible."

"And—"
"Thank you for your time, miss."

"But—"

"Well folks, you heard it here first. The first picks for the Deadly Divas have entered the third round. Among those chosen, a mysterious and much-hated girl by the name of Carrie. Will she be the first member of the band, or will the vicious second—now first—alternate claw her way in?

Meanwhile, the question remains. These girls may be tough enough to tear each other to bits, but can they truly be counted on as role models in the war against the undead? Stay tuned for updates and our next story in five: the products you need to get the concert-ready body you're desperate for, and the ones that just may kill you."

Chapter Three

SADIE

The table of weapons was neat and clean and left lots of room for creative use, but it wasn't meant for someone who had as much to prove as she did. She'd already shown off her throwing knives. She needed to get creative here, and she needed to do it fast.

A door opened up, undoubtedly letting the undead into the room. She heard its slow, thumping steps headed her way, but didn't bother to look. As long as she didn't let it bite her, she'd be fine. She needed to worry about the show she was putting on for the people who were watching.

She gripped the edge of the table and tipped it over, clearing it of weapons, and righted it before climbing on top. Climbing on top of tables was not exactly easy in a dress, or with a prosthetic leg, but she moved as slow and smooth as possible so as not to stumble or appear panicked. The corpse had only made a few steps progress.

Dancing was not Sadie's favorite thing, but that didn't mean she wasn't good at it. She had to be. She'd told Anthony she might have to prove she could dance, and they'd prepared something together. Now seemed as good a time as any.

She lifted her arms up, shook her hips, dipped, and shot back up. Leg bent to the side, a kick, a hop, and arms again. Street jazz wasn't really meant to be done on a narrow table, but she adjusted. She'd taken a class a year before where she'd had about as much space in the crowded room.

Spin around, arms down, and up, kick and kick...and the zombie was finally, mercifully, within range. Without losing her balance, Sadie pulled up her leg and kicked down and out with as much power as she could manage. She almost fell forward with the lack of resistance against her foot. While she'd been trying for it, it surprised her when the insides of its head splattered across the room.

She kicked her boot clean and twirled herself around, facing the dark window high on the wall. “How's that? You got another? I can do this all day.” She was exhausted, but she meant it.

DEE

She looked over the table of weapons. None of them felt right to her. The zombie was staggering closer. She pulled her shoe free and said, "I know how to work these bitches." The spike of her heel drove deep between its eyes.