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Elizabeth had. Within seconds of the door closing, Elizabeth flung herself at the newcomer. “Nikki! I’m so sorry! How are you coping?”
    Judging by her lack of tears or distress, Nikki was coping fine, except, perhaps, with Elizabeth. She patted Elizabeth on the back and extricated herself from the embrace.
    She turned to me with a pageant smile, featuring loads of straight, blue-white teeth. “I’m Nikki Gray. Pardon the intrusion.”
    Everything about Nikki was overdone and big, unless it was supposed to be small: tiny waist, impressive cleavage, full golden-brown hair, skyscraper heels, and sparkly diamonds and other gemstones. At first glance, she was the young, slim, tan L.A. stereotype. With a second look, I revised my estimation of her age and number of surgical procedures upward, seeing the unnaturally taut skin under her eyes and the way the corners of her plump mouth tilted up even at rest.
    I noted my own flat hair, how the little bit of mascara I’d put on that morning had run under my eyes, and that I’d somehow collected a stain on the front of my white team polo. I dragged a finger under each eye to scrape away mascara. “Kate Reilly. Public place. All yours.”
    She tee-heed. “I simply had to have a break from those cameras.”
    Elizabeth sniffed, though her eyes were dry. “You’ve got the crew here? But what are you doing about Billy? You know what happened? You can’t be using that on your show!”
    â€œThey’ve been here all day.” Nikki turned to me and smiled brightly. “I’m shooting a reality show pilot about my life since my husband’s death in a tragic badminton accident.”
    I kept my mouth shut, not sure how badminton could be tragic or how tragedy translated to her chipper tone. Not sure how she and Elizabeth knew each other or how Billy fit in. Especially a dead Billy.
    â€œBut,” Elizabeth put in, “you were dating.”
    I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.
    Nikki moved to the counter and peered at her reflection in the mirror. “I heard what happened. Poor Billy.” She turned to me again. “We were spending time together. ‘Dating’ sounds so high school, doesn’t it?” She tittered.
    What soap opera had I been dropped into? She’d been sleeping with Billy? What did she see in him other than a pretty face and a twenty-four-year-old body? Oh, right. Hello, rich, bimbo, Southern California cougar.
    â€œWon’t it look bad if you’re not upset?” Elizabeth asked.
    Nikki pouted again, watching herself in the mirror, as if verifying a pout was a good look for her—it was—and patted Elizabeth’s cheek. “The first thing you learn about reality television is not to deal with real emotion on-camera. Tamara made that mistake a couple seasons ago on her show about running her spa in Santa Monica.” The last was addressed to me, before she looked back at Elizabeth. “I feel terrible about Billy, but I’ll handle that at home, alone. Not in front of the cameras.” Nikki might have frowned, the barest wrinkling of her brow. “But honestly, it’s not as if we were deeply in love. We’d only known each other a couple months.”
    I couldn’t tell if she was unaffected by Billy’s death or if she had the self-control to hold off grieving until later.
    She fluttered her fingers. “Excuse me a minute while I tinkle.” She tiptoed off to the stalls in her stripper heels.
    I also wondered if the clueless persona was an act or a way of life.I’d never heard anyone over the age of five use the word “tinkle.” My whole experience in that bathroom had felt like a visit to a foreign country. One I was ready to leave.
    I looked at a visibly calmer Elizabeth. “Will you be all right?”
    â€œI’ll be fine. Holden is on his way here from San Diego, so I’ll pull myself together to