Michaela said, fidgeting in the armchair in front of the lighted mirror of the dressing room while Tiffany applied her makeup. Paolo was in the midst of taping his show and from the loud applause, the all-female audience was delighted. The sound of their laughter to his ready wit and showman techniques was not good for Michaela’s nerves, not good at all. Since the night of Aunt Willow’s car accident, she and Paolo had decided that their love was more important than anything else, including the thrilling prize of being the winner of the Miami Spice competition. This should have provided comfort, but right now it was making her fret.“Don’t pay attention to Paolo’s show if it stresses you out, Mic. And please try not to blink,” Tiffany said, using a metal eyelash curler on Michaela’s lashes. Tiffany’s shiny silver train case lay opened on the counter, overflowing with a kaleidoscope of eye shadows, lipsticks and blushes. Makeup brushes and sponge wedges were spread before her on the counter as she focused on her craft, interspersing her work with peppy comments to cheer Michaela on.“I want to know how he’s doing.”
