Makeovers Can Be Murder

Chapter 23

Two hours later I was laid out on a table at a salon called Skinny Wraps. My body was wrapped from neck to toe in white bandage strips soaked in mineral clay. I looked like an escapee from Revenge of the Chubby Mummy.

″So, where′s your escape camel, Kate? Cooling its toes outside the pyramid?″ Frank called out. He was crouched in the corner of the room with his camera, getting a low-angle shot of me getting plaster-cast in a body wrap.

″You′re a funny guy, Frankenstein. Kiss my Irish ass.″

″You want to see funny, wait till you get a load of this shot on camera.″ Frank moved in for a tight-in of my mummified thighs-my punishment for calling him by his most-hated nickname, Frankenstein.

A ″reduction technician″ named Yolanda took my measurements with a tape measure. For this part of the show, I′d donned my bikini. Even though my measurements were embarrassing, at least the surfaces were smooth and tight, thanks to Evelyn′s stripper stocking. God bless her.

″We have an excellent result,″ Yolanda announced in a German-sounding accent that turned Ws into Vs. ″You′ve lost eleven inches total from your body measurements.″

Since I′d started with about two hundred inches total (counting practically every curved surface on my body), that was a five percent shrinkage. And even though I suspected that Yolanda might have taken some slight liberties with the tape measure to shave off some inches, secretly I was impressed.

Overall, the taping at Skinny Wraps had gone much better than I′d expected. That was a good thing, because my day was about to change direction in a major way. Everything about my life was about to go downhill.

Rapidly.