Chapter 11
Saturday, late afternoon, EOD headquarters
G abby scurried to keep up with Valentina as the agent clicked down the sterile EOD hallway in her stilettos. Another reason to be in awe—high heels at work. Gabby assumed that Valentina was taking her to HR, where she would be forced to sign another pack of “take me to Guantánamo” documents before being escorted from the building. You couldn’t just show up to a CIA field office and shoot through the ceiling.
“I’ve never shot a gun before. I didn’t mean to—” She didn’t say “shoot the EOD full of holes,” because it sounded too bad. Plus she needed to stop apologizing.
Valentina still hadn’t said a thing in response, so Gabby vomited more words. “It was an accident. Markus said I was too tense.” A little more desperate, she said, “Just tell me what’s going to happen. Am I going to be court-martialed?” Not that she knew what that was.
“No, Gabby. I am taking you to a salon.”
“Don’t tease me.”
“I wish I was. You are getting a makeover.” Valentina looked sincerely annoyed, and some of the pieces clicked together. In Valentina’s eyes, Gabby was the little sister, getting special treatment for no good reason. All Gabby did was screw up and get rewarded—Daddy handed her a job she wasn’t qualified for, one-on-one training with Markus, and now some sort of salon appointment. Valentina wanted Daddy to love her more.
“Valentina, I didn’t want this. I would rather give you the job. I just want a job.” That was the truth. She would have liked to be a travel agent again. Booking trips for professionals on their lunch hours had been low stress and nonstop vicarious thrills. Vicarious—that’s how she liked her thrills.
Her words did nothing because Valentina was shooting sparks. “This job fell in your lap because of the way you look. I, on the other hand, have been working for this my whole life,” she said from her lips that looked like they’d been professionally plumped even though it was probably natural.
Gabby blurted out a laugh. Valentina would not be able to see the irony, but this was the first time Gabby had ever gotten special treatment for her looks, at least if you considered hotness.
“What I don’t get is what you want. The EOD is my career, my life. Why do you want to do this? For your country?” Valentina drew her perfectly groomed brows together. “You could work at any store in the mall. You could be an actual executive assistant. Throwing yourself in harm’s way for the EOD—I don’t understand. Why did you agree to this?”
“I don’t think you understand how hard it is to get a job after letting your résumé die for fourteen years, after not being that great of a job candidate in the first place.” She looked Valentina straight in the eye. “What was I supposed to put on my résumé—‘If I can handle toddlers, I can handle any fools you throw my way?’ ‘Can get stains out of all your white shirts!’” She shrugged. “No one wants a mom.”
Valentina actually laughed. “Just remember, you are only here because a facial recognition algorithm picked you. You have big eyes and a butt chin. That’s it.”
“Hey, it’s called a cleft chin.” But the rest was true. She wasn’t here because of merit.
“When you’re done with this project, you will go back to being a housewife again.”
“I’m not even married.” The divorce had been final for months now. “I’m a divorced, unemployed mother.” Which is why her résumé sucked.
“Okay, well, that’s something you might want to think about.”
No kidding. Gabby had become a housewife, but it wasn’t who she was on the inside. It was a job, a set of duties that she completed every day. Some of those duties she loved, but the laundry did not define her. Taking care of her kids didn’t even define her. Still, that was all that other people saw: housewife. If she died today, it was the label that would go on her tombstone.
If she’d learned anything lately, it was that labels matter. She had spent years bending over backwards to help the world see Phil as a professional, to see her kids as clean and happy, to support Kyle’s new exploration of her gender and sexuality. She, on the other hand, had let everything and everyone else define her.
She might not know who the new, divorced Gabby was yet, but she would be damned if she died today and her obituary said “housewife.” She wasn’t even that good at cooking and cleaning to begin with.
Valentina stopped at a door labeled DISGUISES . “We’re here.”
What a relief! She imagined a room filled with houndstooth cloaks and monocles. She might not be able to shoot a gun, but she could wear a cape and hide behind a corner.
If only she could snap a pic for Justin. A job where she got to play dress-up professionally—he would die of jealousy. A few weeks ago, she and Justin had been watching Drag Race , and RuPaul said, “Everything is drag, baby!” Justin had shouted, “Amen, sister!” The moment stuck out to her because it was true. Everyone performs some role in life. Justin’s Betty Danger act was an amped-up version of her own performance of a housewife—more lip-synching and less laundry. Her divorce had left her spiraling, partially because of the loss of the relationship and stability but even more because she didn’t have a role to play anymore.
All these years, Gabby had been in drag as a housewife. Time to try on another role, something sexier, something she chose, a role that wasn’t dependent on a man for context. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be written on her tombstone.
The Disguises department was so much more than a musty closet filled with old clothes. It was an actual salon complete with a team of people she could only assume were “fashion agents.” Valentina introduced her. “Gabby Greene, this is your makeover team. Today, we are going to turn you into Darcy Dagger.”
Gabby lit up on the inside. This was one of those moments. She could hear Bob Barker yelling, “Gabby Greene, come on down!” This was her Showcase Showdown.
Valentina introduced them all. “Tina is on hair. Dante is wardrobe. Ellen is prosthetics.” It was going to be like a regular makeover, except instead of turning her into the best version of herself, they were going to turn her into the spitting image of a dead secret agent. Please let there be some overlap.
Tina ushered her into a salon chair. “Ready for red hair?”
“I’ve never been brave enough for red hair,” she said, and she heard someone guffaw, probably Valentina. Red hair was a risk, maybe not as risky as taking on the Russian mob, but it was still a risk. Questions of identity were always serious risks. Walking into battle or walking into high school with a new hair color—similar.
Gabby had never had so many people fuss over her. This might be for a vital mission, but today she was a princess.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, what about my voice? Do I have a voice coach too?”
Tina shook her head in the negative. “Neither of you have very distinctive voices. Our plan is to make you look so much like her that people will dismiss any tiny difference in speech.”
“I guess I can say I have a cold.”
“That’s right, girl!” Tina said. “You got this. Plus, it sounds like your boss never talks to you anyway.”
Tina mixed up a bright red paste in a Tupperware container, slipped on some disposable plastic gloves, and massaged it through Gabby’s hair. It was sad, but this was the most physical contact she’d had with anyone for a long time. Things had fizzled with Phil long before he actually up and left.
“The red is going to bring out your eyes.”
Gabby didn’t care what Tina did to her. She was floating away to a blissed-out state of relaxation.
While her hair marinated, Dante ran some outfits by her, mostly trim black pants and blazers. “I’m going for sleek and professional, but we can add a pop of color with a blouse or a T-shirt.”
Valentina huffed. “She needs to stay alive, Dante, not wear fuchsia.”
“Not fuchsia. I was thinking emerald green to go with her new hair.” He shook his head. “Don’t be jealous, Valentina. You know I would love to dress you up too.”
She snorted. “I’m going to get some actual work done. Good luck, you guys.”
After the door closed behind Valentina, Dante said, “Don’t worry. It’s not you. Valentina has been having one of those years.”
“Oh. Did something happen?”
“Boy trouble” was all he said.
After Tina washed her hair and massaged a ton of deep conditioner in “to tame the frizz,” she cut Gabby’s hair off at the chin and gave her bangs as blunt as Zooey Deschanel’s. “You’re lucky that Darcy had a good hairdo.”
Wardrobe presented a few more troubles. “You and Darcy are a similar size, but she spent a lot of time in the gym. We’re going to Spanx in your curves for this job.”
The way he referred to her extra weight as “curves” sent a warm glow through her whole body. She stopped short of hugging him, but barely.
He handed Gabby a tube of fabric that was clearly meant to hold in her stomach and give the impression of an active gym membership. It was the size of a pre-wrapped slice of American cheese.
“Okay. I’ll just slip it on.” No problem. Gabby was familiar with Spanx. She’d worn them every now and then back when she cared.
But this pair of Spanx maybe not. “Is this the right size?”
“The smaller the better.” With a wink, he added, “At least when it comes to Spanx.”
Behind a Chinese screen that Gabby recognized from International Rug’s Sales floor, confiscated backstock apparently, she slipped out of her yoga pants and started pulling on the stomach shaper. “It’s the size of one of my thighs,” she called out from behind the screen. “I don’t know if I can get in this thing.” She couldn’t.
“I know it’s small, Gabby, but you can do it. Just slip the other leg in.”
It was literally fitting snug around one leg. But she needed to get in this Spanx for God and country and to avenge Darcy’s death. She got her second foot in and wiggled it up to her thighs. “I might lose ten pounds just getting into this thing.”
No one laughed.
“I can’t walk,” she called from behind the screen. “I’ve hog-tied myself.” She couldn’t walk, only jump.
“Keep pulling, Gabby!” They were talking her through it like she was defusing a bomb.
“I might need hazard pay for this. Does the EOD do that?”
She shut her eyes and focused. This was the simplest job they’d given her. She jumped to help yank it over her midsection. In her determination, she knocked over a stool that fell into the folding screen. It all went down. There she was, standing in front of a team of EOD agents with her muffin top spilling over her Spanx. Naked in her truest form.
Dante’s and Tina’s mouths hung open in horror for a moment. To their credit, they pulled it together and stepped into the battle. They each grabbed an edge and pulled. It took three of them, but they got her into the Spanx. Tina did her makeup, including a wicked cat eye and a neutral lip. Gabby had never looked better. Her eyes popped. Her skin glowed. She was a different person. They would just need some clothing shears to get it off her.
“Just one more piece.”
A woman named Ellen introduced her to her new nose. “Darcy had a substantial nose, so we are using a prosthetic. Just a little glue and then we can use makeup to blend it into your skin.”
“Okay.”
It tickled putting the nose on, the cool glue on her skin. When it dried, she started sneezing.
Ellen stared at the nose like a math problem. Looking more confident than she sounded, she said, “I’m sure the sneezing will stop when you get used to it.” Gabby was pretty sure she was allergic to the fake nose, but she hoped Ellen was right.
When all was said and done, they walked her to a full-length mirror. Gabby Greene was gone. She was looking at the face of Darcy Dagger, international woman of mystery.