Divas Do Tell by Virginia Brown Page A

turtleneck sweater and little plastic rain boots. Brownie sat down and looked at her. A low growl vibrated in his throat until Bitty took the sweater and boots off the pug. Then he recognized her. Canine peace was restored.
    “It must be raining,” I said as Bitty set the little yellow dog boots on the table. They were cleaner than her purse since they’d never hit the ground, and her purse was frequently set on Budgie’s floor.
    “Just a sprinkle or two.” She shook out the nylon rain cap she’d worn atop her blonde helmet. No trace of the recent pizza fire remained.
    “I don’t want to be an extra,” I said, registering my protest even though I knew it was just a futile formality. “I don’t want to be up at five in the morning. I don’t want a career. I like the one I have.”
    “You don’t have a career, Trinket. Now here. Try on this dress.”
    She handed me a madras dress with a thin leather belt. I held it up to me, and as she’d promised, the hem hit me below the knees. It looked like a red and blue plaid madras tent.
    “Where’s your dress?” I asked.
    Bitty held up a lovely soft pink wool with a scooped neckline and three-quarter sleeves. I handed her back the madras dress.
    “I’ll look like a billboard in that thing. I’m not wearing it.”
    “It’s the only dress I could find in your size. There’s a nice little hat that matches.”
    “You have got to be kidding me. I won’t wear it even if the hat comes down over my face to hide my identity. I’d be a plaid nightmare.”
    “But you’d be in the movie,” Bitty argued. “Just think how impressed Aunt Anna and Uncle Eddie will be if you’re in a movie.”
    “In a madras dress that makes me look like the Shoney’s Big Boy? I don’t think so.”
    “Please, Trinket. I promised her that I could get some people as extras. You’ll make fifty dollars.”
    I eyed her for a moment. She seemed really intent on doing this. “Who are you trying to impress and why?”
    “Her name is Abby Bloom. She’s the Key PA. That’s a personal assistant. She said I have the face and presence to be a great character actor.”
    “And where did you meet her?”
    “She came into Budgie’s to pick up an order for lunch. She was struck with my appearance and said I should show up for open call—that’s auditions—tomorrow if I wanted to be in the movie. So I told her I’d bring a friend. See? I was thinking about you.”
    “Why couldn’t you think about me when you’re making a withdrawal from the bank?”
    “Oh, Trinket. Now here. Go try this on, and I’ll try mine on, and we’ll see how we look.”
    I know better. I really do. Anytime I do something Bitty thinks is a good idea there are always serious repercussions. And yet I gave in, tried on the dress, and the next morning before it was daylight and while it was still cold and dark and my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, I showed up at Bitty’s house wearing the damned dress.
    “I HOPE YOU’RE happy,” I said while we stood in the dark outside the courthouse and waited for the sun to rise so shooting could begin. Other people had shown up as well, and stragglers arrived as it got lighter. Klieg lights looked like a dozen distant moons as the lighting crew moved them up and down the trolleys set up for the cameras. Some of the crew used hand-held meters to test the light while others did all the necessary preparations for staging the scene.
    “Delirious with joy,” Bitty replied. “Thank you for coming, Trinket. Isn’t this fun?”
    “Maybe it will be soon. So far the only entertainment factor is feeling my feet slowly turn to ice. Unless you count watching my breath form icicles.”
    “I love the way you can find the good in every situation. You’re a trouper, aren’t you.”
    “Is that sarcasm? Because it’s way too early for sarcasm. It’s too early for birds to be chirping.”
    “Oh, here comes Abby,” Bitty said as daylight broke in the east, and the sky went from