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would be gone for nearly two months. That was plenty of
time for Clarissa to sell the bracelet and have the surgery done by
Dr. Brown in Santa Barbara. It would be a nice surprise for Morgan
when he returned, and too late for him to do much about it.
Clarissa patted her breasts and grinned impishly.
    "Your bath is ready, miss," Dory's round dark
face peered at Clarissa from the bathroom. "I've poured you a cup
of tea and laid out your dress for this evening. The black De La
Renta."
    "I'll need a facial too, Dory," said
Clarissa.
    "I'm sorry, miss. There isn't time tonight. I
should have been out by six o'clock and it's nearly six fifteen.
Mister Wolfe has given Hugo until seven-thirty to do your hair, so
you'd better hurry, miss. No one would want to disobey Mister
Wolfe, if you know what I mean."
    Clarissa's cheeks flushed with sudden anger.
She curtly nodded to Dory who bustled out of the bedroom as if
chased by banshees. Clarissa slipped into a pale blue silk robe and
stepped into the spacious bathroom. A Japanese silk screen
separated the sunken black marble tub from the make-up table where
Hugo was sitting reading an old copy of Vogue with Clarissa's
picture on the cover, her blonde hair tucked up under a
wide-brimmed red hat.
    "This stuff is disgusting," he sneered as he
tossed the magazine on the floor. "I could cut hair better when I
was ten. Really. Who do these New York hussies think they are? Yet,
that's all you see in these magazines. Hair by Alfred Sayer, New
York. Hair by Randolph Iveres, New York. Give me a decent break. So
how are you, Clary? You look pale."
    "You always say that, Hugo. You've been
telling me I look pale since I was fifteen."
    "Don't get testy, Clary."
    "Sorry, hon," Clarissa slipped out of the robe
and eased herself into the steaming bath, barely disturbing the
pink peaks of the jasmine bubble bath. "I'll be out in a
bit."
    "So, Clary, you've decided on complete
retirement?"
    "Morgan wants me to quit. I can understand his
feelings."
    "You were, the best, you know. You've still
got it."
    "I looked in the mirror, Hugo. I'm
twenty-eight. Way past prime. I'm too old to go back in front of a
camera. I've found someone who will take care of me. Give me a good
life. I've been working since I was fifteen. It's time for a
break."
    "Are you in love? There was silence for a
moment then Hugo heard the movement of the bath water.
"Clary?"
    "Yes, Hugo, I love him. You want to come to
this party with me tonight?"
    "Can't. I'm going down to La Jolla tonight. We
open the new salon Monday, you know. Invitation only. The grand
opening is on Friday. I need a good receptionist, Clary.
Interested?"
    "Drop dead, Hugo."
    "Don't be snotty, girl."
    "How are things at the Beverly Hills
salon?"
    "Now that I own it, it's a damn lot of work,"
Hugo replied as he crossed his thin legs and admired himself the
lighted mirror. Hugo smiled. He was small and slight, dressed in
his usual black t-shirt, and black jeans, black boots, and silver
Indian jewelry. He was handsome with dashing black eyes and an
infectious smile. He had had several small roles in movies but his
first love was hair. He could flatter the plainest of women, making
them feel like a Vogue model. Everyone loved Hugo. His clientele
grew so fast that he bought out his partner in the Rodeo Drive
salon and bought a rambling ranch style house in Pacific Palisades.
His success was due partly to Clarissa's praise of his talents with
brush and comb to anyone who would listen. It was the least she
owed Hugo. He had saved her from a life on the streets nearly
thirteen years ago.
    Clarissa stepped from the behind the Japanese
screen and slid into the chair in front of the mirror.
    "I worry about you," said Hugo as he started
to comb out her freshly washed hair. "You okay marrying this Wolfe
guy?"
    When she looked at him in the mirror, for a
moments it was the face of the fifteen year-old, wide sable eyes
frightened and innocent. Then she broke into her