on the bed in her place to wait, and entered her own
personal torture chamber with a sense of dread.
It was very nearly three hours later when Taz stood in
front of the dressing room’s full length mirror, looking at a
creature that was most definitely not her. She’d been poked,
prodded, waxed and plucked, attacked with curling irons
and eyelash glue, and it had been all she could do not to
deck the next assistant who came at her, though she’d
certainly cursed them all loudly enough for Up and the
other Rangers to hear through the wall. She turned this way
and that, examining the results, as Alejandro clapped his
hands with joy. “You’re a bombshell, my darling, a
masterpiece! Phillipa von Tuppington of Earth will be top
of all the best-dressed lists in the feeds tomorrow! I will
win awards for this one!”
“I don’t think that’s the point,” Taz muttered, but she had
to admit, after all that torture, that he’d done a good job.
Her dress was slinky, one-shouldered, and dark red, and
somehow managed to give her the hourglass figure she’d
never realized she’d had. The wig had been styled in a loose
up-do, big curls spinning around her face in an appealing
manner, and there was so much makeup on her face that
just blinking felt like lifting weights, but it made her eyes
look big and dark and her lips sultry. Real diamonds at her
ears and throat sparkled to match the ring on her finger, and
she didn’t even want to know how much those had cost the
G.L.E.E. to procure. Nobody would recognize her as rough-
and-tumble Lieutenant Taz tonight.
She had never felt so exposed as when the stylist opened
the dressing room door and stood back proudly. “Your
husband awaits.”
The Rangers sitting around the room, variously playing
cards and checking out the mini bar, fell silent as she