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The further adventures of Moira and Seetha.

I adore the new ones!"

"Cassie, that look is so right out of your Ballistic video. I love it!"

"Cassie, where's the baby? Didn't you bring the baby?"

I fielded that one.

"No, she has a drinking problem. She's okay with formula, but really can't handle the hard stuff. I left her at home with…"

(Kelvin? Kris? Conan?)

"… Kyle."

"Kyle? Who's Kyle? What about your husband, Kenny?"

"Oh Honey, that was soooo last week," I ad-libbed glibly. "Don't you watch Access? God knows, I pay them enough to shill for me. Anyway, after nine months, it's my turn to go out and have a little fun."

"I can't believe you got your figure back so fast! What's your secret?"

"Surrogacy," I responded matter-of-factly. "Try it some time. Waitress?"

The second bottle was better than the first. Maybe it was just my perception of it (I already had a nice buzz going from the first bottle). Maybe it was because the hangers-on actually went to get drinks of their own and left Cindy and me a little breathing room. Of course, that couldn't last forever.

Song! Song! Song! Song!

The floor trembled from the stamp of feet on the main floor. My chair moved, unbidden, a little with each thundering pulse. Even the exposed steel I-beams above our heads were vibrating in perfect sync. I looked over the edge of the balcony and saw the sea of faces staring up at me and chanting. I stared at Cindy – and gulped.

"You'd better do it," she urged, stifling a guffaw. "They won't let it go."

"Do?" I repeated. "What?"

"Sing one of your songs," she answered, as smug as could be. "I'll do the background vocals, if you want. I've always wanted to be on stage."

"Sing one of my songs?" I aped incredulously. "You gotta be kidding me!"

She wasn't kidding me. Cindy snared my arm in hers, hustled me down the stairs and up on stage before the amassed throng on the dance floor. The applause and cheers were tumultuous. I looked around the stage at my feet. Don't these things usually have a trap door? Won't they be kind enough to open it and let me drop out of sight? No such luck on either count.

"You're fine…" Cindy hissed in my ear.

Easy for her to say; they won't be lynching her when they find out I'm a fraud.

"… just sing the song, then wave and get off the stage. Don't thank them, don't say anything. They're used to that kind of diva behavior. In fact, they'll expect it – and love you for it."

"Wha-what song should I sing?" I stammered. "I don't know any of…"

"Sing 'Ballistic', Silly," she chided, shaking her head. "Don't you know anything? It's Number One on all the charts. MTV is playing it to death. Now, smile and be fabulous. I'll be right here behind you. No one will suspect a thing!"

Yeah, right. After this little stunt, I'll be Number One, too – on the FBI's Most Wanted list.

The Jumbotron behind me exploded into life with the real Cassie Spire's Ballistic video. The cacophonous sound from the speaker banks was almost a physical force, nearly blowing me off the stage. I didn't trust the crowd to catch me, but I'm sure they would get in a grope or two before I crashed to the ground.

If I hadn't been a couple of sheets to the wind, I would have been paralyzed with fright. As I listened to the intro, I suddenly realized I was sorta-kinda familiar with it. I flipped through MTV a lot – on my way from NatGeo to The History Channel and back. Cindy was right; Cassie's new video seemed to be on every time MTV came up on my television screen.

"I saw you 'cross the dance floor and my heart stood still, I never

knew someone like you could make me feel such a thrill. I slinked

up to your side, caressed your cheek and nuzzled your face, I wanna

sex you up from head to toe, I'm such a disgrace.

I'm goin' ballistic!

Oh, baby can't you see,

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