A PORTRAIT OF OLIVIA by J.P. Bowie Read Free Book Online Page B

choose to believe that Miss Winters is still worth saving—she is, unfortunately, being misguided by those around her.
    - 31 -

    J.P. Bowie
    32
    Imagine giving thousands of dollars to those who whine about being abused by their own parents—as if such a thing could possibly happen! Liars, nothing but liars, all of them. Just like my children….

    Olivia slouched into the make-up department, still hung over from the night before. Ernie, the man who had been responsible for making her look her best for the five years of the Olivia Winters Show, looked at her aghast.
    “Oh my word,” he twittered, his hands raised in mock horror. “What have we been doing to ourselves?”
    “Shut the fuck up,” Olivia growled, throwing herself into the make-up chair.
    “Charming, as always,” Ernie sighed, unfazed by Olivia’s vile mood. Over the years he’d become immune to her mood swings. He was well paid for his endeavors and accepted Olivia’s tantrums as just part of the job. Besides, she could be quite generous at times, slipping him a bonus check every now and then.
    “I have a hangover,” Olivia muttered.
    “No kidding. I thought you’d run face first into a bus.”
    “Cut that out. I’m in no mood for your bitchy comments.”
    “So I see, dearie. Well, was it worth it?”
    “No, it was not. I was with a bunch of losers—and the worst part of it is, I may have to apologize to one, if not several, of them. I just wish I could remember all that happened.”
    “Oh oh, that bad huh?”
    “I had to stay over, Ernie. They put me to bed…”
    “That was nice of them.”
    “If you say so. I’d rather they’d called a cab.”
    “Where was this?”
    “In Laguna—at that artist’s house. You know, the guy who was on the show about a month ago, Peter Brandon.”
    “Oooh yes, I remember him—what a doll—and that dishy guy of his, the PI. What I’d like to do with him. Yum!”
    “Aren’t you a bit old for that kind of thinking?”
    “Old? Honey, there might be snow on the roof, but there’s still a fire in the basement.”
    “You’re disgusting, Ernie.”

    J.P. Bowie
    33
    “ I’m disgusting?” Ernie’s hands went to his hips. “Listen sister, I’m not the one who got drunk and disorderly.”
    “I should fire you, you…you… queen .”
    Ernie burst out laughing. “Is that the best you can do this morning? My, my, we are not feeling up to par, are we?”
    “Oh, shut up and get on with my face, willya? I’m late as it is. Brenda will be in here yelling at me any minute.”
    “Like you care…Okay doll, let’s start the repairs.” He tutted like an old woman as he studied her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, look at those dark cir-cles under those eyes. Just as well I can work miracles.”
    Olivia ground her teeth but said nothing, knowing he was right. Ernie could work miracles, and had done so many times before when she’d come in after a hectic weekend of sex and booze. Only this time, she’d had to do without the sex. Too bad, she mused now. That bartender looked like he could have gone the stretch…nice muscles, and she particularly like that dirty-blond look.
    Christ…what was she going to do about Peter? She would have to apologize before he came up for the next portrait sitting. Maybe she shouldn’t have just snuck out of the house like she did, without even leaving a note. She had just been too mortified when she had awakened, and the full realization of what had happened the night before had dawned on her.
    I called him a faggot . Jesus, what was I thinking?
    That was the problem, she hadn’t been thinking, all boozed up like that.
    Had they spiked her drinks? No, it was most likely those two Johnny Walkers she’s slammed down before she headed down there. An then all that champagne on top of that—no wonder she’d been blitzed. Maybe she should see about this drinking problem—or was it really a problem? She liked to drink and none of those at the party had been