Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

young things who’d heard the word “media” and rushed like lemmings to any sleazeball therewith associated.
    It was really hard to be a sedate thirty pretending to be today’s exhibitionist nineteen. Temple had the same mixed feelings toward the Teen Queen contest as she did toward strippers.
    These young women and girls were desperately upwardly mobile. The tangible rewards they fought for were superficial, and in her heart of hearts she felt they were selling themselves short.
    “Don’t be glum, dear.” Beth squeezed Temple’s upper left arm, motorcycle tattoo, ladder of little chains on her knit top, and all. “I know your edge is just an act. You’ll learn here that you can be yourself and still succeed.”
    Not really, Temple thought. The only way I can succeed here is to not be myself and keep Mariah safe.
    Only what was she saving Mariah from? A lurking killer, or the corruption of becoming a Material Girl?



Chicklets

    “Wow. You look cool-io. No wonder you didn’t buy a thing at the mall without metal on it.”
    Mariah stood in the middle of the room they shared, staring at Temple. Admiringly. Especially at the skimpy hot-pink stretch top with the short silver chains that were all that held the slit sleeves together.
    Temple caught Mariah in a quick embrace, even though the thirteen-year-old was already taller than her five-feet-nothing and probably hated to be hugged.
    “Careful,” she whispered in Mariah’s ear. “I bet we’re all on Candid Camera here 24/7. Supposedly we don’t know each other.”
    Temple drew back. “You’re a pretty cool chick yourself, kid. I was thinkin’ I’d draw Suzy Square for a roomie. You look like a with-it kitten.”
    “Thanks, but I’ve got a lot to work on.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like my weight.” Mariah opened her pink glossy folder. “Look at this slop they have me eating.”
    “It’s called vegetables and fruit.”
    “You sound like my mother.”
    “Gad!” Temple mimicked a heart attack and fell back on the huge king-size-plus bed they’d share. “Heaven forbid! I’m just trying to help Bugs Bunny sell his line of veggie delights.”
    Mariah giggled and sat on her side of the bed, a full body-length away. “You look like you’ve been living on radishes.”
    “Yeah, I got a great metabolism but no boobs. You, kiddo, could have a J-Lo figure if you don’t let adolescence pack on the pounds.”
    “Really?”
    “Really. That’s why the diet and exercise program for you. What you do now sets your babe appeal-o-meter for life. Capische? Suffer now or pay later.”
    “You’re not entirely flat.”
    “Thanks,” Temple whispered to Mariah, “but I’m implementing things for my role as the Bad Girl candidate.”
    “No, really.” Mariah, a quick study, whispered back. “You look cool. What’s with the wig, though?”
    “I know some of the folks around here, and don’t want to be recognized. ‘Cuz they know me too.”
    “Oooh, too bad. I keep forgetting you’re here to finger a bad person.”
    ‘Thanks for the compliment, kid.” Temple lifted her voice to a normal tone. Time to play to the concealed mikes.
    “I like to go by ‘Mari.’”
    “Why, girl?! You’ve got a great name. Look at Mariah Carey. She’s cool.”
    “And she’s just changed her name to ‘Mimi.’ My mother liked that name, but even Mariah Carey thought it was lame.”
    “Listen, if I knew why my mother named me what she did, I’d have a Ph.D. in parental psychology.”
    “So you hate Xoe?”
    “No, it gets attention and distracts them from who I might really be. Oops.” Whispering again. “Neglected Basic Step One in Spy-Girl 101.”
    Temple then proceeded to check the large room and adjoining bathroom for all the usual suspect places for hidden cameras and bugs. Mariah watched with round eyes, then joined in the hunt.
    “What a posh joint,” Temple exclaimed for the unseen recording devices. “Wonder why the dude who built this place went bankrupt? It’s on sale for four-point-six million. I bet somebody will pounce on this white elephant once it’s become famous on national TV.”
    “Like us?” Mariah asked.
    “Well, I hope somebody doesn’t pounce on us... unless we want him to. How about that win-a-date thing? You like the boy band guy, Zach French?”
    Mariah shrugged. “He’s okay. For a kid. I like the guy your age group gets, Aiden Rourke, way better. He’s such a stud.”
    “Now, how do you know that? He could be a