Love Can Be Murder

finished, no one will be able to recognize you." At the sudden serious expression on Roxann's face, she added, "Not that you look bad now."
    "No, you're right," Roxann said slowly, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I could use a new look, at least for a little while."
    Ah, so Roxann did want to impress someone—Dr. Carl? She couldn't blame her—the man was outrageously male. She had harbored a crush on him, too, but things hadn't turned out quite the way she'd hoped. Still, it hadn't stopped her from fantasizing about him, wondering what it would be like to lose her virginity to him. Keeping her knees closed for the frat boys she dated had posed no problem because none of their fumbling kisses had piqued her interest.
    But her senior year she had found a tree-shaded bench across from the building that housed Dr. Carl's office. From her shielded vantage point, she munched on celery and cauliflower and watched him eat lunch on the steps of his building every day that the weather permitted. His routine never varied. At noon he would emerge with a brown bag, then eat a delicious-looking sandwich, a little bag of chips, and a bottle of juice, all while reading the newspaper. Not that he ever got much reading done, since every girl who walked by stopped to chat, or at least said hello. He would smile politely and nod while chewing, seemingly unaware that he had them all in a lather.
    Okay, so she had been in love with him. Every night she would mentally rehearse crossing the street and engaging Dr. Carl in a conversation so witty and entertaining that he would instantly realize they were destined for each other. Except the next day she would sit munching her Dee-directed baggie of raw vegetables, paralyzed in self-loathing while braver and more slender girls were rewarded with his magnificent smile.
    Then one day Roxann had happened by Dr. Carl's eating place, with a paper or something for him to look at. Angora had watched, burning with jealousy, as he had actually invited her cousin to sit. His delicious-looking sandwich had gone uneaten while they discussed the paper, heads together. He had talked and gestured with animation, and Roxann had hung on to every word, scribbling notes.
    After that, Roxann had appeared with more regularity, producing one paper after another that seemed to need his input. He had tolerated her cousin's company like the good and kind man he was, but surely he knew that Roxann had slept with many men, that she wasn't wholesome like Angora.
    She and Roxann hadn't lived together for a couple of years at that point, but still saw each other when she needed help with an assignment, or studying for an exam. Angora never mentioned the lunches she witnessed, or that she knew Roxann was in love with him. She couldn't afford to alienate her cousin—she needed her help to graduate. So as always, she'd kept her mouth shut and pondered why good girls finished last.
    Angora ground her perfect teeth. She was soooo tired of being a good girl.
    "Earth to Angora."
    She blinked Roxann into view. "Um, sorry."
    Roxann angled her head. "Are you okay? Maybe we should find a hotel and relax, watch a movie. You had a rough day yesterday."
    She wanted to scream, My life is one long rough day, but the genuine concern in Roxann's eyes stopped her, and a familiar push-pull of emotions churned in her chest. One minute she wished Roxann had never been born, the next minute she coveted her approval. God, it would be so easy to hate Roxann—seemingly the source of all her problems, yet seemingly the solution to all her problems. Absent for long stretches of time, but there when Angora needed her most. Affection surged in her throat, and the fierce animosity ebbed as quickly as it had flowed. "You're just trying to get out of having your colors done."
    "My colors done? What's that?"
    Angora rolled her eyes. "Let me take care of everything."
    To her surprise, Roxann was like an obedient, if wary, child, submitting to her ministrations at the makeup counter, and later, as Angora helped Steve the hairdresser select shoulder-length extensions to match the blue-black strands of Roxann's stick-straight hair. She did complain that everything was taking too long, and yelped when her eyebrows were tidied with hot wax, but otherwise acquiesced. An hour later when Steve turned Roxann around in the chair, the transformation was truly remarkable, and this time, Angora couldn't stem the flood of envy.
    Smooth, dark skin,