Sasha snorted through her surgically shortened nose. "No one sees Echarpe anymore. It's like he disappeared off the planet. Some say he's suffered the cost of his own genius and lost his mind."

Heather winced. "How sad."

"He stopped coordinating his own shows. And he certainly wouldn't be bothered with a shop like this in the middle of nowhere. He has little people for that." Sasha pointed at a slim man across the room and whispered, "That's Alberto Alberghini, Echarpe's personal assistant, though I have to wonder just how personal he is."

Heather eyed the man's frilly lavender shirt. The lapels on his black tuxedo were encrusted with lavender beads and sequins. "I see what you mean."

Sasha leaned closer. "Do you see the two women by the old man with a cane?"

"Yes." Heather noted the two emaciated women with pale flawless skin and long hair.

"They're Simone and Inga, famous models from Paris. Some say Echarpe's involved with them. Both of them."

"I see." Maybe Echarpe was more like Hugh Hefner than Liberace. Heather eyed the two models. She probably weighed as much as their combined weight. Nonsense. Size twelve was normal. She turned to admire a daring red gown on a white mannequin.

"The media can't decide whether Echarpe is gay or into multiple partners," Sasha whispered.

The gown had to be size two. "I could never get into that."

"Threesomes? I didn't care for it much, either."

Heather blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Though I'd probably like it better if it was me and two guys. Better to be the central focus, don't you think?"

"Excuse me?"

"But with my luck, the guys would be more interested in each other." Sasha lifted her hand and studied it. "I'm thinking about adding some collagen to my hand. My knuckles are so bony."

Heather took a moment to assimilate. Sheesh, she and Sasha didn't have a lot in common anymore. Their lives had certainly gone in different directions since high school. "Maybe instead of cosmetic surgery, you could try something really radical. Like eating food."