Turning up the music, trying to forget the heated look that Bette had been giving the very tomboy looking photographer.  She so wasn’t Bette’s type, then again, Candace hadn’t been either, “Stop analyzing this, Tina,” she muttered to herself as she turned into the movie studio parking lot.

            Tina entered the darkened offices, looking around, then calling out, “Harlequin?”

            “In your office, it seems, we’ve been stood up,” the tall blonde with the green as grass eyes answered her.  Tina hung her head, shoulders shagging, entering her office to find Harlequin leaning back on the leather couch, take out boxes on the table, and several bottles of ice cold water on the table also.

            “You are joking, right?” asked Tina, wanting to throw something, but thinking that was to emotional a response to what had happened wasn’t a good idea.  Harlequin might take offence to her flinging her purse across the room.

            “No, apparently, the writer lives across the country, and with the added alerts, she was unable to make her plane,” said Harlequin, something in her voice was different.  “Sit down, have a bite,” added Harlequin.

            Tina slid down onto the opposite end of the couch, angry at this whole debacle, “What is this book? Or script?  Your mother sounded hotter than an iron in a fire about this author.”

            “It’s something that Helena found, an unpublished writer from the internet, gritty crime drama, with a few twists.  She’s published a few books of poetry, but this seems to have hit a nerve with my mother,” said Harlequin, dipping her chopsticks into a heaping box of noodles.

            “Is it good?” asked Tina.

            “Better than good,” admitted Harlequin reluctantly.  “I was actually thinking one thing had happened in the book, and then something else happened, so, it was riveting, to say the least.  Mother is right, as always, it would play brilliantly on screen.”

            “We can reschedule then,” said Tina.  She took a chicken wings and tore into the tangy meat.  “Harlequin, you let your hair down.”

            Harlequin smiled, just a glimmer of one, eyes flashing at the jib about her always tightly tied up hair.  “Yes, I do let it down, when I’m angry, which I am, when I’m going to bed, and in the shower, of course,” she said.