She had prettier dresses, and fancier ones, but she wasn’t out to get noticed—she needed to blend in. She flicked her synthetic black hair over her shoulder, then reached one last time to be sure all her real hair was hidden beneath the tight cap of the wig. Theater wigs were great because they were designed to stay on and not slide around a lot. She’d added a few pins just in case. In case of what? In case she had wild sex with someone? So it wouldn’t come off? She wasn’t going to the party to have sex, or even to spy on Rubio. She was going to prove to herself that her fantasies were just that—fantasies. She hoped to God that Rubio was gross and unattractive while he was having sex. She hoped he had a terrible “o” face and no rhythm and a miniscule dick. She hoped the BDSM stuff was cheesy and laughable. That’s what she hoped, but she had no idea what she’d actually see, or if she’d even get in. There were men inside the door checking people against a guest list.
