“Of course.” I closed my kit—glad to be rid of it—and began hunting around for a straightener, picking up things on the counter and bending to look underneath. All that was under the counter was a handbag. Not only was I not finding a straightener; I wasn’t finding anything that could possibly link Celeste Day to Luna, either. There had to be something.

“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to a cart that held massive amounts of hair appliances and accessories. I went over, grabbed a straightener and a wide-toothed comb, brought them back, plugged in the straightener, and began softly combing out her springy curls. I wanted to ask her what she knew about Luna. Why her name was written on a pad in Luna’s getaway car. But I had learned something about my usual tactics: they didn’t work so great. I kept surviving by the skin of my teeth. Instead, I tried small talk.

“So, who’s directing this?” I asked. “It’s not, like, Steven Spielberg, is it?”

She looked up from her phone. “In a place like this? I don’t think so. As you can see, there aren’t exactly any megastars here.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. To me, you’re a megastar.” Barf, barf, barf. Gray, lying barf with a side of yellowy-olive disgust.

She didn’t respond for a while, then said, to her phone, “You’ve never heard of him. It’s his first film.”

I dragged the straightener through a swatch of her hair, tugging her head backward slightly. She resisted a little but didn’t complain. I straightened another.

“Do you think you’ll ever get to work with someone like Steven Spielberg?” I asked.

She barked out a laugh. “Well, I guess anything is possible.”

I smiled. She seemed comfortable with me. I decided to go the direct approach. “Speaking of directors, wasn’t it crazy what happened with Bill Hollis? I mean, he was, like, a big deal when I was a kid. I personally think he was innocent. But nobody ever asks me what I think.” I chuckled, hoping she couldn’t hear the nerves behind it. “And his son,” I said, my lips going numb. “He was superhot. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“I mean, I saw the news, I guess.” She was still fiddling with her phone. If she had a Hollis connection, she wasn’t showing it.

I raced to think of another way to approach it. Somehow bring Luna into the conversation. But before I could gather a thought together, a woman whisked behind me. She threw a toolbox down on the counter and immediately began unpacking it. Vials and tubes and powders and brushes, all expertly placed in order.