“For the love of fuck, you stupid little shit, it was not a compliment.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’ve never seen a horse. You wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t have any idea that horses are majestic.”

“I’m not doing this.” North shook his head. “I’m not. Not today.”

“He’s just mad because there was this weird alternate universe where he punched a lady, and then I took off the wig, and that made everything all right, but he’s still mad about it.”

“Bring it up one more time.” North crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”

Regina was trying to smile, but it looked like she had fishhooks caught in her cheeks. “Boys, I like seeing you. I’d like to see even more of you. I’d love to see more of you together, if you understand what I mean. Two’s a party, but three can be heaven. But I’ve got a show to put on, and Mistress Minerva absolutely refuses to let the bears into her honeypot, and if I don’t—”

“How do you know Matty Fennmore?” North asked.

“What?”

“How do you know him? Where did you meet?”

Regina’s tongue traced her lips slowly. “I don’t know who he is. I’ve never met anyone by that name. What’s this about?”

“What about Mark Sevcik?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Is this important?”

“Tell me about the video recordings, Regina.”

This time, her eyes cut away when she said, “I don’t know what—”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“I don’t.”

“See, that’s really interesting because Matty Fennmore hired us to find a video that someone had taken of him. A compromising video. And we can’t find the son of a bitch who took the video. It’s like he vanished. Disappeared. And by strange coincidence, just yesterday you propositioned my partner—”

“Hi,” Shaw said. “Remember? At Teddi’s?”

“—and you told him you wanted to help him out. You told him you were an expert with virgins.”

“Which, just as a point of fact, I’m not.” His blush glowed in sharp triangles in each cheek. “Just, you know, for the record.”

“Here’s the thing, Regina: I don’t like coincidences. And so I want to know what you know. I want to know what’s going on.”

Regina’s lips had a certain chalkiness, and her eyes held a glassy sheen. For a moment, she wobbled on her heels, and it was like watching the Space Needle in a high wind. “I—” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Right now, Regina. Or Mistress Minerva and the rest are going to start hearing some very ugly rumors. I can be pretty loud.”

“When he sings in the shower,” Shaw said, shuddering. “He likes Britney so damn much.”

For a moment, Regina said nothing. Then, pressing her two-inch-long nails—flamingo pink—to her cheeks, she seemed to come to some sort of decision. She nodded. She wobbled again on her heels. And then she tottered along the stage toward the curtains.

They followed her into a cramped dressing room, the vanity covered with cosmetics and cotton balls and, for some reason North couldn’t understand, tampons. Lightbulbs surrounded the mirror, and they were the only source of illumination, throwing sharp, horizontal shadows across North and Shaw and Regina. She gathered a pile of cotton balls in her lap and began picking them apart with her long nails.