Willa came to her in makeup, bending down over her so that Christina had to swat hair out of her
face. Willa was letting her hair get darker by degrees; someday it might even be brown again, and
wouldn't that just be a whole new era for the group. "Britney's crying," she said, quietly.
"Oh, yeah?" She flicked a fingernail at Willa's hand on the arm of her makeup chair, spurring
Willa to take a step back out of her space. "What about?"
"I -- don't know."
"You didn't ask her." Willa looked abashed, as if that hadn't even occurred to her until just now
and she didn't know why. Christina shook her head. She did everything around here. "Look,
it's a little late for this right now. I'm sort of busy. Why don't you take her a kleenex, get her
calmed down, and after we sing -- "
"That's your solution? Just shut her up until -- "
Christina gestured the makeup lady away and turned her chair. "Do I need to get you a cue card,
here? I don't have time for this right this very second. Unless you know of some phenomenal
family emergency that would override the fact that we're supposed to sing the national anthem in
twelve minutes, I'm asking you to do a little bit of crisis control. I promise, I'll get to Britney as
soon as I can."
"Justin didn't make it. I think that might be why."
"Well, now that hardly qualifies as an emergency, does it? For Christ's sake, Michelle Kwan fell
on her ass in front of the whole world when she should've taken gold, and she's going to go
out there and perform for the closing ceremonies. I think Britney Spears can certainly manage it."
>From the doorway, Britney cleared her throat. Willa jumped like she'd been shot, but Christina
just turned her chair a few more degrees and took a long, analytical look at her. Nervously,
Britney's hands smoothed at the black satin of her pants, and then one came to rest on her bare
stomach. "We're going to be very, very cold out there. Aren't we?"
"Come here. We need you cleaned up."
They both fit in the makeup chair, and Christina was only in her lap a little bit. The makeup lady
seemed to decide that the best way to repair Britney's eye makeup was to start all over, and
Britney allowed herself to be wetted down with remover fluid . "So, what?" Christina said,
leaning forward to grab the eyelash curler off the counter. Not like she couldn't manage what
little remained of her own makeup herself. "Is this a Justin thing?"
"No," Britney said, tartly. "I'm just a really big Michelle Kwan fan."
"Who isn't? Those Chinese skaters are always adorable. They're so serious."
Willa, who was politically correct, like she'd actually been raised on the It's A Small World
ride, said, "She's technically an American skater, you know."
"And Justin Timberlake is technically a human being, for what that's worth."
Britney's laugh came out in a surprised snort. "Quit it. It's not Justin's fault. He's sweet, he's
just -- he's got his own career, too, you know? He can't exactly just follow me around the
country."
"And if he were a man, he'd say that, instead of always promising he'll make it and then
canceling." That was one of a million things, quite frankly, that Christina felt she didn't get
enough credit for. She might be the only person in the world who'd never broken a promise to
Willa and Britney -- or to herself, either, come to that.
"It's not Justin's fault," she repeated doggedly. Christina met the reflection of Willa's eyes in the
mirror and shrugged slightly. Willa shrugged back. "You two can stop that."
"Please. I'm the best thing that ever happened to your relationship. Every time you think about
dumping that jackass, I call him a jackass, and then you have to defend him. I don't know how
many times I've saved pop music's royal couple from a fiery tabloid death."
"A hundred and twenty-four."
"Allow me to be a careerist bitch for just one second and ask if anyone has bothered to warm up,
in between the heartbreak? We might want to demonstrate a little bit of range on this one."
"I did," Willa said, even though it wasn't her that Christina was worried about. Willa was warm
twenty-four hours a day; she lived and breathed the music, and she ran scales as routinely as other
girls touched up their lipstick.
"I'll be all right," Britney said sheepishly, her eyes down in her lap. "Willa's the one doing most
of the work tonight."
Christina examined the final makeup job, her eyes flashing critically as she turned Britney's chin
one way and then the other. "Okay. You look happy." Britney crooked out a finger, and
Christina sighed noisily, but allowed Britney to rub the diamond stud set in the side of her nose.
For luck, according to Britney, although it was certainly not any hallowed showbiz tradition that
Christina had ever heard of. "Just remember: if anyone makes you unhappy, you can always have
Big Rob and Lonnie turn them into Grey Poupon. The fact that you do not do so is a huge moral
victory and proves that you are absolutely the better person."
Britney giggled weakly. "That's how you handle relationship problems, huh?"
"I handle them by not having relationships, but trust me, the advice is good. I'm very good with
people."
"You alienate half the people we meet," Willa said.
"But the other half love me. I only alienate the stupid half. That's actually way more useful
than being universally loved, if you stop and think about it." Not that Christina thought the others
would ever truly appreciate the strategy, but she didn't do it for the applause. She did it to keep
people from looking at them like a jewelry box sitting open on the side of the road -- easy money,
shiny and sparkly and free for the taking. They'd been taken before, but from now on Christina
fully intended to keep everything that they busted their asses making. And none of them were as
ignorant as they used to be, but Christina was the only one who made it hard to underestimate
her.
A stage manager opened the door, saying "Everyone ready?" as though he was talking into his
head mic, but presumably he was talking to them.
"Hackeysack," Britney said in sudden panic. They all appreciated tradition, but Britney was the
only one who was downright superstitious about it.
"Quick like bunnies," Christina ordered, and for once they were quick about it -- Willa, Christina,
Britney, done. Usually at least one of them missed; they played hackeysack like girls, and more
than once Christina had wondered how they ever got started on a tradition that they always
managed to screw up. Probably because it was more convenient than ping-pong, the only game at
which they all totally rocked.
"I told you," Willa whispered in her ear as they wound through the backstage corridors of the
pavilion, "that you had time to help."
Britney was actually easy to help, Christina thought as she watched Britney slip on her headset
and adjust the angle of the mic. She had a natural list toward optimism, so it was kind of like
having gravity on your side when you were trying to make her feel better. Most everything made
Britney feel good -- everything except Justin, anyway. The jackass.
"I'm a really big fan," someone said, and Christina turned and smiled, reaching for the pen with
one hand while she maneuvered her headset with the other. Sara, she thought. Sara somebody,
Sara the skater. The gold medalist. Great skating! she scrawled. I'm a big fan, too! Christina
Aguilera.
"I thought you were a Michelle Kwan fan," Britney teased in her ear as they stood just inside the
curtain, stage managers counting down from twenty in crackling electric voices.
Her smile came out wolfish, because she was still thinking about him. "I don't even like the solo
acts. I'm a Torvil and Dean kind of girl."
Britney wrapped her arms around Christina's waist, forcing her up to her tiptoes. Christina
gritted her teeth and permitted it, because it was Britney. "Course you are. All about the mutual
love and the synchronized dancing." Britney was laughing at the idea.
"That's me." Christina was perfectly serious.