Her appointment was tall, slim, brunette, curvaceous in all the right places, and waiting for her in the darkest corner of an already too-dark room. "Pieszecki," she acknowledged solemnly. "Peabody," returned the blonde as she settled into her chair, back to the wall, eyes ever watchful. Neither woman spoke at first, each lost in her own thoughts. The brunette toyed with her glass of whiskey, obviously in distress. Alice Pieszecki contemplated the situation as she smoked and waited. Helena Peabody had called on her services before, but Al hated working for her. Sure, she always paid generously and on time, but the work was dirty and full of drama. It was the drama Al hated the most. "Fucking lesbians," she said under her breath, not caring that she was counted among the damned.

When she’d smoked her cigarette down to ash, she finally broke the silence. "Quit wasting my time, Peabody. Either spit it out or I’m leaving. I’ve got better things to do with my time than sit here with you." She didn’t really, but damned if she would let Helena know that. Crossing her arms, she looked at the brunette with curiosity masked by sullenness.

Downing the last two fingers of her whiskey in one gulp, the brunette seemed to gather herself to do battle. She spread her hands out on the table, palms down, as if to anchor herself. Looking around nervously, she finally leaned in and whispered, "I need you to do a job for me."

Pieszecki resisted interrupting with the "No, shit," that came to mind. She simply waited for the details. With Peabody, the details were always interesting.

The brunette began to tell her story, the words coming easier as she talked. Pieszecki had heard the story before, not from her, but from others like her. Half of her jobs revolved around revenge of one sort or another, and most of that revenge was directed at one woman: Shane. She supposed Shane had a last name, but nobody knew it and the ladykiller certainly didn’t need it. Everybody knew Shane and more than half the community had slept with her. The latest had been Peabody and now Peabody wanted to talk to Pieszecki. Not a good sign.

"…so I want you to," Peabody’s narrative finally wound down and she paused. Or hesitated, which was unusual for her. The Helena Peabody that Pieszecki knew never hesitated to do something mean. She occasionally regretted it, never publicly, but she never hesitated to do the deed. Or, more precisely, to have it done for her. So, Al took note of the pause, slight as it was. "…shave her head," the brunette finished in a whisper.

Al Pieszecki sat back in her chair and let out a low, long whistle. Nobody had ever asked this before. This was serious. Shane’s hair was her trademark. Without it, she’d probably go simultaneously bankrupt and celibate and not be sure which was worse. The blonde narrowed her eyes at the desperate socialite sitting before her. "It’ll cost, you know."

The brunette’s eyes hardened. "No problem."

Another pause, more contemplation. "When?"

"I want it done the day before the Les Girls premiere," she stated, her voice laced with venom.

"Half now, half that night," was Pieszecki’s response, sealing the deal. She smoothly tucked the proffered envelope inside her jacket and stood up. With a final speculative look at the too-satisfied brunette, she walked away shaking her head. This job was going to be a tough one, and worst of all, it would be full of drama. Al hated drama.