Academy Murders: Strong Flowers

Small strands fell to the floor. The wind from the fan backstage carried the pieces into the air. Pulcher Fitts looked poised and listened to a yogi give pose instructions to a class. Pulcher memorized every lotus pose and balasana like she had committed a poem to read before her high school AP English class.

Her hairdresser, Sammy, short, well-dressed, large hands and three biological kids and three ex-wives, had concocted another masterpiece. Pulcher looked at herself in the hand-held mirror. Like a spy studying her audio equipment before heading out on a sting, Pulcher inspected every part of her new do.

“Looks outstanding, Sammy.” That’s all she said because that was all she had to say. She hopped out of the chair and then went to the wardrobe.

Head costume designer for Channel 30 was Alvestra Nina. She had brown skinned and long black hair and sometimes dressed her talent even better than what she wore. Sometimes.

“Pulcher, darling,” Alvestra beamed.

“Good, morning A,” Pulcher replied.

“I have a blue-green ensemble for you. Hate it, maybe, but then maybe not,” she said hedging her bets.

Pulcher wrapped the dress around her. She felt like hands were rubbing her sides.

“Can you make it looser, here and here?” she asked.

“Of course,” Alvestra adjusted the entire ensemble. Then she sent it back to Pulcher before she got too cold in her skivvies. Pulcher put the dress back on her.

“It’s fine,” She said.

Next, she went to make up.

“Doll, this new foundation is going to have you looking like a marinonette,” Gusa May chortled. She had the first few signs of aging: slight grayness at the roots, some lines around her mouth, and small crow’s feet planted at the corners of her eyes. Gusa smiled.

“You’re gonna love it!”

Pulcher viewed a mirror in front of her that showcased a monitor of the green screen the meteorologist Kenna McDuffington would be using after the pit crew tuned up her model, too. She was twenty-six and displayed a knack for slipping in dirty jokes that went under the radar of most of the crew and producers. They got emails and then asked Kenna to tone it down a bit before she kept going along with the five-day forecast.

Pulcher came to the last stage of her daily routine of preparing to do the news. At thirty-two, she stood with a steel spine and radiated a sense of “you know I can do this, right?” When she walked through the halls she commanded respect, some of the construction guys working on a new area of the backstage refrained from cat calls and obscene gestures and nearly saluted her as she walked to the desk.

The timing that she had proved to be impeccable.

“Thirty minutes!”

Jesta Flocking, thirty-three, had a year and two months of hosting experience on the morning show. Jesta and Pulcher never bumped heads, however. They built up a healthy rapport. No cattiness. No fights. But she did have a streak….

“That’s a nice dress, Pul’. That fits your personality to a tee. It certainly accentuates your figure and your temperament. Blue-green is really a great look. It’s the color of the earth. That's special. You should be happy with it.”

Pulcher’s face looked like she just smelled some strong roses. “Thanks Jesta. You’re always saying the nicest things.” She felt the sting of her impertinence. She pulled it down into her soul and allowed it to hang there like a glider, flying low to the ground and still steady with the wind. The count came down to two and the two women looked into the camera.