Aria pushed through the doors of the women's restroom, immediately flipping the brass deadbolt lock shut behind her to secure their privacy.
Zoe was pacing the length of the marble floor. Her pastel-pink Chanel tweed jacket had been discarded onto a velvet chaise lounge. She was aggressively tugging at the edges of her platinum blonde lace-front wig, her chest heaving as she hyperventilated.
"I am going to prison," Zoe gasped, staring at her own reflection in the vanity mirror with wide, terrified eyes. "I'm going to be cellmates with a woman named Oga who stabs people with sharpened toothbrushes over commissary snacks."
"Zoe, stop pulling at the lace, you're going to rip it," Aria said, walking over and gently swatting her best friend's hands away from her hairline.
