Read Online Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit by Carole Nelson Douglas - Free Book Online
Authors: Carole Nelson Douglas
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Dillard's." Molina flipped the phone shut and grabbed her buckskin hobo bag. "Who was that?"
“Image consultant," she said.
“Who'd you know that I'd want having anything to say about my clothes?"
“ You'd be surprised." Molina shot a smile Mariah's way as she snatched the car keys from the kitchen countertop. "You go to all the trouble of being on a national TV show, no matter how tawdry, you ought to get a little help.”
Molina felt naked as she followed Mariah into the dark garage. She wasn't carrying tonight, for the first time in a long time. It would have been too awkward. Mama needed a new pair of shoes, and then some too. She just hoped to heck that tonight was not the one some gang member decided to go postal in the mall's Hall mark Card Shop.
Temple Barr appeared to know the junior department as well as Mariah.
In fact, Mariah had about three inches on the woman. Molina hoped she'd stop growing soon. But maybe too tall was no longer a female liability.
Molina stood uneasily in the main aisle, eyeing rows of skirts the width of cummerbunds and see-through mesh tops skimpier than sports bras. The color and glitter were showgirl seductive, but there were so many clothes, and so little of them.
For the first time she felt like her own mother.
Red head and espresso-brown head bowed together over the racks, pulling out selections and tossing them over arms or thrusting them back onto the chrome poles, rather like blasé strippers.
“Cool color.”
“Oh, too rad.”
“To die for.”
The murmurs were both vapid and excited. Molina smiled, maternally, as she observed Temple and her daughter together. Temple acted like an older sister, caught up in the same girly ritual but far more sophisticated than Mariah with her cherubic halo of baby fat still intact, thank God.
Good pick, Molina told herself. TempleBarr was ex actly what she herself always had lamented not ever being—petite and pretty enough to pass as a teenager.
Temple looked up as if Molina's speculation about her was tangible and she'd felt it. Good instincts for an ama teur. "Mama have a budget for this extended prom party?"
“Whatever you think she needs.”
Temple 's eyebrows raised, borrowing that tic fromMolina. She consulted the two stapled sheets advising "contenders" on "what to bring."
“ We are in plastic heaven, kiddo," she told Mariah. "Let's rock.”
Two hours later they emerged from the dressing room, giggling like classmates on a spree. Temple's arm held al most as many draped items as Mariah's. That's what Molina had hoped for: Mariah's taste would clue in Temple on current hot teen items, and Temple's PR influence would guide Mariah to what worked on TV.
If Molina had cherished any reason but bodily safety to encourage a relationship between the two, she might even have found their bonding . . . sweet.
If they made the show, Mariah would have to know that Temple was there as a stooge before the charade began. No way would she be fooled. Hey, the kid would probably get off on being part of an "undercover" team.
How had a smart homicide dick like her ended up in such a mess? Daughter dearest and her mad, hopeful, predictable, determined desire to be somebody five years older than herself.
Molina played her prime parental role: she laid plastic on a checkout counter and watched the LED numbers hit the mid four figures. Yikes.
Temple Barr , she was pleased to note, had done as well. Molina supposed she should reimburse Temple but let that be a surprise after the ball at the Teen QueenCastle was over. If there was one for her.
Molina checked her watch.
“Done with still an hour's time," Temple chimed in, shooting a conspiratory glance at her pal Mariah. "Shoes, maybe?"
“ Actually, I need to make a stop," Molina said. "Ladies' room?" Temple asked.
How heedlessly insulting. TempleBarr would make a fab teen queen. "No. Family members appear in the audience on the final show. I need something . . . less
“Image consultant," she said.
“Who'd you know that I'd want having anything to say about my clothes?"
“ You'd be surprised." Molina shot a smile Mariah's way as she snatched the car keys from the kitchen countertop. "You go to all the trouble of being on a national TV show, no matter how tawdry, you ought to get a little help.”
Molina felt naked as she followed Mariah into the dark garage. She wasn't carrying tonight, for the first time in a long time. It would have been too awkward. Mama needed a new pair of shoes, and then some too. She just hoped to heck that tonight was not the one some gang member decided to go postal in the mall's Hall mark Card Shop.
Temple Barr appeared to know the junior department as well as Mariah.
In fact, Mariah had about three inches on the woman. Molina hoped she'd stop growing soon. But maybe too tall was no longer a female liability.
Molina stood uneasily in the main aisle, eyeing rows of skirts the width of cummerbunds and see-through mesh tops skimpier than sports bras. The color and glitter were showgirl seductive, but there were so many clothes, and so little of them.
For the first time she felt like her own mother.
Red head and espresso-brown head bowed together over the racks, pulling out selections and tossing them over arms or thrusting them back onto the chrome poles, rather like blasé strippers.
“Cool color.”
“Oh, too rad.”
“To die for.”
The murmurs were both vapid and excited. Molina smiled, maternally, as she observed Temple and her daughter together. Temple acted like an older sister, caught up in the same girly ritual but far more sophisticated than Mariah with her cherubic halo of baby fat still intact, thank God.
Good pick, Molina told herself. TempleBarr was ex actly what she herself always had lamented not ever being—petite and pretty enough to pass as a teenager.
Temple looked up as if Molina's speculation about her was tangible and she'd felt it. Good instincts for an ama teur. "Mama have a budget for this extended prom party?"
“Whatever you think she needs.”
Temple 's eyebrows raised, borrowing that tic fromMolina. She consulted the two stapled sheets advising "contenders" on "what to bring."
“ We are in plastic heaven, kiddo," she told Mariah. "Let's rock.”
Two hours later they emerged from the dressing room, giggling like classmates on a spree. Temple's arm held al most as many draped items as Mariah's. That's what Molina had hoped for: Mariah's taste would clue in Temple on current hot teen items, and Temple's PR influence would guide Mariah to what worked on TV.
If Molina had cherished any reason but bodily safety to encourage a relationship between the two, she might even have found their bonding . . . sweet.
If they made the show, Mariah would have to know that Temple was there as a stooge before the charade began. No way would she be fooled. Hey, the kid would probably get off on being part of an "undercover" team.
How had a smart homicide dick like her ended up in such a mess? Daughter dearest and her mad, hopeful, predictable, determined desire to be somebody five years older than herself.
Molina played her prime parental role: she laid plastic on a checkout counter and watched the LED numbers hit the mid four figures. Yikes.
Temple Barr , she was pleased to note, had done as well. Molina supposed she should reimburse Temple but let that be a surprise after the ball at the Teen QueenCastle was over. If there was one for her.
Molina checked her watch.
“Done with still an hour's time," Temple chimed in, shooting a conspiratory glance at her pal Mariah. "Shoes, maybe?"
“ Actually, I need to make a stop," Molina said. "Ladies' room?" Temple asked.
How heedlessly insulting. TempleBarr would make a fab teen queen. "No. Family members appear in the audience on the final show. I need something . . . less
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