Read Online Cat in a hot pink Pursuit by Carole Nelson Douglas - Free Book Online
Authors: Carole Nelson Douglas
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a flat tire on the side of the notorious Los Angeles freeway system.
Would the TV-show staff research the contestants’ family histories? Or take them at face value?
“You’re still not mad at me,” Mariah said hopefully from the armchair, where she lounged on her tailbone, petting Caterina.
“Not mad. Disappointed.”
Silence. Mariah was still new enough to teenhood to cringe a little at that word. Disappointment.
Molina tossed the entry form aside, making a mental note to fax a copy to Temple Barr. Had to give the kid credit; she’d beat out a lot of candidates to get a chance at the reality show slot.
Molina sighed and checked her watch. Mariah surreptitiously checked her mother’s face.
Standing up, Molina stuffed her bare feet into moccasins. “Come on. The mail’s open until six. A Teen Queen wannabe will need some new duds for her stay at the Teen Queen Castle. In fact—” Inspiration hit. It was a galling inspiration, but then the whole situation was galling from the get-go.
She drew her cell phone and hit a preprogrammed number. To this she had sunk.
Mariah watched, blinking.
“Yeah,” Molina told the phone when the ringing stopped. “Mariah and I are hitting the mall for some drop-dead Teen Queen garb. Maybe you’d better come along. Yes, it’s ‘kinda an order.’ Half an hour. Right. We’ll meet you at—?” Molina lifted interrogative eyebrows at her daughter.
“Junior department at Dillard’s.”
“Junior department at 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 Hallmark 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. Temple Barr was exactly what she herself always had lamented not ever be-ing—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 amateur. “Mama have a budget for this extended prom party?”
“Whatever you think she needs.”
Temple’s eyebrows raised, borrowing that tic from Molina. 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,
Would the TV-show staff research the contestants’ family histories? Or take them at face value?
“You’re still not mad at me,” Mariah said hopefully from the armchair, where she lounged on her tailbone, petting Caterina.
“Not mad. Disappointed.”
Silence. Mariah was still new enough to teenhood to cringe a little at that word. Disappointment.
Molina tossed the entry form aside, making a mental note to fax a copy to Temple Barr. Had to give the kid credit; she’d beat out a lot of candidates to get a chance at the reality show slot.
Molina sighed and checked her watch. Mariah surreptitiously checked her mother’s face.
Standing up, Molina stuffed her bare feet into moccasins. “Come on. The mail’s open until six. A Teen Queen wannabe will need some new duds for her stay at the Teen Queen Castle. In fact—” Inspiration hit. It was a galling inspiration, but then the whole situation was galling from the get-go.
She drew her cell phone and hit a preprogrammed number. To this she had sunk.
Mariah watched, blinking.
“Yeah,” Molina told the phone when the ringing stopped. “Mariah and I are hitting the mall for some drop-dead Teen Queen garb. Maybe you’d better come along. Yes, it’s ‘kinda an order.’ Half an hour. Right. We’ll meet you at—?” Molina lifted interrogative eyebrows at her daughter.
“Junior department at Dillard’s.”
“Junior department at 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 Hallmark 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. Temple Barr was exactly what she herself always had lamented not ever be-ing—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 amateur. “Mama have a budget for this extended prom party?”
“Whatever you think she needs.”
Temple’s eyebrows raised, borrowing that tic from Molina. 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,
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