Read Online Cat in a hot pink Pursuit by Carole Nelson Douglas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carole Nelson Douglas
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giggling like classmates on a spree. Temple’s arm held almost 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 Queen Castle 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. Temple Barr would make a fab teen queen. “No. Family members appear in the audience on the final show. I need something... less casual.” Temple eyed Molina’s jeans, moccasins, gauze cotton top, and suede bag. “I guess! Your cop shop pantsuits won’t cut it either. And I don’t suppose you want to trot out Carmen”—she cut off as Molina glared from Mariah to her—“a Carmen Miranda ensemble.”
“Who’s Carmen Miranda?” Mariah wanted to know. Trust kids to sense when adults were getting their lies and deceptions in a wad.
Temple vamped expertly into a diversionary path. “Oh, an old-time performer. Wore these tall, tall headdresses of tropical fruits. Sang, danced. One hot Hispanic cha-cha chick. The movies in the forties were big on Latin music and performers.”
“The forties?”
“During World War II.”
“Latin was in?”
“Olé! There were some great, fun movies, all black and white. You should rent a couple.”
“Sounds coolio.”
“As coolio as Julio Iglesias.”
Mariah frowned. “Don’t you mean Enrique?” she said, mentioning Julio’s cleft-chinned singer-son in the sexy chip commercial. “To die for!” Nauseating sigh.
“Right,” Temple backpeddled. “Enrique.”
Molina feared that Temple’s love of vintage anything was giving away her age. This was definitely not an Iglesias, Sr. crowd. Molina would have to warn her about that Temple turned a sharply focused eye on her. “Now. What does Mama Bear need? Something not too casual, not too formal but just right. For what reuse once the show is over?”
“I don’t know.” Molina did know but she wouldn’t say that. “Something suitable for dinner at one of the big hotels. Maybe.”
Temple reared back, obviously daunted by the challenge. “Let’s hit Ladies’ Dresses.”
“I’m not much for dresses,” Molina objected. “They’re always too short.”
“Not with long skirts so hot right now.” Temple did the teen eyeroll like an expert. “If I don’t buy petite sizes I have to roll up the waistbands until I look like I’m pregnant.”
Mariah giggled hard at this notion that her mother had hoped would never cross her mind under any circumstances, except when saying no to boys, until she was in college.
What have I done!
The stroll through Better Dresses was agonizing. Molina understood for the first time her Jekyll/Hyde clothing philosophy: slacks and jackets, jeans and tops for on- and off-duty. Vintage velvet for Carmen, a distant star who was seldom coming out at nights to sing these days. And
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 Queen Castle 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. Temple Barr would make a fab teen queen. “No. Family members appear in the audience on the final show. I need something... less casual.” Temple eyed Molina’s jeans, moccasins, gauze cotton top, and suede bag. “I guess! Your cop shop pantsuits won’t cut it either. And I don’t suppose you want to trot out Carmen”—she cut off as Molina glared from Mariah to her—“a Carmen Miranda ensemble.”
“Who’s Carmen Miranda?” Mariah wanted to know. Trust kids to sense when adults were getting their lies and deceptions in a wad.
Temple vamped expertly into a diversionary path. “Oh, an old-time performer. Wore these tall, tall headdresses of tropical fruits. Sang, danced. One hot Hispanic cha-cha chick. The movies in the forties were big on Latin music and performers.”
“The forties?”
“During World War II.”
“Latin was in?”
“Olé! There were some great, fun movies, all black and white. You should rent a couple.”
“Sounds coolio.”
“As coolio as Julio Iglesias.”
Mariah frowned. “Don’t you mean Enrique?” she said, mentioning Julio’s cleft-chinned singer-son in the sexy chip commercial. “To die for!” Nauseating sigh.
“Right,” Temple backpeddled. “Enrique.”
Molina feared that Temple’s love of vintage anything was giving away her age. This was definitely not an Iglesias, Sr. crowd. Molina would have to warn her about that Temple turned a sharply focused eye on her. “Now. What does Mama Bear need? Something not too casual, not too formal but just right. For what reuse once the show is over?”
“I don’t know.” Molina did know but she wouldn’t say that. “Something suitable for dinner at one of the big hotels. Maybe.”
Temple reared back, obviously daunted by the challenge. “Let’s hit Ladies’ Dresses.”
“I’m not much for dresses,” Molina objected. “They’re always too short.”
“Not with long skirts so hot right now.” Temple did the teen eyeroll like an expert. “If I don’t buy petite sizes I have to roll up the waistbands until I look like I’m pregnant.”
Mariah giggled hard at this notion that her mother had hoped would never cross her mind under any circumstances, except when saying no to boys, until she was in college.
What have I done!
The stroll through Better Dresses was agonizing. Molina understood for the first time her Jekyll/Hyde clothing philosophy: slacks and jackets, jeans and tops for on- and off-duty. Vintage velvet for Carmen, a distant star who was seldom coming out at nights to sing these days. And
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