poking unobtrusively through baskets of change purses and stuffed animals along the way.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding two coffee mugs. “Should I go kangaroo or crocodile?”
“Is it for you or someone else?” Everything about her reminded me of Veronica in the old Archie comic books: the long black hair pulled into a ponytail, the fine features masked beneath a half-inch layer of pancake makeup, the heavily lip-lined mouth and penciled brows, the athletically fit body clad in designer coordinates. Her age was a big question mark, but I went out on a limb and narrowed it down to somewhere in her thirties, forties, or fifties. Go fish.
“It’s for a colleague. I never buy junk like this for myself.”
“What do you buy for yourself?”
She smiled with the kind of self-satisfied delight a cat would display after polishing off a bowl of cream. “Anything I want. So which mug is it?”
“I’d go with the kangaroo. Nothing says Australia like kangaroos.”
“Good point.” She set the crocodile mug back on the shelf. “You made that easy enough. Thanks.”
“I’m Emily,” I said, extending my hand.
“Diana Squires.” She gripped my hand with the kind of strength pythons use to crush their prey before devouring them whole. “I guess we would have gotten introductions out of the way last night if it hadn’t been for the Silverthorns’ theatrical debut. That guy reminds me so much of my old boyfriend. All that swagger and macho bull. If I were his wife, I wouldn’t have pushed him into the artwork: I would have pushed him out the window. Did you notice how lovey-dovey they are today? Classic passive-aggressive tendencies. If they don’t get help, it’s going to get really ugly. And believe me, I know, because I’ve lived it. How is it that women can be so smart in the business world and so stupid when it comes to men?”
Eh! Was that the reason for all the makeup? Was she disguising physical scars from an abusive boyfriend? I cleared my throat self-consciously. “Is that a rhetorical question or do you really want an answer?”
“Are you married?”
“I used to be.”
“Divorced?”
“Annulled.”
“See what I’m talking about? Bright girl, bad decision. It’s epidemic.”
Okay. Maybe. But at least I knew which coffee mug to choose!
“I need help.” Nana appeared with an armful of rubber snakes. “I can’t decide between the death adder and the king brown for David. All’s I know is, it’s gotta be creepy enough so’s he’ll wanna keep it instead a feedin’ it to the dog.” She dropped her load on the display table and pulled out two remarkably realistic-looking specimens. “Which one looks like it’d be more likely to cause you an agonizin’ death?”
Diana regarded the back of Nana’s hand. “Do you realize my company has developed a topical cream that can vanish age spots like this? Age spots. Liver spots. Unsightly discolorations.”
“No kiddin’?”
“Trust me. It’s my life’s work.” She examined Nana’s hand more closely. “Are you allergic to bee stings, peanuts, shellfish, or latex?”
“Latex. You mean like paint?”
“She means like condoms,” I whispered.
Nana grinned. “Big negatory on that.”
“Then you’re a perfect candidate. I can guarantee younger-looking hands in three months or your money back. And there’s a bonus. Our cream is a biological rather than chemical product, so you’re not required to have blood tests to keep track of liver function, and there are no side effects other than flawless skin. We call it Perfecta.”
“Is it a new product?” I asked. “I haven’t seen it advertised.”
“It’s so new that we haven’t even finalized our marketing campaign. But it works. I’m living proof. I used to have a port wine birthmark the size of an Idaho potato on my face.” She angled her right cheek toward us as if it were Exhibit A in a criminal trial. “Look closely. Do you see anything? Of course,
“What do you think?” she asked, holding two coffee mugs. “Should I go kangaroo or crocodile?”
“Is it for you or someone else?” Everything about her reminded me of Veronica in the old Archie comic books: the long black hair pulled into a ponytail, the fine features masked beneath a half-inch layer of pancake makeup, the heavily lip-lined mouth and penciled brows, the athletically fit body clad in designer coordinates. Her age was a big question mark, but I went out on a limb and narrowed it down to somewhere in her thirties, forties, or fifties. Go fish.
“It’s for a colleague. I never buy junk like this for myself.”
“What do you buy for yourself?”
She smiled with the kind of self-satisfied delight a cat would display after polishing off a bowl of cream. “Anything I want. So which mug is it?”
“I’d go with the kangaroo. Nothing says Australia like kangaroos.”
“Good point.” She set the crocodile mug back on the shelf. “You made that easy enough. Thanks.”
“I’m Emily,” I said, extending my hand.
“Diana Squires.” She gripped my hand with the kind of strength pythons use to crush their prey before devouring them whole. “I guess we would have gotten introductions out of the way last night if it hadn’t been for the Silverthorns’ theatrical debut. That guy reminds me so much of my old boyfriend. All that swagger and macho bull. If I were his wife, I wouldn’t have pushed him into the artwork: I would have pushed him out the window. Did you notice how lovey-dovey they are today? Classic passive-aggressive tendencies. If they don’t get help, it’s going to get really ugly. And believe me, I know, because I’ve lived it. How is it that women can be so smart in the business world and so stupid when it comes to men?”
Eh! Was that the reason for all the makeup? Was she disguising physical scars from an abusive boyfriend? I cleared my throat self-consciously. “Is that a rhetorical question or do you really want an answer?”
“Are you married?”
“I used to be.”
“Divorced?”
“Annulled.”
“See what I’m talking about? Bright girl, bad decision. It’s epidemic.”
Okay. Maybe. But at least I knew which coffee mug to choose!
“I need help.” Nana appeared with an armful of rubber snakes. “I can’t decide between the death adder and the king brown for David. All’s I know is, it’s gotta be creepy enough so’s he’ll wanna keep it instead a feedin’ it to the dog.” She dropped her load on the display table and pulled out two remarkably realistic-looking specimens. “Which one looks like it’d be more likely to cause you an agonizin’ death?”
Diana regarded the back of Nana’s hand. “Do you realize my company has developed a topical cream that can vanish age spots like this? Age spots. Liver spots. Unsightly discolorations.”
“No kiddin’?”
“Trust me. It’s my life’s work.” She examined Nana’s hand more closely. “Are you allergic to bee stings, peanuts, shellfish, or latex?”
“Latex. You mean like paint?”
“She means like condoms,” I whispered.
Nana grinned. “Big negatory on that.”
“Then you’re a perfect candidate. I can guarantee younger-looking hands in three months or your money back. And there’s a bonus. Our cream is a biological rather than chemical product, so you’re not required to have blood tests to keep track of liver function, and there are no side effects other than flawless skin. We call it Perfecta.”
“Is it a new product?” I asked. “I haven’t seen it advertised.”
“It’s so new that we haven’t even finalized our marketing campaign. But it works. I’m living proof. I used to have a port wine birthmark the size of an Idaho potato on my face.” She angled her right cheek toward us as if it were Exhibit A in a criminal trial. “Look closely. Do you see anything? Of course,
Similar Books
