Read Online Jaine Austen 4 - Shoes to Die For by Laura Levine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Levine
Ads: Link
the coffin into the window. “Maybe string one up from a noose. Wow! This’ll be hotter than heroin chic!”
Maxine scuttled to her side like Igor at the Frankensteins’.
“Oh, Frenchie,” she gushed, her eyes shining with admiration, “you’re so creative.”
By now, several shoppers had shown up and were watching with interest as the coffin took center stage in the window. No doubt they’d heard the scene in Grace’s office. And they were about to witness another one. Because just then, Becky walked up to Frenchie, her jaw tight with anger.
“Tyler told me what you did to his novel, and I think it’s just rotten.”
“Like I give a shit what you think,” was Frenchie’s gracious reply.
“Come on, honey,” Becky said to Tyler. “Let’s get out of here.”
She and Tyler started for the door.
“Honey?” Frenchie said. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you’re his new girlfriend?”
“Yes,” Becky said, raising her chin defiantly. “I am.”
“You left me for this twirp?” Frenchie laughed. “Your loss, Tyler.”
“I don’t think so, Frenchie,” Tyler said. “My loss was ever knowing you.”
That seemed to get to her.
“Get out of here, both of you,” she hissed. “You’re both fired.”
Then she turned to me, pointedly ignoring Becky. “Yes, we’ll have corpses in the window. Maybe even a few scattered around the store.”
But Becky wasn’t about to be ignored.
“Here’s an idea, Frenchie,” she said. “How about one of those corpses is you?”
A hushed silence filled the room as Becky grabbed Tyler by the elbow and stormed out the door. It was so quiet you could practically hear the sound of Frenchie’s blood pressure rising. Flushed with anger, she lashed out at the handiest whipping boy. Namely, me.
“You’d better get started on those ads, Jaine,” she snapped, “if you expect to finish on time.”
“Are you kidding? You can take your job and shove it up your coffin,” were the words I wish I’d been brave enough to utter. But lest you forget, I was now $3,000 in debt, thanks to those wine stains on my Prada suit. I couldn’t afford to turn down any job. Not even from an unmitigated bitch like Frenchie. So what I actually said on my way out was:
“See you tomorrow. Seven A.M .”
Chapter 9
H appy to make my getaway from Frenchie (or, as I was beginning to think of her, Little Hitler), I headed for the parking lot, where I saw Becky and Tyler standing in the shade of a large jacaranda tree.
Tyler, gaunt and drained of color, looked like a mug shot of himself.
“Are you guys okay?” I asked.
What an idiotic question. How could they possibly be okay? They’d both just lost their jobs, and Tyler had lost his novel as well.
“I’ll be fine,” Tyler said, “as soon as I’ve had a martini or three.”
“Oh, Tyler,” Becky said, frowning. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes,” he said, “I think it’s a spectacular idea.”
Frankly, I thought it was a darn good idea myself.
“I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach,” Becky said. “Let’s get something to eat instead. We’ll walk over to Pink’s. Want to come with us, Jaine?”
The last thing me and my thighs needed was to eat at Pink’s. A Los Angeles institution since 1939, Pink’s is the Holy Grail for L.A. hot dog aficionados. People come from miles around for their chili cheese dogs, which have approximately nine zillion calories a pop. No, I really had to start watching myself if I ever expected to fit into a single-digit dress size. So Pink’s was out of the question. Absolutely, positively out of the question.
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds great.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting at one of Pink’s picnic tables, scarfing down chili cheese dogs and fries, grease dribbling down our chins. Correction. Fifteen minutes later, I was scarfing down a chili cheese dog and fries. Becky and Tyler, too upset to eat, barely nibbled at theirs. Why
Maxine scuttled to her side like Igor at the Frankensteins’.
“Oh, Frenchie,” she gushed, her eyes shining with admiration, “you’re so creative.”
By now, several shoppers had shown up and were watching with interest as the coffin took center stage in the window. No doubt they’d heard the scene in Grace’s office. And they were about to witness another one. Because just then, Becky walked up to Frenchie, her jaw tight with anger.
“Tyler told me what you did to his novel, and I think it’s just rotten.”
“Like I give a shit what you think,” was Frenchie’s gracious reply.
“Come on, honey,” Becky said to Tyler. “Let’s get out of here.”
She and Tyler started for the door.
“Honey?” Frenchie said. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you’re his new girlfriend?”
“Yes,” Becky said, raising her chin defiantly. “I am.”
“You left me for this twirp?” Frenchie laughed. “Your loss, Tyler.”
“I don’t think so, Frenchie,” Tyler said. “My loss was ever knowing you.”
That seemed to get to her.
“Get out of here, both of you,” she hissed. “You’re both fired.”
Then she turned to me, pointedly ignoring Becky. “Yes, we’ll have corpses in the window. Maybe even a few scattered around the store.”
But Becky wasn’t about to be ignored.
“Here’s an idea, Frenchie,” she said. “How about one of those corpses is you?”
A hushed silence filled the room as Becky grabbed Tyler by the elbow and stormed out the door. It was so quiet you could practically hear the sound of Frenchie’s blood pressure rising. Flushed with anger, she lashed out at the handiest whipping boy. Namely, me.
“You’d better get started on those ads, Jaine,” she snapped, “if you expect to finish on time.”
“Are you kidding? You can take your job and shove it up your coffin,” were the words I wish I’d been brave enough to utter. But lest you forget, I was now $3,000 in debt, thanks to those wine stains on my Prada suit. I couldn’t afford to turn down any job. Not even from an unmitigated bitch like Frenchie. So what I actually said on my way out was:
“See you tomorrow. Seven A.M .”
Chapter 9
H appy to make my getaway from Frenchie (or, as I was beginning to think of her, Little Hitler), I headed for the parking lot, where I saw Becky and Tyler standing in the shade of a large jacaranda tree.
Tyler, gaunt and drained of color, looked like a mug shot of himself.
“Are you guys okay?” I asked.
What an idiotic question. How could they possibly be okay? They’d both just lost their jobs, and Tyler had lost his novel as well.
“I’ll be fine,” Tyler said, “as soon as I’ve had a martini or three.”
“Oh, Tyler,” Becky said, frowning. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes,” he said, “I think it’s a spectacular idea.”
Frankly, I thought it was a darn good idea myself.
“I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach,” Becky said. “Let’s get something to eat instead. We’ll walk over to Pink’s. Want to come with us, Jaine?”
The last thing me and my thighs needed was to eat at Pink’s. A Los Angeles institution since 1939, Pink’s is the Holy Grail for L.A. hot dog aficionados. People come from miles around for their chili cheese dogs, which have approximately nine zillion calories a pop. No, I really had to start watching myself if I ever expected to fit into a single-digit dress size. So Pink’s was out of the question. Absolutely, positively out of the question.
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds great.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting at one of Pink’s picnic tables, scarfing down chili cheese dogs and fries, grease dribbling down our chins. Correction. Fifteen minutes later, I was scarfing down a chili cheese dog and fries. Becky and Tyler, too upset to eat, barely nibbled at theirs. Why
Similar Books
