Those were incriminating words. Or not. Out of context, everybody sounded guilty. I wanted to crawl out from under the platform, chase Teresa, and demand to know who was on the other end of that call. I listened for more of the conversation, but all I heard was silence. When I peeked past the black nylon fabric, Teresa was gone.
And then, while I was looking around for something to verify that I hadn’t imagined the eavesdropped-on conversation with Teresa, the recognizable designer loafers re-entered my view.
“We need to talk,” Amanda said.
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
In a way, I was lucky. Nobody in the intimate apparel industry knew me except those I’d met at my appointment at Joey Cheeks this morning, so as long as Amanda and I gave the Blue section of the convention center a wide berth, the odds of me being labeled an imposter were low. Two very specific things helped improve those odds: me being in a robe and underwear, and Amanda being one of the participating designers. As long as I stayed with her, we appeared to be a designer instructing one of her hired models. Thanks to the new movement toward body inclusivity, my sandwich and pretzel curves weren’t the red flag they might have been just five years ago.
Avoiding Joey’s aisle meant not getting my personal items. Amanda and I left the convention center and went the one place Joey Cheeks wouldn’t turn up: the casino ladies’ room.
It was slightly over the top. Mauve marble fixtures and floors, white porcelain sinks filled with river rocks and a cascade of water that could have solved California’s ongoing drought problem lined the far wall. A tufted pink velvet sofa sat under a six-foot-wide mirror that was mounted in an elaborate gold frame. Wall sconces glowed with soft pink lights that gave our complexions a pretty glow. Note to self: replace all light bulbs with pink ones. Better than a hundred-dollar moisturizer.
I checked under the bathroom stalls (you can’t be too careful) and then joined Amanda on the sofa.
“Are you going to tell Nick?” I asked. I braced myself for “yes” or “maybe” or “probably” or “what’s it worth to keep me quiet?”
“No,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s my friend and you make him happy.”
“But—”
She held her hand palm-side out.
The first time I’d met Amanda, we’d been passive forces in opposition. I’d since learned that she was a case of what you see is what you get. Amanda didn’t have an inner amateur sleuth like I did. She didn’t need to seek justice or uncover the truth. (She probably didn’t like standardized tests either.) She wanted her life to be uncomplicated, and when it had been complicated, she’d just about melted down.
I’d been the one to solve her problems, and while that hadn’t awarded me a friendship ring, it had leveled the playing field. And now that I knew a little bit about her college roommate’s suicide and the roommate’s relationship with Nick, I understood it was tragedy that bound them, not a past romance. Judging from the guilty feelings Nick carried with him, I doubted he’d ever viewed Amanda as a potential girlfriend. It was a question I’d wondered about for a long time, and I’d now reached a reasonable conclusion.
“I have about ten minutes until my next appointment,” Amanda said, “and I’d rather you’re not at the booth when he shows up, so this is going to be brief. Why were you under the stage in your underwear?”
“It was preferable to being on the stage in my underwear.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I braced myself for criticism of my insanity or vows to break me up from Nick to protect him.
“Did you see anything suspicious?”
“What?” I thought I heard her, but the question was so unexpected that I preferred to be sure before making a fool of myself with an answer.
“You probably had a good view of the audience while you were up on the stage. I’m guessing that’s why you did it, right? Because what you did was either crazy or brave, and I think it’s best for all of us if we go with brave.”
Sure, except there wasn’t anything brave about my actions. I’d ended up on that stage, not because I’d seen an opportunity to surveil the crowd, but because I’d needed an escape from Joey Cheeks’ booth and ducking out the back and joining Yarvi’s girl squad was my chicken way of hiding. It was typical Samantha luck that my escape plan had backfired on me. And while I could have kept all that to myself, if Amanda and I were ever going to have a relationship that wasn’t rooted in contention, this was my opportunity to take a step in that direction.
“Do you really believe I would strip down to my underwear in a public venue to get a better view of someone who might have something to hide?”
“Isn’t that what you did?”
“Well, yes, but it wasn’t as well-thought-out as all that.”
There are times in one’s life when one knows what one should do. The right thing. And I recognized this was one of those times. I had to do something I never expected to do: confide in Amanda. If she was willing to keep this whole escapade a secret from Nick simply because she knew I made him happy, then I had to accept that her friendship with him made him happy. And if that meant—
Oh, f**k it.
“I was in Joey Cheeks’ booth when his line manager, Teresa, came in with the newspaper that announced Lydia’s death. He said some pretty crude things about her that make me wonder if maybe we shouldn’t look a little more closely at their relationship. And then I heard Chryssinda tell Teresa that he might have killed her to break her contract. I had to get out of there, but the only way out was under the pipe and drape behind his booth. I ended up in Yarvi’s booth, where I was mistaken for a substitute model. I didn’t have any idea what was happening until I was on that stage and the models tore off my uniform.”
Amanda’s face went through an assortment of expressions while I talked: disbelief, surprise, and, finally, shock. And then she giggled.
Her giggle was contagious. I giggled too, and then, like a release valve, the giggles turned into full-on laughter that bordered on hysteria. I hadn’t realized how much anxiety I’d built up over the course of the day until now, and I had Amanda Ries to thank.
Las Vegas deserved every ounce of reputation it had. People got cray-cray out here.
Amanda checked her watch. “I need to get back to the booth.” She stood up. “What about you?”
I looked down at my robe, considered my options, and looked up. “Do you mind if I borrow this for the rest of the day?”