I ate an excellent breakfast in the morning, delighting in the knowledge that I wasn’t paying for it. Buoyed by food and optimism, I faced Nichele’s cheerfully prurient questioning with good humour and fabricated evasive answers until she gave up.
By eleven o’clock, she had marched me into several exclusive downtown boutiques, and I realized the wardrobe budget had been well within reason. Yikes. The sad thing was that I knew I’d end up wrecking the outfit. Nice clothes just don’t stand a chance around me.
Finally, I came out of the dressing room, and she nodded decisively. “That’s the one.”
I looked down at myself. I loved the colour, green with an unusual bronzy shimmer that made my skin look creamy and brought out the hint of green in my brown eyes. The fine soft fabric slipped over my body like water, and the halter style was definitely flattering, emphasizing my boobs while skimming over the extra weight around my middle.
“But, Nichele,” I said tentatively, “It’s pretty short, isn’t it?”
She snorted. “It’s barely above your knees, girl. You gotta show off those long legs of yours.”
“It’s not my legs I’m worried about showing off,” I complained. “The skirt pulls up so high when I sit down, I’ll be sitting on my bare ass. And you know I can’t remember to keep my knees together.”
“Suck it up, buttercup,” she commanded. “Come on, buy it. And hurry up. We still have to get shoes and purse and makeup and jewellery.” She grabbed my hand and recoiled at the sight of my nails. “And you need a manicure. We’ll get you some acrylics.”
I gulped and handed over my credit card.
I’d had little hope for the shoes, but to my amazement Nichele actually managed to find me a pair that were reasonably comfortable, the right colour, and on sale.
As I walked back and forth in the store for Nichele’s approval, she nodded. “Those shoes are hot, girl. And I don’t know how you manage to walk like a supermodel in them when all you ever wear is running shoes.”
“The only other alternative with heels this high is to stick my ass out and waddle like a duck. I’m thinking that’s not a good look for me.”
She shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “Your date probably wouldn’t mind if you stuck your ass out.” I gave her a mock glare, and she returned an unrepentant smirk. “Here, buy the purse, too.”
I paid up, and we left the store. “Next stop, jewellery,” Nichele said determinedly.
“No need. That’s covered.”
“Oh, yeah?” she challenged. “What have you got?”
“I’ve got a heavy gold necklace with a big honkin’ emerald in it,” I told her. “It should be fine with the dress colour, and it’ll work with that deep halter V-neck.”
She eyed me quizzically. “Where did that come from? I don’t remember ever seeing you wear anything like that.”
I did my best nonchalant shrug. “When was the last time you saw me dress up? Robert bought me lots of beautiful things. I just don’t wear them very often.”
All true, though completely unrelated. I really hate lying.
“Okay,” she agreed. “You’re right, the emerald will probably be fine. What about earrings? You need some nice ones. You’re going to wear your hair up.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
I sighed. “Yes, ma’am. Take me, I’m yours. Find me the perfect earrings.”
By three o’clock, I had everything I needed and I was getting jittery. “Nichele, you know, this is such a pain in the ass. I hate dressing up,” I whined.
She stopped in her tracks. “You’re nervous! You really like this guy, don’t you?”
“No! I mean, yeah, I like him, but it’s not, you know…”
I shut up. Better she should think I was nervous about my date. I could hardly explain I was nervous because I was going to spy on international criminals and lives could be at stake. Including my own.
She bounced her eyebrows, giving me a conspiratorial look. “Come on, take me back to your hotel and I’ll help you get ready. You’re going to knock him dead.”
“I hope not,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Back at the hotel room, she pushed me into the bathroom. “Shower.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I came out wearing a towel. “Don’t you have a robe or something?” Nichele scolded. “You’re going to freeze while I do your hair.”
I shrugged. “I never wear night clothes at home. I didn’t think to bring any.”
“But what if your date goes well?” She nudged me, leering. “You should have some sexy little thing to slip into.”
I showed her my teeth. “If my date goes well, I’ll tear off his clothes and bang him up against the wall. No lingerie required.”
“You’re such a savage,” she chided, grinning.
I wrapped up in a blanket while she fiddled with my hair. When she was done, I eyed the simple, elegant updo in the mirror. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure.” She cracked open the makeup bottle.
I grabbed her hand. “Don’t put that shit on my face. I hate it. It all goops up and falls into my wrinkles. I look like a half-melted topographical model of the Grand Canyon. And I’m afraid to move my face all night in case a piece cracks off.”
She shook her head. “Trust me. Makeup has changed since you were a teenager. Which is probably the last time you wore any.”
“And?”
“And you should try this. If you really hate it, there’s still time to take it off.”
“Okay.” I let her work on me without comment for a while. “Nichele?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m being such a bag. I just really hate this.”
“It’s okay,” she assured me. “But why are you going if you hate it? Do you really like this guy that much? Do you think it’s smart to pretend you want to do this?”
I made a face. “He knows I hate it. He probably hates it, too. We just have to go. It’s a business thing.”
“You live a very strange life.”
“You have no idea,” I agreed.