IN THE EARLY MORNING, AFTER RILEY LEFT, JULIAN DRAGGED Ashton to the gym with him. They sparred, talked about Gwen, used the speedbag, the weights, then Ashton hung out and watched Julian fight Lopez, his former trainer’s son and his boxing buddy since UCLA. They were showered, dressed, at HomeState for breakfast tacos by eight and at the Treasure Box by eight-thirty.
The store was not even open when the front door bell trilled, a few minutes before nine. Julian was in the back on the computer, doing the books. Ashton went out to see who it was.
“Jules,” he heard Ashton call. “Come out here. Someone’s here for you.”
It was Mirabelle.
She wasn’t alone. Next to her stood a striking, serious, black woman, dressed business-plain, with wild curly hair more or less tied up.
Mirabelle was breathy. Her boots were black and slick today, not brown and coarse, and her denim skirt was even shorter than yesterday, though that didn’t seem possible, and her coral blouse was even more see-through, though that also didn’t seem possible, and her slim bare legs were even more smooth and shiny, though that didn’t seem possible either. The tank underneath didn’t cover her belly button. There was light makeup on her face and gloss on her lips and the loose bun piled on top of her head looked designer messy, not rolled out of bed messy. She looked casual but top to bottom put together, not thrown together. She wore hoop earrings and bangles on her wrists.
“Hey, Julian.”
“Hey, Mirabelle.” They stood wordlessly for a moment until they remembered their manners.
“Z, this is Julian.” The way Mirabelle emphasized this made Julian feel awkward. Had they been talking about him?
Ashton coughed. Zakiyyah coughed.
“Sorry,” Julian said. “Ashton, Mirabelle. Mirabelle, Ashton.”
“Yes, sorry,” Mia said. “Ashton, Zakiyyah. Zakiyyah, Ashton. But, Ashton, you can call me Mia. My friends do.” She smiled. “And you can call her Z.”
“Zakiyyah will be fine,” said Zakiyyah.
Mutely Ashton studied Mirabelle, and then Julian. He said nothing. He turned to Zakiyyah. “Zakiyyah,” Ashton said. “Like Obadiah?”
“What?”
“Hey ya, hey ya,” Ashton said.
She looked annoyed. “What is that?” she said.
“Um—a song? By Obadiah Parker?”
“Never heard of it. What’s it called?”
Ashton spoke real slow. “‘Hey Ya.’” He gave Julian a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
Meanwhile, Mirabelle was looking around the chock-a-block prop store, her jaw open.
Among other things, Ashton had a display shelf of tin Brodie helmets and gas masks. “Why do you have those?”
“Productions like to rent them,” he said. “Plus my old man was born in London during the war, so it’s a hat-tip to him. Not that he’s ever been here to see it.”
Ashton had an I Dream of Jeannie bottle, a perfect replica of the original.
“Where did you get that?” Mirabelle asked in fascination, as Zakiyyah stood with her arms crossed, saying nothing, and not looking around.
“I ask the top Jeannie bottle guy in the country to make them,” Ashton said. “One at a time.”
“And the guy makes them for you to order?” She smiled.
“Sure, he does. Because I ask nicely.” Ashton beamed his full-teeth smile back at her.
“You can get a lot, asking nicely.”
“You sure can.”
An unsmiling Zakiyyah rolled her eyes. “Mia, I gotta go, I’m going to be late. Can we hurry it up?”
“Oh, yeah. Actually, I came to ask Julian a favor—asking nicely.” Mirabelle beamed a full-teeth smile at Julian, who tried to maintain a poker face. “I have a callback for that Paradise in the Park audition at the Greek you drove me to yesterday. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry it ran so late. Did you get to your dinner on time?”
“No,” Ashton said. “He was unforgivably late. But is that why he was late? Because he was at auditions with you?”
“Uh . . .” Mia said.
“Ashton,” Julian said.
“Mia,” Zakiyyah said.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, Z. Anyway, they want me to play Beatrice, isn’t that great?”
“Yes,” said Julian.
“Mia,” repeated Zakiyyah.
“I remembered that you told me you two had a prop store, and I was wondering if you might have some kind of a glittery snazzy dress I could borrow for like a day. But something spectacular. I need to look like the kind of girl Dante would go all the way to hell for.”
“That’s a lot to ask of a dress,” Ashton said.
Hitting Ashton on the back with his fist, Julian said they might have something and motioned Mirabelle to follow him to the gown room, leaving Ashton and Zakiyyah alone.