Like she does.
Alex yawns, stretches out her long legs, and leans back in the chair to scope out women.
One walks by, wiggling her hips, getting in line for coffee. The right build. Right age. She orders something called chai tea. Alex doesn’t know what that is. It would be a good thing to use as a way of introduction. But when Alex stands she notices how short the woman is, and doesn’t bother. She sits back down.
Another woman, tall enough, but too young. Some men, whom Alex barely glances at. Then, a brunette. Age and height fine. A big ass, but people can lose weight. Alex gets into line behind her.
The woman orders a large vanilla latte and a pecan Danish, neither of which will help narrow her gluteus maximus.
“Are the Danish good here?”
The woman glances over her shoulder.
Alex doesn’t smile behind the veil. She knows how it contorts her face, makes her look even more freakish. It’s a definite handicap. Smiles disarm people. Taking a smile away from a recreational killer is like taking a pinky from a major league pitcher.
“They’re pretty good. Not as good as the coffee place on Prospect.”
The woman faces the cashier again. She’s either in a hurry, not wanting to chat, or Alex’s veil has set off subconscious warning bells. Strangers aren’t to be trusted. People who hide their face are hiding something else.
Alex moves in a little closer, watches as the woman digs into her purse for a wallet. Though her clothes are decent, expensive, her handbag looks more like a backpack than an accessory. Alex catches glimpses of a tissue pack, some children’s Tylenol, and a large key ring attached to a Lucite-encased family photo.
No good. Alex returns to her table, and is surprised to find a little girl standing next to it. She’s blond, perhaps eight years old, and staring at Alex’s laptop screen.
“Is that man hurt?”
She points at the live feed of the hotel room. Lance has woken up, and he’s thrashing around on the bed like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. The child must have pressed a key, brought the computer back from hibernation mode.
Alex closes the cover, then looks around to make sure no one else saw anything.
“It’s a movie. He’s pretending to be hurt.”
“My favorite movie is Toy Story. Have you seen Toy Story? It’s about a cowboy named Woody, who is really named Tom Hanks. There’s also Toy Story 2, but we don’t have it anymore because it got stuck in the DVD player and Mommy threw it out.”
Alex stares at the girl. So small and fragile. Father would have liked her. Alex prefers adults to children. Nothing can induce a migraine like a little kid screaming hour after hour. Even gagged, the high pitch is piercing enough to call stray dogs.
“Melinda!”
A woman hurries over, her expression a mix of concern and disappointment. She’s tall, thin, pretty, platinum blond. Alex notices how she moves, in an easy, assured way. Athlete. Possibly a dancer.
“What have I told you about wandering off? You were supposed to stay by the picture books.”
“The lady has a computer like Daddy’s.”
Melinda points to Alex’s laptop.
“It is like Daddy’s, but that doesn’t mean you can go and touch things that aren’t yours.” Her blue eyes mea sure Alex. There’s no hesitation, no drop in confidence, even when she notices the veil. “I apologize. Melinda, she’s a curious little bug. I hope she didn’t disturb you or ruin anything.”
“You might want to keep her on a tighter leash.” Alex puts a bit of iron in her voice. “There are some pretty crazy people in the world.”
“Tell me about it. Look, it’s not my business, but is that blazer Dolce and Gabbana? It is freaking gorgeous.”
“Yes, it is.” Alex appraises the woman’s outfit, jeans and a red top. “Those jeans are Italian, aren’t they?”
The woman lights up. “Yes! You won’t ever guess what they’re called.”
“They’re called My Ass. I used to have a pair. The belt line in back dips down, like the top of a heart.”
The woman spins on her toes and lifts her shirt, revealing the divot, along with an intricate lower back tattoo. No visible thong or panty lines. Her heels are three inches, gold lamé. Alex amends her initial assessment from dancer to stripper. She’s the perfect height, and no wedding ring either.
“I used to love those jeans. I bet your husband does.”
“I’m not married.”
“My mistake. Melinda said Daddy, so I just assumed…”
“Daddy died,” Melinda chirped in, just as cheerful as when she was talking about Toy Story.
“We were never married,” the woman explained. “Her father died last year. Car accident.”
Alex’s interest rises several notches. She still isn’t sure about the woman’s sexual orientation, so she plays it coy.
“I’m new here, so I don’t know where any of the shops are. Where can a girl buy Louis Vuitton in this town?”
“I love Louis Vuitton! See?”
She holds up her brown purse, which Alex had spotted immediately after noticing her.
“It’s freaking gorgeous,” Alex says. “I’m Gracie, by the way.”
“Samantha. Sammy for short.”
Sammy offers her hand, smirks. Her touch is soft, and she tickles her index finger on the inside of Alex’s palm when she shakes.
“Look, Sammy, this may sound kind of forward, but I need someone to help me shop. I’ve been hiding from the world for a while. Car accident. Really messed up my face. This is the only outfit I feel I can wear in public. I haven’t been out of the house in months.”
“God, Gracie, that’s awful.”
“Are you and Melinda free now? We could hit a few shops, then I’d buy you guys dinner.”
“Shit, that would be fun. But my shift starts in an hour.”
“Is Sammy your stage name?”
Sammy grins wide, revealing perfect caps.
“Stage name is Princess. You used to be in the life? You’ve got the body for it.”
“I’ve worked a few poles in my day. Which club?”
“High Rollers. It’s uptown.”
“Long hours. Does Grandma watch Melinda while you dance?”
“Grandma is in heaven with Daddy,” Melinda says.
Sammy puts both arms around her daughter, cradling her face. “Our neighbor watches the bug. I only work four nights a week.”
“Money that good?”
“It’ll do till I get my business degree. I’m taking some classes during the day, when she’s in school.”
No husband, no mother, and a stripper to boot. She’s almost perfect.
“If to night isn’t good, maybe sometime later?”
“Definitely. Let’s trade numbers.”
Sammy digs a pen out of her purse, writes down Alex’s cell phone number on the back of a McDonald’s receipt. She rips the paper in half, and gives Alex her number.
“One more thing, Sammy. And this is embarrassing. When I was working, sometimes the customers would want a little extra attention, and I got busted. As a condition of my parole, I’m not allowed to associate with any known criminals. If you’ve got a record…”
Sammy shakes her head.
“I’m clean as a whistle. High Rollers gets stung all the time, under-cover cops coming in, trying to get the girls to do more than dance. Two of my friends got nailed, so I don’t do that. Not that I think it’s wrong or anything. Just can’t risk getting arrested when I’ve got Melinda to look after.”
“Cool. Good luck to night. Make some money.”
“I always do. Hopefully we can hook up soon, Gracie.”
Alex smiles her half smile and pats Melinda on the head.
“You can count on it.”
CHAPTER 15
PHIN WORE JEANS and a white T-shirt, an outfit I’d seen him in many times. When he was bald from the chemo, it made him look like Mr. Clean, right down to the broad chest and narrow hips. He was currently in remission and his hair was back, blond and cut short.