¡Qué estúpida! Like she could afford to get obsessed with Dan O’Reilly again, with how lonely and vulnerable she was these days. She even did it with Steve a few weeks back when he came by to drop off Maya, that’s how desperate she was for companionship-or, let’s be honest, sex. She would never tell Linda. And yes, she regretted it, but it’d just happened. She’d been sitting on the sofa in the dark flipping channels and feeling depressed while Steve put Maya down in her crib. She’d looked up to find him standing in the doorway bathed in the blue light of the TV, staring at her with this incredibly potent combination of lust and nostalgia. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her and they were going at it like wild animals.
Not that there was any real danger they would slip into a reconciliation. Steve kept her on track. Lying naked on the couch afterward, half dozing, she’d heard a noise like the clicking of insects and looked over to find him tapping madly away on his BlackBerry. He’d been evasive when she asked him who he was texting. If she started thinking even for a second about getting back together, she could count on Steve to remind her why she’d left.
“Uh, what?” Melanie said, realizing Linda had been speaking to her.
“I said, I’m glad to see you finally took my advice and got yourself some cute knickers,” Linda said, walking over and pinching Melanie’s hips. “And you’re looking real good, too. You were kinda porky there for a while, sis. What are you, on Zone or South Beach or something?”
“No, I just don’t have time to eat.”
Linda laughed.
“I’m serious,” Melanie said.
“Hey, whatever it is, it’s working. And I take it from your choice of undergarments you’re planning to get lucky tonight?”
“No!” Melanie said, but she could feel herself blushing.
“Oh, wait one minute! I haven’t seen that expression on your face since you were all crazy for that FBI hunk. Is there a new guy in the picture?”
“A new guy? Definitely not.”
Linda scrutinized her. “You’re not wearing that slutty underwear for my benefit, chica. Come on, give it up.”
“It’s not slutty.”
“Hello, good girl. Slutty is a compliment.”
“There’s no new guy,” Melanie insisted, still blushing.
“The same guy? He’s back?”
“Dan? No. Well, I mean, he’s assigned to my new case, but-”
“Assigned to your case!” Linda yelped and began hopping up and down, clutching herself. “Mel’s got a boyfriend, Mel’s got a boyfriend!” Maya, sitting on the floor playing with some plastic rings, looked at Linda and gave a hoot of hilarity. Melanie couldn’t help laughing, too.
“Lin, I swear, sometimes I think you’re still eight years old.”
“That would make you ten, and, chica, with those curves you do not look ten.”
Melanie watched in the mirror as her flamboyant sister waltzed around, holding on to a sparkly beige dress as if it were her dance partner. She was startled to see how alike she and Linda looked, with their shiny dark hair, almond eyes, and full lips. She thought of Linda as so much more beautiful than herself, but it wasn’t true. Linda just acted the part, whereas Melanie was afraid to.
“Come on, spill it,” Linda demanded. “What happened so far? And I want every gory detail. What he likes, the size of his-”
“Will you stop? Nothing’s happened, and nothing’s going to. Dan scares me too much.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not afraid of anything.”
“This guy, I am! When I get back into dating again, I’m taking it slow. He’d mess up my head, and I have Maya to think of after all.”
“Huh. Well, okay, if that’s how you feel. But I must say, I never saw a woman wear black lace panties for a guy she was planning to cold-shoulder.”
“I’m not wearing them for him. I’m just wearing them.”
“Yeah, right, Miss Jockey for Her. Like I believe that.”
Linda held the beige dress up against Melanie, studying the effect in the mirror.
“Hmm, no. Muy de modo but too neutral. We need you in some bright, sexy colors, chica. Something that screams, Hello, FBI hunk, nail my boricua ass so I can go home and tell my sister all about it.”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Oh, shut up and stop being so boring. Try this on, and we’ll just see where your night ends up.” Linda thrust a filmy scrap of tomato red fabric at Melanie.
“What is it?”
“It’s a top, silly. D &G. Label whore that I am, you should thank your lucky stars I’m even thinking of lending it to you.”
Melanie took the thing. There was barely enough to it to keep it on the hanger. She slipped it from its moorings and looked at it suspiciously.
“It won’t bite you. Take off your bra, and I’ll help you get into it,” Linda said.
“Are you crazy? I need a bra.”
“Oh, come on, it’s a halter. It’ll hold you up. I’m not on the ittybitty-titty committee either, you know. Besides, the FBI hunk’ll be on the edge of his seat, wondering if something’s gonna pop out.”
Melanie shook her head in disbelief.
“I’ll fix it so it works, promise,” Linda said, slipping the fabric over Melanie’s head and carefully adjusting the ties behind her neck. Melanie looked at herself in the mirror.
“Wow,” she said.
“Yeah. It’s amazing what the right outfit can do. It makes you beautiful, keeps you young. It’s almost like it cheats death.”
“Right. I’ll remember that the next time somebody shoots at me.”
“Very funny, smart-ass. Oh, wait, I have the perfect pants! I scored ’em at a fashion show after I talked up the designer on air.”
Linda disappeared back into the racks, emerging a second later with gauzy black chiffon pajama pants. Melanie stepped into them and zipped them up the side. They made her look thin and glamorous.
“Here, try these, too,” Linda said, pulling sexy satin pumps from a white box with MANOLO BLAHNIK stamped in black letters across the cover.
Maya put down the plastic ring she’d been chewing on and leaned forward on her diapered bottom. “Shoes!” she cried, pointing.
“She’s your niece, all right. That’s only her fourth word,” Melanie said with a laugh as she slipped on the stiletto-heeled pumps and studied herself in the mirror. Amazing what clothes could do. All of a sudden, she felt like a million bucks and life seemed full of possibilities.
Linda looked Melanie up and down approvingly. “You may or may not catch the bad guy, but I’ll tell you one thing, chica: This FBI agent better watch the fuck out.”
23
PATRICIA CHECKED HER WATCH for the fourth time. It was after hours. Holbrooke was deserted, and James-she hoped-was waiting for her at her apartment with a decent bottle of Bordeaux. The old building creaked and gasped all around her, steam radiators hissing, wind rattling the wavy glass in the ancient windows. Screw charm, this heating system was a goddamn joke. Patricia felt chilled to the bone. Who the hell did Hogan think he was, keeping her waiting?