him to the chairâas a safety precaution, they told her. She would watch them wheel him off.
What if Arthur looked like that?
She shuddered.
That memory her being pressed against the car by him in the dark street, and how young and handsome he had been ⦠did she really want to see how old heâd gotten?
Maybe she could find someone to pick the gun up for her?
Could she trust Teresa with something like this?
It would maybe cost her another fifty.
She winced.
Maybe if she had Arthur wrap it up like a steak or something, maybe Teresa would â¦
And what if Teresa got caught?
If she wasnât popular with Teresa now ⦠she could see her with that mouth of hers being carted off to jail screaming and cursing the name Dorothy OâMalley Weist. No, if she wanted a gun, she was going to have to go pick it up herself.
That meant facing him.
Did she want him to see what she looked like these days? She stopped in front of a clothing boutique and stared at the odd garments in the window.
Clothes.
She couldnât show up in her old clothes. Sheâd lost so much weight in the hospital and kept it off with the silly exercises they had her doing with weights. They were supposed to build up her bone density or something. Her eyes looked at her reflection. She turned sideways. She stared at her hips and how the dress was belted tightly around her middle. It made her waist seem tiny.
No, she didnât look nineteen, but she had a pretty waist again and hips, and even her legs had gotten back some of their shape, and her skin had tightened up.
As a matter of fact, she looked good. Damned good.
She would need to buy a new outfit. Something light green or red. Red would put color in her face. Sheâd need new makeup.
And that would make it possible for her to face him.
She did have four hundred dollars left in the bank, and if she was going to jail, what the hell was she saving it for?
She knew she was talking herself into this, and that it was insane to spend her gun money on clothes.
All right, Dottie thought, clearing her head, another point in favor of getting dressed up to see him was that, if she looked good ⦠maybe she could get him to lower the price.
That ploy had worked on men for a millennium. Christ, it had worked for Cleopatra, for Helen of Troy, and Queen Isabella had gotten half a country out of it.
Of course, it hadnât worked for everybody.
Marie Antoinette came to mind.
No, that was too mercenary. And sheâd never been the kind of woman who either thought that was proper or thought she could actually get away with it, so that idea was out.
But if she spent the money, then she could see herself, in one of those Chanel-type suits that always made her look good, opening the door to the shopâshe imagined there would be a bell that would ring. And the moment she saw that certain look on his face, the openmouthed gaze, and watched his eyes and mind wander over her body â¦
Dottie felt a sad pain go through her. Her getting all dressed up wasnât about getting him to lower the price of a gun.
It was about him looking at her and then, once he looked at her, maybe heâd ⦠maybe heâd â¦
Stop her.
Every once in a while over the last day that thought had charged through her. For someone to give a damn enough to stop her.
The hell with it. If she was going to jail, she was going with her hair done.
She began walking quickly up Eighth Street. There was something calming about finally making up oneâs mind. She wasnât going to be stuck sitting on a bench in Washington Square park like a spectator in life.
She was going to have a wonderful day buying clothes and have her hair done and make herself feel as lovely as she could, like a female version of an ancient Greek warrior preparing himself for battle ⦠or possibly death.
And it was a battle she was fighting.
And once sheâd gotten her clothes
What if Arthur looked like that?
She shuddered.
That memory her being pressed against the car by him in the dark street, and how young and handsome he had been ⦠did she really want to see how old heâd gotten?
Maybe she could find someone to pick the gun up for her?
Could she trust Teresa with something like this?
It would maybe cost her another fifty.
She winced.
Maybe if she had Arthur wrap it up like a steak or something, maybe Teresa would â¦
And what if Teresa got caught?
If she wasnât popular with Teresa now ⦠she could see her with that mouth of hers being carted off to jail screaming and cursing the name Dorothy OâMalley Weist. No, if she wanted a gun, she was going to have to go pick it up herself.
That meant facing him.
Did she want him to see what she looked like these days? She stopped in front of a clothing boutique and stared at the odd garments in the window.
Clothes.
She couldnât show up in her old clothes. Sheâd lost so much weight in the hospital and kept it off with the silly exercises they had her doing with weights. They were supposed to build up her bone density or something. Her eyes looked at her reflection. She turned sideways. She stared at her hips and how the dress was belted tightly around her middle. It made her waist seem tiny.
No, she didnât look nineteen, but she had a pretty waist again and hips, and even her legs had gotten back some of their shape, and her skin had tightened up.
As a matter of fact, she looked good. Damned good.
She would need to buy a new outfit. Something light green or red. Red would put color in her face. Sheâd need new makeup.
And that would make it possible for her to face him.
She did have four hundred dollars left in the bank, and if she was going to jail, what the hell was she saving it for?
She knew she was talking herself into this, and that it was insane to spend her gun money on clothes.
All right, Dottie thought, clearing her head, another point in favor of getting dressed up to see him was that, if she looked good ⦠maybe she could get him to lower the price.
That ploy had worked on men for a millennium. Christ, it had worked for Cleopatra, for Helen of Troy, and Queen Isabella had gotten half a country out of it.
Of course, it hadnât worked for everybody.
Marie Antoinette came to mind.
No, that was too mercenary. And sheâd never been the kind of woman who either thought that was proper or thought she could actually get away with it, so that idea was out.
But if she spent the money, then she could see herself, in one of those Chanel-type suits that always made her look good, opening the door to the shopâshe imagined there would be a bell that would ring. And the moment she saw that certain look on his face, the openmouthed gaze, and watched his eyes and mind wander over her body â¦
Dottie felt a sad pain go through her. Her getting all dressed up wasnât about getting him to lower the price of a gun.
It was about him looking at her and then, once he looked at her, maybe heâd ⦠maybe heâd â¦
Stop her.
Every once in a while over the last day that thought had charged through her. For someone to give a damn enough to stop her.
The hell with it. If she was going to jail, she was going with her hair done.
She began walking quickly up Eighth Street. There was something calming about finally making up oneâs mind. She wasnât going to be stuck sitting on a bench in Washington Square park like a spectator in life.
She was going to have a wonderful day buying clothes and have her hair done and make herself feel as lovely as she could, like a female version of an ancient Greek warrior preparing himself for battle ⦠or possibly death.
And it was a battle she was fighting.
And once sheâd gotten her clothes
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