an awesome cashmere turtleneck sweater. If I pulled it up over my mouth, between the hat and the sweater, my face would basically be covered . . . I could do this!
“Fine,” I said, throwing my shoulders back, ready to dive into the Fourth Circle of Dante’s Inferno. That would be the Circle of Greed. I had turned into a whore. I was risking jail time to make thirty thousand dollars because I needed a car, and I was terrified of a woman sporting bowling balls on her chest.
I grabbed the package out of her hands, picked up my bag, and turned to leave, only to find Cecil-Jeeves blocking my way.
“I’ll take it, Rena,” he squeaked out in his prepubescent voice. “You stay here.”
I knew this game. I had a sister. He was so not going to get out of butt gland land by pretending to be concerned about my mysterious stress at going to the news station.
“Absolutely not,” Evangeline spat, giving Cecil a hostile glare. He immediately shrank back and lowered his eyes. “Ruthie is going and I will hear no more about it.” Her face was a glowering mask of rage. I had never seen anything so frighteningly unattractive in my life. This was the weirdest place ever . . . and I knew weird.
“Take her to the powder room to change,” she seethed, “and do not speak to her. Do you understand me, Kato?”
“Yes,” he whispered, appearing scared out of his gourd.
I was completely confused about their relationship. I’d thought he was her bodyguard and possible lover, but he now seemed more like a servant. A horribly treated houseboy with a plethora of butler names. I found myself feeling sorry for him, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. He gently took my arm and led me away. I went into the powder room to change and when I came out he was gone. Everyone was gone. I checked myself in one of the many full-length mirrors placed around the foyer and was pleased with what I saw. My super cute plaid woolen miniskirt looked hot with my tight black turtleneck. My knee-high black boots made the outfit kick-ass, not that anybody would see it . . . I planned on staying very covered up the entire trip.
Glancing around the pink hellhole, I wondered again what I’d gotten myself into. No time for thinking . . . I grabbed my purse and the package and headed out to do one of the stupidest and most illegal things I’d knowingly ever done.
Chapter 5
T he WMNS lobby was nuts, people everywhere . . . like Grand Central Station, but that was a good thing. More people, less chance of being noticed. Several businessmen in suits glanced curiously at me, some with pity at my obvious lack of fashion sense. If I got one more gawk, I was going to lift my middle finger. Shit, that’s probably not in my best interest. Do not draw attention . . . I suppose the hat-turtleneck-face-covering style statement was a little unusual. I wrestled a tiny bit with my vanity. I knew I looked like a freak, but the choice between fashion victim and inmate was a no-brainer.
The sickeningly familiar lobby was enormous. The ceiling rose about five stories up and a fountain dominated the center of the room. Very modern, very stark. Not very Minnesota. There were two fancy restaurants and a coffee shop that was kind of a dive. I quickly hustled past the coffee shop. I knew all the guys who worked there. We’d become buds during my monthlong disastrous attempt to become the Sunshine Weather Girl. They were the cutest, hairiest little men I’d ever had the pleasure to know. My buddies had been pulling for me to get the job and were possibly more devastated than I was at my arrest. All I needed was for one of them to run out here, recognize me, and scream my name. There was a gymnastics meet going on in my stomach and my mouth felt like the Sahara Dessert.
I could do this . . . head down, deliver package, get receipt, get the fuck out. The receipt part was worrisome; I didn’t want to make eye contact. In the car on the way over I practiced accents. My New York
“Fine,” I said, throwing my shoulders back, ready to dive into the Fourth Circle of Dante’s Inferno. That would be the Circle of Greed. I had turned into a whore. I was risking jail time to make thirty thousand dollars because I needed a car, and I was terrified of a woman sporting bowling balls on her chest.
I grabbed the package out of her hands, picked up my bag, and turned to leave, only to find Cecil-Jeeves blocking my way.
“I’ll take it, Rena,” he squeaked out in his prepubescent voice. “You stay here.”
I knew this game. I had a sister. He was so not going to get out of butt gland land by pretending to be concerned about my mysterious stress at going to the news station.
“Absolutely not,” Evangeline spat, giving Cecil a hostile glare. He immediately shrank back and lowered his eyes. “Ruthie is going and I will hear no more about it.” Her face was a glowering mask of rage. I had never seen anything so frighteningly unattractive in my life. This was the weirdest place ever . . . and I knew weird.
“Take her to the powder room to change,” she seethed, “and do not speak to her. Do you understand me, Kato?”
“Yes,” he whispered, appearing scared out of his gourd.
I was completely confused about their relationship. I’d thought he was her bodyguard and possible lover, but he now seemed more like a servant. A horribly treated houseboy with a plethora of butler names. I found myself feeling sorry for him, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. He gently took my arm and led me away. I went into the powder room to change and when I came out he was gone. Everyone was gone. I checked myself in one of the many full-length mirrors placed around the foyer and was pleased with what I saw. My super cute plaid woolen miniskirt looked hot with my tight black turtleneck. My knee-high black boots made the outfit kick-ass, not that anybody would see it . . . I planned on staying very covered up the entire trip.
Glancing around the pink hellhole, I wondered again what I’d gotten myself into. No time for thinking . . . I grabbed my purse and the package and headed out to do one of the stupidest and most illegal things I’d knowingly ever done.
Chapter 5
T he WMNS lobby was nuts, people everywhere . . . like Grand Central Station, but that was a good thing. More people, less chance of being noticed. Several businessmen in suits glanced curiously at me, some with pity at my obvious lack of fashion sense. If I got one more gawk, I was going to lift my middle finger. Shit, that’s probably not in my best interest. Do not draw attention . . . I suppose the hat-turtleneck-face-covering style statement was a little unusual. I wrestled a tiny bit with my vanity. I knew I looked like a freak, but the choice between fashion victim and inmate was a no-brainer.
The sickeningly familiar lobby was enormous. The ceiling rose about five stories up and a fountain dominated the center of the room. Very modern, very stark. Not very Minnesota. There were two fancy restaurants and a coffee shop that was kind of a dive. I quickly hustled past the coffee shop. I knew all the guys who worked there. We’d become buds during my monthlong disastrous attempt to become the Sunshine Weather Girl. They were the cutest, hairiest little men I’d ever had the pleasure to know. My buddies had been pulling for me to get the job and were possibly more devastated than I was at my arrest. All I needed was for one of them to run out here, recognize me, and scream my name. There was a gymnastics meet going on in my stomach and my mouth felt like the Sahara Dessert.
I could do this . . . head down, deliver package, get receipt, get the fuck out. The receipt part was worrisome; I didn’t want to make eye contact. In the car on the way over I practiced accents. My New York
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