Air Time by Hank Phillippi Ryan Page A

If he did know about my side business, he’d probably try to take back the alimony checks. Such as they are. Anyway, are you finished in the bathroom?”
    Rule one rules. And has also provided me a way into Sally’s confidence and into purse world. “Oh, don’t I know it,” I say. I hold out my left hand, showing it’s ringless. “I’m in just the same boat. Men. The worst.”
    “I hear that, girlfriend,” she says. She eyes me. Up. And down.
    I don’t even flinch.
    “How does all this work, you wanted to know,” she says. “Why’d you want to know that?”
    “Oh, you know.” I try to make Elsa sound calculating but uncertain. “Money. You know. My guy left me with nothing. In fact, took most of what I had. You know.”
    “Poor thing,” she says, nodding. “And you like purses, huh? Like I do.”
    I look up and down the hall again, then put on a conspiratorial face. Now that we’re sisters in man-hating, perhaps she’ll think we can also be sisters in crime. “Can I—talk to you briefly? Go for coffee, maybe? Somewhere? I’m thinking maybe you could help me get started on my own.”
     
     
    “Yes, she’s meeting me here at the mall,” I explain to Franklin. I’m holding my cell with one hand, and with the other, I’m trying to jam sugar packets under the annoyingly uneven table at the food court in the Lee Discount Mall. My disgusting faux-latte from Coffee King has already almost tipped over several times. They can copy a complicated purse for cheap. Why is perfectly simple coffee so tough?
    “I told her I was interested in getting into the purse biz, and she seemed open to discussing it. So, we’ll see.” I sit back up and rescue my latte once again. Watching both ways down the halls of the bustling mall, I scout for Sally. She’s almost late.
    “I’ll see if I can get some kind of a lead from her, you know? Find out her source. Listen, anything new on Katie Harkins? Have you heard from Detective Yens?”
    “Nothing,” Franklin replies. “Are you on your cell? You’re breaking up. Just tell me, before I completely lose you. Did you get the shots? Purses?”
    “Yup. Can you hear me now? I got a great D-M copy, just like the ones we have, and the fakest Burberry you’ve ever seen. The place was a madhouse. Money out the wazoo.”
    “Did you get the money shots?”
    “Are you kidding me? You’re talking to the undercover queen.” Then, down by the entrance to Macy’s, I spot an unmistakable copper mop of curls. “She’s here,” I whisper to Franklin. “Bingo.”
    By the time Sally arrives at my table, my cell is tucked into my bag. My bag is sitting on a chair. The lens is carefully pointed right where I hoped Sally would sit.
    She yanks her chair to the right, right out of range. I scoot around, pretending to give her more room, moving my purse at the same time. She’s already in full sales pitch, a nonstop, slang-heavy staccato. I can’t record her audio of course, but this video could cover the part of our script that’ll say “One woman who admitted she’s made thousands of dollars selling counterfeit bags told us…”
    “Legal? We don’t even go there,” Sally is saying. “We’re talking purses, ya know? It’s not like we’re selling, I don’t know, guns or something. This is harmless, right? What’s a purse or two going to hurt?”
    “Sure,” I reply, playing along, remembering what Lattimer said. “That’s what I thought, too. And you know how it is, money and all. Anyway, I’m so glad you could meet me. Because, you know I was wondering…”
    I was actually wondering how one casually asks a person engaged in a criminal enterprise how you sign up to be part of it. Especially how you have that discussion in the center of a crowded discount mall, surrounded bybargain-hunting tourists and drooling babies and teenagers showing off their piercings. It seems outrageous. And, then, suddenly, I’m clutched by fear.
    What if Sally’s FBI? And they, of