eye contact—”
“What am I, a Web site?” The girl blinked spiderlike eyelashes. “You people come in wanting to know all this stuff, you could at least buy some clothes.”
Fredreeq put her hand on her heart. “Oh, are these
clothes?
I thought they were something that fell off the space shuttle. You know, sweetie, frown lines are not as sexy as you probably think. Another ten years and a laser’s going to have to remove those.”
I pulled Fredreeq to the door. “Why do you want to meet Kim Karmer?” I asked. “Is it even kosher for me to talk to another contestant?”
Fredreeq pointed at Robinson-May and made a beeline for the cosmetic counter. “The question is, Who else wants to know about Kim Karmer? What did that twit mean by ‘you people’? This fits my saboteur theory. Vegas is backing Savannah Brook to win the vote, and they’re nosing around you and Kim to come up with some dirt. It’s exactly like politics.”
I pondered this at the Clinique counter, while Fredreeq tried out lip crayons. It seemed so unlikely that the tall enigmatic man from Hot Aloo was haunting the mall, questioning surly salespeople. He was too . . . what?
What was it about him that so intrigued me? Aside from our odd conversation.
I was still pondering this when Fredreeq, now trying out powder blush on my face, looked back out at the mall. “Let’s go,” she said, eyes wide. I turned to see two men in leather jackets walking purposefully toward us from Plastique Boutique. They were not smiling.
“Come on.” Fredreeq took my arm and led me farther into Robinson-May, steering us behind a clothes rack. We watched the men go past, then we doubled back and out into the mall. Fredreeq’s fear was infectious, and I was tempted to break into a run.
We hurried past the movie theater and a seemingly endless number of stores devoted to children and babies, looking over our shoulders every fifteen seconds. We were nearing Nordstrom’s when I saw them, gaining on us. We did run then. Fredreeq, who does in heels things I couldn’t do barefoot, set a good pace. We flew through Nordstrom’s and down a passageway that overlooked Pico Boulevard. I was utterly lost now, but Fredreeq knows her malls. Eventually we were in a bookstore, racing down an escalator. A café within the bookstore was to our right, and on impulse I took Fredreeq’s hand and led her through the waist-high gate that separated customers from café workers.
We crouched behind a glass bakery case, face to face with soft pretzels, cheesecake, and Rice Krispies Treats. A green-aproned man came through a swinging door from the back room, but we were more concerned with our pursuers, rushing down the escalator. When they reached our level, they paused. Then, with teamlike precision, one took off into the book aisles, the other circling to another down escalator.
“May I help you?” the café man asked.
“No, just hiding, thanks,” I said.
And then we were out of there, back up the escalator to the third floor, retracing our steps back to Robinson-May. To the parking structure. Freedom.
“So who were they?” I asked, sitting in Fredreeq’s Volvo, with the doors locked. She started up her car, preparing to drive me to mine. The good news was that Westside Pavilion parking is so labyrinthine, you can barely find your own car without a map, let alone someone else’s. Still, we were scared.
“Goons,” Fredreeq said. “Thugs. I didn’t want them messing up your face; that’s all I care about.” She dabbed her own forehead with a tissue. “Maybe they work for Kim Karmer or maybe Kim’s boutique homies are in league with the Savannah Brook campaign, but either way . . . I went there to do an info share with Kim Karmer, but forget that now. Now she’s on her own. She might be the enemy or she might be the friend of the enemy, but either way, this is war and she’s going to go down.”
Go down. It was a phrase I’d heard twice in twelve hours. It
“What am I, a Web site?” The girl blinked spiderlike eyelashes. “You people come in wanting to know all this stuff, you could at least buy some clothes.”
Fredreeq put her hand on her heart. “Oh, are these
clothes?
I thought they were something that fell off the space shuttle. You know, sweetie, frown lines are not as sexy as you probably think. Another ten years and a laser’s going to have to remove those.”
I pulled Fredreeq to the door. “Why do you want to meet Kim Karmer?” I asked. “Is it even kosher for me to talk to another contestant?”
Fredreeq pointed at Robinson-May and made a beeline for the cosmetic counter. “The question is, Who else wants to know about Kim Karmer? What did that twit mean by ‘you people’? This fits my saboteur theory. Vegas is backing Savannah Brook to win the vote, and they’re nosing around you and Kim to come up with some dirt. It’s exactly like politics.”
I pondered this at the Clinique counter, while Fredreeq tried out lip crayons. It seemed so unlikely that the tall enigmatic man from Hot Aloo was haunting the mall, questioning surly salespeople. He was too . . . what?
What was it about him that so intrigued me? Aside from our odd conversation.
I was still pondering this when Fredreeq, now trying out powder blush on my face, looked back out at the mall. “Let’s go,” she said, eyes wide. I turned to see two men in leather jackets walking purposefully toward us from Plastique Boutique. They were not smiling.
“Come on.” Fredreeq took my arm and led me farther into Robinson-May, steering us behind a clothes rack. We watched the men go past, then we doubled back and out into the mall. Fredreeq’s fear was infectious, and I was tempted to break into a run.
We hurried past the movie theater and a seemingly endless number of stores devoted to children and babies, looking over our shoulders every fifteen seconds. We were nearing Nordstrom’s when I saw them, gaining on us. We did run then. Fredreeq, who does in heels things I couldn’t do barefoot, set a good pace. We flew through Nordstrom’s and down a passageway that overlooked Pico Boulevard. I was utterly lost now, but Fredreeq knows her malls. Eventually we were in a bookstore, racing down an escalator. A café within the bookstore was to our right, and on impulse I took Fredreeq’s hand and led her through the waist-high gate that separated customers from café workers.
We crouched behind a glass bakery case, face to face with soft pretzels, cheesecake, and Rice Krispies Treats. A green-aproned man came through a swinging door from the back room, but we were more concerned with our pursuers, rushing down the escalator. When they reached our level, they paused. Then, with teamlike precision, one took off into the book aisles, the other circling to another down escalator.
“May I help you?” the café man asked.
“No, just hiding, thanks,” I said.
And then we were out of there, back up the escalator to the third floor, retracing our steps back to Robinson-May. To the parking structure. Freedom.
“So who were they?” I asked, sitting in Fredreeq’s Volvo, with the doors locked. She started up her car, preparing to drive me to mine. The good news was that Westside Pavilion parking is so labyrinthine, you can barely find your own car without a map, let alone someone else’s. Still, we were scared.
“Goons,” Fredreeq said. “Thugs. I didn’t want them messing up your face; that’s all I care about.” She dabbed her own forehead with a tissue. “Maybe they work for Kim Karmer or maybe Kim’s boutique homies are in league with the Savannah Brook campaign, but either way . . . I went there to do an info share with Kim Karmer, but forget that now. Now she’s on her own. She might be the enemy or she might be the friend of the enemy, but either way, this is war and she’s going to go down.”
Go down. It was a phrase I’d heard twice in twelve hours. It
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