Party Crashers by Stephanie Bond Page A

comfortable in dark colors.”
    “Comfortable isn’t fun,” Carlotta fussed, stepping onto the up escalator. “You’re too young to be comfortable.”
    Jolie pursed her mouth. “Those shoes you gave to Michael—were they the same shoes you were wearing last night?”
    Carlotta’s mouth twitched, then she nodded. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”
    “No. But why risk it?”
    “It’s fun ,” Carlotta said. “You’re going to have to add that word to your vocabulary. F-U-N, fun.”
    “Fun, like the party crashing?”
    “Exactly. I get to wear fabulous shoes, the shoes get exposure—a dozen women asked me where I got them. I bring the shoes back, someone comes in to buy them, everybody wins.” She lifted her arms to underscore the brilliance of her logic.
    “How do you keep them looking so new?”
    A sly smile curved her wide mouth. “I have my little tricks—I tape the bottoms so they don’t get scarred up, and I leave in the cardboard stays so the leather doesn’t crease.”
    “That can’t be comfortable.”
    “Like I said, comfortable isn’t fun.”
    Jolie marveled at the woman’s aplomb. As she followed her to the cool, hushed area of the fitting rooms, she observed that Carlotta’s entire bearing was stamped with self-assurance. People turned to look at her, stepped aside so she wouldn’t have to. Her hair was loose and flowing today, a dark curtain down her back. Far from classically beautiful, she had more presence than a roomful of models…yet she was enigmatically single, irresistibly aloof.
    Carlotta led her to a spacious dressing room with lush carpet, and pointed to an upholstered chaise. “There. Lie down and take a nap. I’ll come back in thirty minutes.”
    “Are you sure I won’t get you into trouble?” Jolie asked, looking at the chaise with longing.
    “I’m sure,” Carlotta said with a laugh. “Besides, you’re no good to Michael if you’re dead on your feet. There’s the light switch—get some rest.”
    She closed the door and Jolie hesitated only a few seconds before extinguishing the light and feeling her way toward the chaise. She removed her jacket and stepped out of her shoes, then eased onto the plump surface, reveling in the coolness of the smooth fabric against her skin. She turned on her back and exhaled slowly, flexing her feet to stretch her twitching leg muscles, then relaxed into the softness. Heaven. She closed her eyes to allow the haze of exhaustion to lull her into semiconsciousness, but her mind fought her body’s need for rest.
    The events of the past few days rose to haunt her, racing through her brain, merging and morphing until Gary had turned into a monster. He was taunting her, laughing at her fear of what lay beneath the surface of the brown, foamy Chattahoochee River, strapping her into the passenger seat of his car, then sending her rolling downhill into the water. First she was floating, then the water rose higher and higher, pulling at her clothes. She tried to free herself, but her arms were pinned to her sides. She was going to drown. A tremendous hatred for Gary seized her…until she turned her head to see him strapped in the driver’s seat, also trapped. His eyes were big, apologetic, innocent…
    Jolie jerked awake, the sheen of perspiration cool on her brow and neck. She inhaled deeply to relieve her squeezed lungs and to slow her elevated heartbeat. Closing her eyes, she wondered how long she’d been asleep—five minutes? An hour? She didn’t care, she just wanted to lie there for a few more minutes in the blessed dark.
    Voices came to her, agitated and low…threatening. Slowly she recognized one of the voices as Carlotta’s. She was arguing…with a man.
    “—ever come here again, I’ll call the police.”
    “Do that, Lottie . I’m sure the people you work with would be interested…”
    Jolie sat up and scooted closer to the wall, where their voices were being funneled through an air vent.
    “— dare