Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel

by Bethany Maines

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” said Val. “I’ve always said I could beat that time.”

  “You’ve also been saying for years that you wouldn’t mind working with someone if she didn’t slow you down.” Mrs. Merrivel was jotting a few things down in her planner, apparently divorced from the entire argument, except for the fact that she was a main participant.

  “So she can jump through a few hoops. It doesn’t mean she can do the work.”

  “She’s passed all of her tests, Valerie. I believe that it is the general purpose of those tests to prove that she can do the work.”

  Valerie made a snorting noise of disbelief and left the sanctuary of the windowsill long enough to scoop up her pack of cigarettes from the desk, before retreating to the window to renew the complex rite of lighting a cigarette. By the time she exhaled the first lungful of smoke, she had apparently reached a decision.

  “All right, I’ll give her a try.”

  “Well, that’s all settled, then,” said Mrs. M, smiling. “I believe Lillian has some new details for you on the smuggling case you’ve been working on. You should give her a call when we’re done here. She’s expecting Nikki as well, so don’t worry about that. You won’t mind having her stay with you until she finds a place, will you?” Mrs. M didn’t wait for Val to reply, but turned her full attention to Nikki. “Val will take you into town and get you geared up. They will fill you in on everything at the office. I look forward to seeing your progress.” Mrs. Merrivel stood up and extended her hand to Nikki. Nikki shook it, but was at a loss for what to do next. Val walked to the door.

  “Um, thank you,” said Nikki, barely avoiding making it into a question, and Mrs. M smiled and added a quick hug.

  “Good luck,” she said. “To the both of you,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

  Already walking down the hall, Val gave a half wave without turning around. Nikki gave a last smile to Mrs. M and then followed Val out of the office.

  CALIFORNIA XII

  Killer Queen

  Nikki lugged her backpack downstairs and hugged Mr. M goodbye. Valerie was standing on the porch silhouetted by the sunshine streaming through the open front door.

  “Don’t mind Val,” Mr. M whispered to Nikki. “She’s stubborn, but stick to your guns and she’ll respect you.” Nikki nodded and trudged toward her future.

  She stopped next to Val and heaved her backpack up onto one shoulder. Six months of training had only added to its contents, and now it seemed to bulge at the seams. Staring out at the immaculate green vista of the Merrivels’ lawn, Val stood ritually smacking her soft pack of cigarettes against the palm of one hand. Eventually, she gave the pack a shake, ejecting one cigarette from the hole at the top, and lit up.

  “Sorry if it sounded like I didn’t want you in there,” she said, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. “But you have to argue. If you don’t argue they think they can always have everything their own way. And we don’t want that.” Val fixed Nikki with a keen eye and added a ghost of a smile.

  Nikki smiled tentatively back.

  “Come on,” Val said. “We’ve got places to be.”

  She led the way to a sky blue Chevy Impala convertible. Nikki stared at the car in surprise. It wasn’t the car she would have imagined for Valerie. Although, now that she’d seen them together, she really couldn’t imagine anything else that would fit.

  “Nice car,” she said, offering a sincere compliment.

  “1967 Chevy Impala. It’s a piece of shit, but it attracts guys. I’m thinking of trading it in.”

  “Oh,” said Nikki, not sure what to do with any of that information. She looked at the car again. She had never really thought of a vehicle in terms of attracting men.

  “You coming?” asked Valerie, the door open, one foot in the car.

  “Yeah, coming,” said Nikki, breaking from her contemplation of the car. “I’ve been wanting to ask you,” she said, gathering her courage as the car crunched down the gravel drive. “Is your name really Mrs. Robinson?”

  Valerie laughed, throwing her head back and releasing the sound from her gut. “I got two things out of that marriage, Red,” she said. “A really excellent name and a cat that pisses in my shoes. But you might as well call me Val. I’ve never really understood the Carrie Mae obsession with proper titles.”

  “It does seem anachronistic,” said Nikki, and then she remembered the rest of Val’s statement. “So a cat that pees in your shoes . . . I take it we’re going shoe shopping then?”

  The wind whipped Val’s hair into her face and she gave a slightly surprised smile.

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “Nope,” said Nikki. “But my sponsor in Shoe Shoppers Anonymous might.”

  Valerie drove downhill, passing neighborhood parks and cul-de-sac turnoffs. Every yard was green, displaying the owner’s ability to pay a ludicrous water bill. The houses got smaller as they drove down, though not any less nice. The stucco was pristine, and the tile roofs were all in an orderly gentleman-rancher red.

  “How’d you beat my time on the final?” Val asked abruptly.

  “I got lucky.”

  “Huh,” Val said, giving Nikki a narrow-eyed stare. She lapsed into silence and they drove on farther, finally approaching the mall on Magic Mountain Parkway.

  “It’s hard to take a street named after an amusement park seriously,” said Nikki, staring at the street sign.

  Val chuckled. “That’s California for you. If it makes money, it must be important. They aren’t very original about things like names. This is Town Center Mall. See what I mean?”

  The mall had been laid out in an architect’s rendition of a small-town center. One of the roads was even called Town Center Drive. The architect hadn’t wanted anyone to miss his vision. Like the streets, it was very clean. Nikki couldn’t help feeling it was a little too clean.

  “Is it just me or are the Stepford Wives going to come and get us?” she asked, as Valerie pulled the car into an angled parking slot.

  “Yeah, I know,” Valerie said, getting out and feeding quarters into the meter. “It’s kind of like it ought to have a sign that says, DECORATING BY THE GAP, with all their built-in bits of ‘flair’ and ‘ethnic character.’ But they do have a Nordstrom’s, and that means shoes. I mean it’s not Rodeo Drive and they don’t sell any Manolos, but shoes are shoes, even in the boonies.”

  Valerie led the way into the obviously new Nordstrom’s building, and Nikki was glad she was wearing her “nice” outfit. Nordstrom’s clerks were notoriously snobby to the poorly dressed. Nikki had once asked a perfume lady about a particular scent and had been answered with “We don’t sell that perfume. Maybe you should try Kmart.” Since then, Nikki had been slightly paranoid about shopping there.

  “So,” Valerie said, modeling a pair of beige snakeskin stilettos in a foot mirror, “how’d you get to be Mrs. Merrivel’s pet?”

  “What?” Nikki exclaimed, stopping with a foot halfway into a pair of brown patchwork leather boots. The boots had a thick, nearly platform sole, and Nikki had been considering what she would wear them with before Val had made her egregiously incorrect statement about Nikki’s status.

  “Oh come on, Red,” Val said with acerbity. “Never kid a kidder. You are staying at her house and you started training late. Someone did some serious sucking up.”

  “I did not!” Nikki protested.

  “And hey,” continued Val, “you got partnered with me. And trust me, that’s not normal.”

  “That doesn’t mean she likes me,” Nikki said.

  Val laughed. “OK, you’ve got a point. In that case, what’d you do to piss her off?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Nikki mumbled, blushing scarlet.

  The sales clerk arrived, carrying a stack of boxes. “I want these in a size smaller,” Valerie said, handing him the stilettos. The clerk disappeared again.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” Nikki said when the clerk was out of h
earing range.

  “She’s not your godmother or anything? Not childhood chums with your mum? You didn’t graduate from the same finishing school or something?”

  “I went to public school,” said Nikki. “I never met Mrs. Merrivel before . . .”

  “Before what?” asked Val, stopping to stare at a woman who was browsing too close for her comfort. After a few agonizing moments of scrutiny, the shopper hurried out of the shoe department.

  “Before the Carrie Mae recruiting speech,” Nikki said, happily skipping the entire Canada issue.

  “Huh,” Val said, pulling on a pair of boots similar to the ones Nikki had discarded. Nikki thought they looked better on Val. “What about her friend?”

  “What friend?” Nikki looked up and found Val watching her through skeptical eyes. Nikki returned the look with the ease of the completely uninformed.

  “She’s up to something,” Val said.

  “Mrs. Merrivel’s friend?” Nikki was lost.

  Val rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Merrivel, you dope. The woman makes Machiavelli look like a used car salesman when it comes to scheming. I know she’s up to something. I just don’t know what. She didn’t tell you anything?”

  “I don’t think she’s up to anything,” protested Nikki. “She didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say anything to you if I were her, either,” Val said, flopping down into a chair and unzipping the boots.

  Nikki pulled on a pair of white espadrille sandals with a wedge heel and lace-up straps that wrapped around her ankle and considered how to respond.

  “Personally,” Val said, leaning back and flexing her perfectly pedicured toes, “I think she’s angling for Lillian’s job.”

  “Who’s Lillian?” asked Nikki.

  “Dr. Lillian Hastings, director of the West Coast branch. She and Miranda have been enemies for longer than you’ve been alive probably, but it wasn’t a problem until Miranda got assigned to overhaul the training program on the West Coast. Lillian was not amused.”

  “And you think Mrs. M wants to be the West Coast Director? I don’t see how I could help with that.” Nikki frowned thoughtfully at the espadrilles, pleased at how thin they made her ankles look.

  “Neither do I,” Val agreed. “You should get those,” she said, pointing at the espadrilles. “They look really cute on you.”

  “I already have a pair of wedges,” said Nikki sadly. “What I really need are some stylish sneakers or some sort of flat. I don’t really like flats. I’m so short, I think they make me look like I’m going to visit Snow White, but if we’re going out on a mission, then I need some sort of shoe I can run in.”

  “Mission shoes,” Val said, nodding. “Here, try these.” She held a pair of black sneakerish-looking things. Black, mesh, and low to the ground, the shoes were exactly what Nikki had had in mind, and she eagerly pulled them on before she caught sight of the price tag.

  “Haven’t got the cash,” she said, reluctantly putting them back in the box.

  Val tossed the boots into their box as the clerk returned with another stack of shoes. “We’re done,” she announced, as the clerk put down the load of shoes. “We want these.” She pointed to the stilettos. “And these.” She pointed to the sneakers.

  “No, no, I can’t . . .” Nikki began, but Val cut her off.

  “Sure, you can. My treat. Call it my good deed for the decade.”

  The sun was setting outside the mall, painting everything in dusty California gold. Even the Town Center Plaza and the “happy” mother and dancing children statues managed to look good in that light.

  “Are you going to tell Dr. Hastings?” Nikki asked.

  “Tell her what?”

  “That you think I’m part of some sort of plot to take over her job,” said Nikki meekly.

  “Why would I do that?” Val retorted. “It’s none of my business. Lillian can look after her own job without me. Besides, unless you’re holding out on some information, then there really isn’t any proof, is there?”

  Nikki shook her head, and they walked in silence toward the parking garage. Just as Nikki was formulating some sort of lame small talk, Val’s phone erupted into “Another One Bites the Dust.”

  Nikki hummed along as Val pulled out her phone and checked out the Caller ID. She grimaced, but flipped open the phone.

  “Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go,” Nikki sang under her breath.

  “Yeah?” barked Val, walking away. Nikki dropped her shopping bag into the backseat of the convertible and leaned against the side of the car, still humming the tune.

  A few moments later, Val slapped the phone shut, frowning thoughtfully. “Looks like Mrs. Merrivel’s serious about this,” she said, returning to the car.

  Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this?

  “Serious about what?” asked Nikki, getting in.

  Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?

  “We are going on a mission,” Val said with a grin. “It’s time to go to work.”

  Nikki gulped and clicked her seat belt shut as Val revved the engine and threw the Impala into Drive.

  CALIFORNIA XIII

  Wonderland:

  Red Square

  The trip to the office was accomplished in silence, except for an occasional burst of road rage from Val. They finally screeched to a stop in front of a glass-faced office building. Light shone out into the darkening evening with a warm, sparkling glow.

  They entered the gracious indoor plaza through a revolving door. Nikki stared around in wonder. It was a movie set version of a perfect office: Lights poured through the sparkling clean glass onto a green area, a tinkling water feature, and sculptures. People bustled everywhere, looking well-dressed and important.

  “What is this place?”

  “Well, officially,” said Val, “it’s listed as the West Coast headquarters of the Carrie Mae Foundation.”

  “What is it unofficially?”

  “Oh, well, unofficially it’s the West Coast headquarters of the Carrie Mae Foundation. The first three floors belong to the foundation’s official functions—fund-raising, relief organization, et cetera. But the upper floors and the basement are all ours. It’s a new building. We just moved in about six months ago.”

  Valerie headed for the elevators and Nikki trotted after her, trying not to stare at people. Val went to the end elevator, and pressed the Up arrow, holding her thumb on the button longer than Nikki thought she had to.

  “Fingerprint scanner,” Val said. “The elevator won’t open if you’re not in the system.” The doors slid apart. Val stepped inside with Nikki close behind and punched the button for the eighth floor. The elevator rose eight floors and stopped, but didn’t open. Val appeared unperturbed by this and opened up the emergency phone panel. She lifted the red phone to her ear and said, “All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.”

  Nikki was about to comment on the poetry when the elevator opened onto a charmingly decorated waiting room.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Robinson, Dr. Hastings will be out in a moment,” said the girl at the desk. “Will you and your guest please sign in?”

  Valerie walked to the desk and signed in. Nikki had just signed the clipboard when a woman came out to meet them. She was a tall woman with perfectly coifed auburn hair and a dancer’s aristocratic posture. A brilliant russet scarf was draped elegantly across her shoulders, and she wore her Anne Klein suit with an easy grace.

  “Valerie, good afternoon,” the woman said, walking forward and embracing Val. “And you must be Nikki. I’m Lillian Hastings. I’m sure we’re all pleased to welcome you to the team.” Dr. Hastings’s cool smile, coupled with Val’s previous assessment of the politics of the situation, gave Nikki the impression that the woman was less than pleased with her presence. Nikki smiled back, trying to look innocuous. She wished she had Val’s ability to stand around looking like the whole point of a setting was to display her, but sh
e knew she’d be more comfortable blending into the background.

  “Jane’s team has been setting up the conference call,” said Dr. Hastings. “I believe they’re set up in room six, if you’re ready?” Without waiting for any assenting comments, Dr. Hastings turned and led the way into the maze of Carrie Mae. Eventually they were led into a well-lit conference room, where another of Carrie Mae’s seemingly endless supply of bright, competent Ladies was putting file folders on the table next to empty chairs.

  “Good evening,” said the girl, focusing on the women as they entered. Nikki noticed that she was wearing an earpiece that wrapped around her ear so that she looked like some sort of cyborg. “The video conference call will begin as soon as we make contact. Background information is available in the folders on the table.” Her gaze stopped focusing and her hand traveled up to her earpiece. “That’s affirmative. Go ahead with the two-forty-two.”

  “What am I looking at, Jane?” Val asked, ignoring the interjection of numbers into the conversation and taking a chair. She pulled the file folder toward her, and Nikki followed suit, but was distracted by Jane’s shirt and never made it to the contents of the folder.

  Jane wore a T-shirt that bore the words THE MORE YOU DISAPPROVE, THE MORE FUN IT IS FOR ME. She had officed-up her ensemble with a black blazer over a short plaid skirt and tights in a kind of classy punk look that Nikki had always envied but had never been able to pull off.

  “Jane, why don’t you start at the beginning, for Nikki’s sake?” asked Lillian, interrupting Nikki’s train of thought. “Unless you’ve already been briefed on all of this, Nikki?” There was an icy vindictiveness underlying the older woman’s tone, and Nikki smiled nervously.

  “No, I haven’t covered anything,” she said.

  “Very well, Jane, proceed,” responded Lillian, but she didn’t seem any happier.

  Jane’s eyes tilted up, fixing Dr. Hastings with a bright-eyed stare. Then she nodded, her full Bettie Page bangs bouncing slightly. Nikki felt a swell of envy for such well-behaved hair. She watched as Dr. Hastings read Jane’s T-shirt and tightened the muscles around her mouth so that her lips flattened out in a disapproving straight line.