Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel

by Bethany Maines

  Nikki hurried after Val, but found her way barred by a wide-armed white guy.

  “Overcapacity,” he muttered, and latched the velvet rope.

  “You’ve got to show more skin than that if you want to walk in, girlfriend,” said one of the girls in line. Nikki squinted again and realized that the girl wasn’t actually a girl. She wondered if the guy with “her” knew that. As “she” worked a fingersnap and a y’all into the conversation Nikki decided the she-male had obviously been watching too much American TV. Nikki pondered the linguistic and cultural implications of spreading American English across the globe. Hip-hop as the great cultural unifier. Then her prom queen brain caught up with her educational brain. She had just been called not hot! Admittedly, she was wearing capris instead of a miniskirt, but her shoes were still spiky and cute. And yeah, she wasn’t exactly revealing her nipples, but her tank top was still sparkly. She surveyed the American Thai guy-girl and took stock of her outfit.

  It was white vinyl. Nikki wasn’t down with that. She looked along the street, remembering the flash of silk dangling from the canopy of a shop. She jogged along the street, head swiveling from side to side.

  “Need a dress, miss?” said a man standing in front of a shop. “We make for you—done in a day.”

  “I need a skirt in five minutes,” said Nikki.

  “Twenty minutes?” he offered.

  “Really?” asked Nikki, startled.

  “Short skirt?”

  “OK,” Nikki agreed.

  “No problem,” he said with a wide grin, and held open the door.

  Fifteen minutes later Nikki exited the dress shop in a miniskirt and a coordinating halter top of Thai silk that precisely matched her shoes. Walking back up to Eden, she added an extra sway to her walk. No bouncer was going to put velvet ropes in front of her.

  The bouncer didn’t even pretend. He just pulled the rope open.

  “I’m with her,” said a deep voice as a heavy arm draped across her shoulders.

  All six-foot-something of Z’ev was standing beside her, big as life. Big as Canada. Nikki opened her mouth to speak, but Z’ev was already tucking money into the bouncer’s shirt and then they were walking into Eden. The last thing Nikki heard as the door closed was the “girl” in line.

  “Now, there ya go, honey!”

  “Stay here,” Z’ev said, pushing Nikki into an empty space next to the bar. He disappeared into the crowd, while Nikki looked open-mouthed after him. Val walked into her line of view and handed her a drink.

  “Where the hell have you been? And what happened to your clothes?”

  “I . . . I got stuck. Outside. I had a wardrobe malfunction.” She tried to think of a way to make a sentence out of Z’ev, but found she could think only in terms of one word or a paragraph.

  “Uh, OK, well, you’re in now. I’m going to go up onstage and see if I can spot any of our targets from there. You go hit the dance floor and see if you can find anyone.”

  “How are you going to get up onstage?”

  “I’m going to sing,” Val said, pointing to the stage where an Asian man was doing a fair job of “It Never Rains in Southern California” in front of a live band.

  “But it’s a band,” Nikki protested.

  “Yeah, they play, you sing. Karaoke, but better. Keep up here, Red.”

  “I’m trying,” Nikki said plaintively. “Really.”

  Val laughed. “Drink your drink and go find some sucker to dance with.”

  “Drink. Right.” Nikki took a gulp of her drink, batting away the paper umbrella that came with it.

  “Right,” Val agreed. “Now off I go.”

  Nikki took another gulp as she saw Z’ev walking toward her.

  “Good, you’re still here,” he said with a smile. He grabbed the drink out of her hand and finished it off in one long draft.

  “Yes, but what are you doing here?” she asked, recovering her power of speech.

  “Come on,” he said, sliding the empty glass onto the bar and taking her hand, leading her out onto the dance floor.

  “We’re not going out to dinner with a shipping magnate, are we?” asked Nikki, trying to sound casual.

  “Nice to be remembered. And it was lunch,” he corrected.

  “I’m not likely to forget my husband,” responded Nikki tartly. “And it was a late lunch at best. I didn’t get back till after five.”

  “Before five, it had to be lunch.”

  “Lunch happens around noon, and that isn’t the point.”

  “What is the point? Do you salsa?”

  “Not in a long time,” said Nikki with heat, as Val started to sing. Z’ev was avoiding her real question.

  “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl . . .” Val sang in a low throaty voice that suited Lola’s exploits.

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “Sort of,” Nikki answered, feeling bewildered as he pushed her into a salsa step.

  “That was more of a yes-or-no question,” he said.

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to bully someone just because you once shared a nonexistent marriage,” Nikki snapped, starting to become irritated.

  “It existed,” he protested. “It just wasn’t real.”

  “Funny,” said Nikki, “the arguing feels real.”

  Z’ev burst out laughing and gave her an underarm spin, before she could think of something else to say.

  Nikki hadn’t danced this way since college, and she appreciated Z’ev’s strong lead signals; they kept her going in the right direction. She was also singularly aware of the strength of his shoulder under her left hand.

  “Seriously, Nikki, what are you doing here?” he asked when they came back together.

  “With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there.” Val was having a great time.

  “What are you doing here?” responded Nikki, determined not to let him have things all his way.

  “Asked you first,” he answered. Nikki rolled her eyes. Were they really down to this already? Usually, it took at least three dates before her boyfriends reverted to grade school.

  “I’m here for work,” she replied.

  “No kidding? So am I!” Z’ev said in mock surprise.

  “Liar,” she said, as he spun her around.

  This entire meeting had an easy familiarity, and Nikki was secretly hoping it would end the same way as the last one. “Takes one to know one,” Z’ev said.

  “You know, if we’re going to get all fifth grade, you’d better watch it or I’ll smack you and run.”

  “Does that mean you like me?” Z’ev responded to the first statement, and then she saw a realization cross his face. “And you aren’t Canadian!”

  “I am so!” cried Nikki, slightly sensitive to her lack of true Canadian-ness. “Well, sort of. And, anyway, how would you know?”

  “Canadians say ‘grade five.’”

  “And I thought I was the linguist in the family.”

  “What about the passport? You had a Canadian passport and address.” His tone was sharp.

  Nikki looked up, startled. “I was born in Canada,” she said, stumbling over her words and feet a little. “But my mom’s from Washington. We keep the PO box to deal with my grandmere’s estate.”

  There was a pause while the conversation reset itself. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would be suspicious of her reappearance in his life.

  “And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar . . .” Val was rocking the Copa.

  “So you’re here in Bangkok for work. I take it you found a job?”

  “Yes. Well, it sort of found me. But so far I like it.”

  “Oh? What do you do?” He seemed skeptical.

  “Music and passion were always in fashion,” Val sang. The dance floor was packed. Barry Manilow was apparently a crowd favorite.

  Nikki smiled. She had a sudden memory of Cocktails class, dancing with Carmella as she asked the same question. Nikki had used nearly the same an
swer.

  “I work for an international charity that focuses on the problems of women in the third world. I’m attending a conference here in Thailand.”

  Z’ev’s expression hardened. “The South East Asian Women’s Health Conference?” he asked suspiciously. Nikki was so startled this time that she missed the beat and stepped on his foot.

  “Sorry. Yes, I’m presenting a speech on my company’s efforts to aid the tsunami recovery efforts. How’d you know?” she asked, regaining the rhythm.

  “It’s been well publicized,” he said, ignoring Valerie, Lola, and the Copacabana.

  “Well, what about you? What happened to that guy we went to lunch with?”

  She was about to press for more when a drunk couple stumbled into them from behind and pushed her against Z’ev. The shove was unexpected, but Z’ev reacted without hesitation. He simply tightened the arm around her waist, lifted her a few inches off the floor, and moved her out of the path of drunken destruction.

  “Sorry,” yelled the man over the music, and his partner giggled profusely.

  “That’s all right,” Z’ev answered with a smile, setting Nikki down, but still holding her close. He didn’t let go until the couple had moved safely off.

  “Those two are a menace,” Nikki said breathlessly, suddenly feeling shy.

  “You’re one to talk,” he said, looking down at her.

  “I told you I hadn’t done this in a while,” she said, feeling the start of a blush.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Nikki clapped as Lola drank herself into oblivion and Val took a bow. Z’ev was examining her critically, but after an inspection from Mrs. Boyer, Nikki thought she could handle a stare from a mere boy.

  “Nikki, we should talk about Canada, but not here and not now.”

  “Why not now?” she demanded.

  “I’m meeting someone, and I don’t have time to do this all properly. Just tell me where you’re staying and I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m not telling you anything. You’re going to tell me what the heck you were doing in Canada. If you think you can dance with me and then just disappear, you’ve got another think coming. Whoever you’re meeting can wait.”

  “Nikki, you don’t understand. You can’t be here. The guy I’m meeting is . . .”

  Nikki was about to interrupt when she scanned the crowd and saw, just over Z’ev’s shoulder, a familiar face lounging by the bar.

  “Jirair Sarkassian,” she said, suddenly realizing why Z’ev wanted her to leave. “He’s here.”

  “Shit,” said Z’ev, glancing over his shoulder. “He’s early. Come on.” He pushed her through the crowd and behind a pillar painted like a tree and decorated with a curving fiberglass snake. “Why’d you have to have red hair?” he complained.

  “Sorry,” Nikki said apologetically, and he laughed.

  “Well, I like it,” he said, kissing her forehead, “but it’s a little easy to spot. Where are you staying?”

  “The Mandarin,” said Nikki, too thrown off by the kiss to be anything but honest.

  “I’ll come see you tomorrow at six, but right now you need to get out of here. Wait here, and I’ll distract him. When he’s looking the other way, you beat feet for the exit. Got it?”

  “Uh, OK. Sure,” she said, but he was already heading away from her, his height and bulk easily parting the crowd. Nikki glanced over her shoulder up at the stage. Val was consulting with the bandleader. No help there. Nikki looked around wildly, looking for some sort of clue as to her next move.

  THAILAND IV

  Jump Around

  Nikki stood behind the column and sweated in her new halter top. It wasn’t just the heat, which was considerable; she was paralyzed with indecision. She didn’t want to mess things up for Z’ev, but she had to find Laura Daniels. She found herself wishing that Jenny or Ellen were present. Having friends along would have made this job so much simpler.

  A new song started and she looked up at the stage to find Val glaring at her. Val jerked her head to the left, and Nikki turned, trying to follow her clearly meaningful glare. She was about to turn back and gesture for more explicit glaring when she saw Laura Daniels leaning over the balcony on the second floor. Nikki looked across the dance floor to where Z’ev was bullying his way through the crowd to Sarkassian. Nikki sprinted up the stairs near the stage and pushed her way through the clubgoers until she reached the ambassador’s wife.

  “Mrs. Daniels!” she yelled above the music. “Laura!” She reached out and grabbed the woman’s arm.

  Laura jumped back, alarm filling her face. “Oh!” she said, placing one hand on her ample bosom in a swooning gesture of relief. “Oh, thank goodness!”

  “Mrs. Daniels, you shouldn’t have come here!”

  “I had to,” Laura said. “I had to find out what he’s doing.” She pointed down to the floor below. Nikki followed the line of the accusing finger and found it pointing at a broad dark-haired man with a wide jaw, a sneering, twisted mouth, and a profoundly ugly, bright purple shirt.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” Laura said, pointing more firmly. “The one you chased. I followed Amein here and I saw him give a CD to that man, and then Amein left. You’ve just missed him.”

  “Shit,” Nikki said, and she grabbed Mrs. Daniels’s emphatically gesturing hand, hoping it wouldn’t attract attention.

  Nikki squinted in disbelief as the man in the purple shirt waved to attract the attention of Jirair Sarkassian. As she watched, Sarkassian joined the first man, who promptly began to shout in his ear and pull him in the direction of the stairs, pointing upward. Nikki scanned the room, looking for Z’ev, and spotted him coming off the dance floor and cutting a straight line toward the two men. She saw Ugly Shirt gesture toward Z’ev, and Sarkassian’s head swiveled around, looking for the distinctive American. From her vantage point, she saw Sarkassian nod in understanding to whatever Ugly Shirt was saying, and equally clear was his quick jerk of the thumb, indicating that Ugly Shirt should leave. The strange pantomime finished as Z’ev arrived, his head turning to follow Ugly Shirt’s exit. Sarkassian and Z’ev did the man hug/chest bump, and Sarkassian led him to the stairs.

  “They’re coming this way,” gasped Laura in thrilled tones, reminding Nikki that her mission was not to investigate but to protect the woman next to her.

  “Yeah, I know,” said Nikki sourly.

  She started to drag Mrs. Daniels in the opposite direction, expecting the back stairs by the stage to be open. After that she would just have to grab Val, and it would be just a short dash to the emergency exit. But as they approached the stairs she found their way blocked by a wall of bouncers arguing with a contingent of drunken marines. Nikki backpedaled, looking for an escape. Z’ev and his companion were nearly at the top of the stairs.

  “This way,” said Laura, breaking away. She apparently had not grasped that she was being rescued.

  “No,” Nikki said, diving after her. She dodged the crowd streaming to watch the fight on the stairs, as Laura ran straight into a room marked PRIVATE. Nikki muttered a swear word under her breath and then went in after her.

  “Mrs. Daniels,” Nikki hissed, gently closing the door. “We’ve got to get out of here. Those men can’t see us.” The room was decorated in brightly colored velvets. Heavy drapes muffled the reverberating bass coming from outside the room. It was all very plush, and there was a bottle of champagne chilling. One wall was a two-way mirror that looked out onto the second-floor bar. Laura Daniels had managed to find the VIP lounge.

  “Call me Laura. And we have to be in here. I saw that other man come out of here earlier and I want to search it.”

  “What?” Nikki tried not to screech, but Laura’s stupidity shocked her. “If Sarkassian came out of here, just where do you think he’s heading now? They’re coming back here!”

  “Oh,” said Laura, her face going from excited to sober as she realized the truth of Nikki’s words. “I didn’t think of that. W
hat do we do?”

  Nikki opened the door a fraction and peered out onto the balcony. Z’ev and Sarkassian were stopped to watch the fight, but were still standing in clear view of the door.

  Keeping an eye fixed on the view outside the door, she flipped open her cell phone and thumbed a text message to Val. Then she turned her phone to Vibrate and tucked it into her waistband. It sounded as if the fight was starting to wind down, which meant she and Laura were running out of time. Nikki scanned the interior of the VIP lounge. A couch, two chairs, and a coffee table completed the furniture arrangement. No closets to hide in. No convenient back exits.

  “What do we do? asked Laura, wringing her hands and looking around the room and clearly arriving at the same assessment as to the number of exits. Nikki looked through the sliver of open door again. The two men were moving toward the private room.

  “We hide,” said Nikki. Quickly, she pulled the couch away from the wall, threw Laura on the floor, and shoved the couch nearly back into position. “Whatever you do, don’t move,” she hissed. With barely a second to spare, she pulled the heavy velvet drapes away from the wall and ducked behind them herself. She tried to flatten herself against the wall and look as fabric-y as possible.

  The door opened. Nikki heard the immediate hubbub of the club as well as the voices of the men as they entered.

  “Look,” Z’ev said, “if you’re going to take these last-minute trips, I just wish you’d tell me. There’s a lot of international pressure right now, and I can’t protect your interests to the best of my ability if I don’t know where you are.”