by Connor, Eden
“Not exactly. I went with him last night to get his hair cut. She showed me a picture of this style.” Amy raked her fingers through her hair, taking another look in the full-length mirror.
“He’s all candy coating, of course. Yummy on the outside, nothing on the inside.” Before she could think of a response, Tina ordered, “Strip. When you’re curvy, foundation is essential.”
“Foundation?” To Amy, that was a construction term. Dani used the same word. Why would Tina talk about makeup? She blinked.
“Undergarments. And as of now, no more bikinis. Ever.” Tina wrinkled her nose and ticked off her words on her fingers. “Tap pants, boy shorts, waist-high panties, even briefs are allowed and are attractive,”—she shook her finger in Amy’s face—“but when you’re built like you, never, ever, wear bikinis. Draws the eye to the least flattering place possible. We’ll go from there, once you’ve been fitted.” Tina stabbed a manicured nail at a pile of lingerie hanging on a hook Amy hadn’t noticed. “Eric loves to buy lingerie for his women. Spend his money, since he’s parked on a big old pile of it at the moment. But you need one decent bra to try on these dresses.”
Her heart sank. She hadn’t expected to have to buy underwear. Her savings was going to be gone before she ever got her foot in the mall manager’s door. Life would be easier if she could just empty her money into Gene’s pocket.
She tried on three dresses. They all looked better than she’d expected. Tina decreed the second one made her skin look sallow. The garment was thrown into a buggy to be returned to the racks. Somehow, the seamstress used the pins plucked from the cushion strapped to her wrist to make her look less like she needed to shop in the kid’s department, while Tina made her feel like a child.
“It’s my mission to make sure your students know you’re the teacher and not just another student. If you’re just buying one outfit today, go with the teal dress. The color brings your eyes to life.”
Tina flipped through the buggies, but stared through the open curtain while Amy struggled to reach the zipper. “You know Eric has huge intimacy issues?” Her painted lips turned down at the corners.
What would Lila say to this bitch?
“He has huge... something, I’d agree.” Tina laughed, agreed with a loud sigh, and yanked the curtain closed. Fuming, Amy struggled with the zipper on the caramel tweed dress.
The seamstress entered the small cubicle moments later. Once the woman helped Amy remove the garment, she took the chosen dress. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Amy sank gratefully onto the bench. If the woman kept her promise, Amy would get to her appointment with ten minutes to spare. She put the tweed dress back on the hangar, wondering if she should go ahead and buy it, since she liked it and the seamstress had marked the hem already. Maybe the bossy witch would hold the dress until Monday. She couldn’t resist looking through the piles of frothy lingerie again. A few sets had been seriously marked down.
Her cell vibrated. Digging the phone out of her pants, she read the long series of texts from Lila. Oh, no. Lila had to be upset—she thought texting was idiotic.
“Look what I found,” Tina crowed, jerking the curtain open and nearly scaring Amy off the bench. “Size five, and on sale. Once I ring in my discount, you can buy that bra and still come in under budget.”
Tina was giving her a discount? Amy felt so confused. She disliked Tina intensely, but had to admit, the discount was welcome. Still, she’d rather have been in a position to refuse the gesture.
If anyone had ever told her she’d own a pair of teal snakeskin heels, she’d have called them delusional. Tina might be a hard pill to swallow, but Amy had to admit, she was good at her job. “I need to pay for this stuff and wear it out of the store.”
“No problem. I’ll get a pair of scissors and start cutting off the tags.” Tina snapped her fingers, adding, “Stockings. I’ll bring back a pair.”
Now or never. She took a deep breath. “Since I just moved in with Eric, I’d say he’s cured his intimacy issues. Do you mind holding the other dress for me until Monday?” Watching Tina’s eyes go wide gave Amy the same feeling she got from hitting a home run.
She ripped open the packaging on the stockings, kicking off the shoe so hard, it bounced off the mirror. She managed to get the damn thigh-highs on, and swapped her panties for the sexy things Tina called tap pants that matched her bra. She didn’t need Eric to buy her damn underwear. To prove her independence, she added two of the on-sale sets to her purchases.
Tina applied her discount to everything except the alterations, even the sale items. Amy felt like a million bucks, for the low price of one-seventy-three and change, and a piece of her self-respect.
Even the blonde behind the mall office desk looked impressed. When the man she’d come to see stepped out of his office, Amy reminded herself the real point to all this bullshit was to graduate.
Philip Chapman bore a family resemblance to the De Marcos. His hair wasn’t as dark and his eyes were blue, but he looked like a nice guy. Taking a deep breath, Amy sank into the chair he offered and sent up a short prayer before launching into her proposal.
* * * *
The filter wrench slipped. The heavy cylinder fell to the concrete. Before he even picked the damn oil filter up, Eric knew he’d stripped the threads. “For the record, I hate these damn cheap filters.” He barked at Dan over the whine of the air compressor and hurled the wrench onto his workbench.
“Blame yourself. This isn’t the grade I told you to order.” Dan barely glanced up.
Eric stepped from under his fifth Ford Focus of the day. Shitty beige car. Grabbing a rag, he wiped his hands and strode toward the back door. Somewhere in his truck, he still had the scrap of paper Dan had used to scrawl the part number. Arguing was pointless. Dan believed being born first resolved any dispute in his favor. The only way to convince him he was wrong was to show proof. Eric gave the back door a vicious kick and strode outside.
Yanking open his truck door, he spied the scrap, tucked beneath the flip-down center console. Grabbing the note, he slammed the door so hard the big truck rocked. Rummaging in the closest trash can for a filter box, he squinted at Dan’s near-illegible scrawl, comparing the numbers. Colton had his head under the dash of a full-sized cargo van. Lost in his own world, as usual. Dan straightened, crossed his arms, and waited for the verdict, brows raised and wearing a smirk.
Goddammit. Either Eric had read the numbers and letters off wrong—no one but family could read Dan’s writing—or the clerk had made the mistake. But not Dan. Never Dan.
There was a clock mounted behind his big brother’s head. Dropping the box, he muttered, “My bad. I’m going to grab something to eat. Be back when you see me.”
After ripping off his coveralls and scrubbing his hands, he started through the back door a second time.
“Eric, don’t do anything stupid.” For one painful moment, Dan looked—and sounded—just like their father. He didn’t bother answering. Neither of his brothers had said another word about the courthouse meeting. In his heart, he knew they needed to wait until no one else was around, but fuck. Just... fuck.
Traffic always seemed heavier on Fridays, and to his annoyance, today proved no exception. He gunned the Dodge past anything in his way, taking the exit for the interstate a good fifteen miles over the posted limit. Amy should be the last person he wanted to see, given his failure the night before, but if he could catch her when she came out of Phil’s office, maybe he could make her blush real cute, or she could make him laugh, and then his chest might not explode.
The corridor leading to the mall office was empty, except for one woman, just coming out of the office door. Eric moved aside, but she bumped into him anyway. “Dammit, I’m six feet tall,” he snapped. “How the hell did you not see me?” There had to be a bad tutorial floating around on how to talk to a guy, advocating physical contact over just saying “hello.” Before he could step around this woman, she grabbed his shirt, pr
etending to wobble on her heels.
Suppressing a groan, he grabbed her elbow to help steady her. She gained her balance and he took a half-step through the door, looking past the eager blonde at the desk and praying he hadn’t missed Amy. The hand gripping his sleeve didn’t let go.
“Eric?”
Hearing his name made him take a second look at the woman holding his arm. Anger ripped through him, because Dan was right again. He did have too many fucking ex-girlfriends. This one was sexy as hell, but he couldn’t even recall her name.
Wait a minute. Those cheeks looked familiar. And he knew those lips. He blinked. “Amy? Goddamn, you look gorgeous, baby doll.” He traded his brief smile for another scowl. “Except, if those tears spill over, you’re gonna look like a raccoon.” He grabbed her hands. He had a hunch he knew why she was about to cry. “What did Phil say?” he demanded.
Amy stalked toward the main concourse. “He said my idea posed an ‘unacceptable liability’. Someone might get hurt if the ball got away.”
“It’s a basketball, not poison darts,” he retorted, turning to follow her.
She nodded, blinking too fast. “He’s worried little old ladies on walkers might get knocked over and break a hip, if the ball gets loose. And toddlers. We might flatten one or two.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t think this through very well.”
Dee was right, her hair looks adorable. He squeezed her hand. “Yeah? Terrorists might drive through the damn building, too.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth and turned, pulling up short. “This is nothing compared to your news. Lila sent me a text. I’m so sorry. Three years is wrong. Carpenter should do more time than that.”
He sighed, tucking her hand through his arm. “Bad day all ‘round, I guess. But you look beautiful. Very sexy.”
“I thought you’d think this dress was too conservative.” She glanced down, then peered at him. The feeling in his chest tightened.
He wished now he’d stayed at work. This wasn’t going like he’d hoped. She wasn’t in any mood for jokes. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with feminine insecurity. “Nothing wrong with conservative. Especially when you pair it with those killer shoes. Let me see those things.”
She wrinkled her nose. To his amazement, she yanked a shoe off and shoved it in his hand. “I’m gonna break my neck.” Her scowl softened. “Then you’ll have to carry me up the steps. And let me tell you, I’m a real baby when it comes to pain. These damn things should come with crutches.”
Eric took the small shoe. The entire thing fit into his palm.
Lowering the bare foot, she lifted the other, adding, “Tina was kind of bitchy-nice. I think I scared her off, though. Used my everyday ogre face, before Dani painted this one on.” She crossed her eyes. “I gotta go back and pick up my stuff. Can’t wait to get out of this dress, but seriously, I think I could wait the rest of my life to see her again.” She pulled off the other shoe.
Tina could be sweet as hell one minute, and catty the next. Eventually, the sweet act disappeared completely, leaving only claw marks. Why had he dated her? “Thanks.”
She plucked the shoe from his hand and stuck both under her arm like a football. Her sigh sounded blissful. “Better. Much better. Now the little old folk are safe. It’d suck if I fell on one and crushed ‘em. Can you see that headline?”
He wanted to laugh. He just couldn’t seem to breathe deep enough to make the sound.
The mall was nearly deserted. The elderly people Phil was so concerned about sat on the benches lining the wide concourse, chatting with each other and watching the world go by. Eric supposed hanging out at the mall beat sitting home, watching daytime television.
In the spot where the three sections of the building merged, a large piece of carpet had been taped to the floor. Overstuffed recliners were lined in facing rows. A salesman perched on the arm of one chair, adjusting his tie. A man and woman, perhaps in their late sixties or early seventies, occupied two of the others. Eric barely glanced at the sign for a downtown furniture store.
On either end of the display, vendors fidgeted in chairs parked behind carts filled with merchandise, looking up with hopeful smiles when they passed.
“Oh, look.” Amy tugged him toward a cart. Eric veered in that direction, fighting annoyance. He wasn’t into retail therapy. Not today. Gazing through the wide panes of glass around the main entrance, he decided he’d make an excuse and leave. His impulse seemed dumb now. Wondering how long he’d need to wait so he didn’t look stupid for showing up just to bail, he took a few steps toward the door.
He couldn’t even see the damn cars for all the idiots waving signs. What the hell do they think they’re accomplishing? The invisible band constricting his chest wound a notch tighter.
“Can you watch these for me?” Hearing Amy’s voice, he turned, but she spoke to the old man parked in the recliner closest to her. The man nodded. His tanned scalp gleamed under thin strands of silver, and he wore overalls. She plunked her shoes on the floor at his side and turned back toward the cart.
The denim overalls reminded him of John Carpenter. The sick feeling in his gut felt more unbearable by the minute. Eric turned back to the doors. He took a couple of steps toward the exit, but if he left this way, he’d have to hike around a third of the T-shaped building, just to get to his truck.
Something struck him between the shoulder blades. The blow wasn’t hard, but he turned in time to see a black ball bounce between the rows of recliners. The blue-haired woman beside the old man leaned forward and scooped up the ball. Eric watched her squeeze it. Whatever the ball was made of appeared very soft.
Amy took a wide stance and cocked her head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feelin’ a little defiant.”
He blinked. She held a pair of clear, plastic tubes at least two feet long, attached to pistol-grip handles. The tubes were filled with balls a bit larger than ping pong balls, like the one that’d struck him. She tossed one to him. “Pump it up, De Marco. And prepare to die.” She raised her weapon.
“Get him, honey! A quarter on the girl!” cried the old woman. She waved the ball, grinning at Amy.
“Do you even have a quarter, Hazel?” the elderly man demanded.
“No, but I’ll have yours when she wins, Woodrow.” The woman blew the old man a kiss.
“You’re on.” The old man pointed a crooked finger at Eric. “Don’t just stand there, son. Quarters don’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Oh, no pressure there,” Eric retorted, feeling like a fool. The plastic handle and connections on his toy gun were pink. The little hussy kept the blue one.
While he tried to figure out how the gun worked, Amy fired again, striking him above the knee. “You better hope I can’t shoot.” Eric raised the gun. “Because when I win, I’m gonna tickle you till you cry.”
“Who said I was ticklish?” She stuck out her tongue.
“You will be when I get through, if you’re not now,” he vowed.
The salesman applauded. Amy ducked behind a potted tree near the toy cart. He took a step in her direction.
“Pump it about six times, then shoot.” The advice came from the toy vendor. “Easy now, big man. They’re made for three-year-olds.” Eric glanced in his direction, pumping the gun cautiously, but from the corner of his eye, he watched Amy. Damn her, she went to her knees, crawling behind the woman’s chair. He got a flash of creamy thigh and the lace tops of her hose.
“Bawk, bawk,” he taunted. “You know I can’t shoot the spectators. Mall security might arrest me.”
She popped up beside Hazel and pointed her gun, pumping furiously. Her grin was ear-to-ear now. “I know! I just spent all my money, so I can’t bail you out.”
He dodged her shot, moving forward in a crouch. Using the adjacent recliner as a screen, he popped up, poked his gun over the arm, and pulled the trigger. The ball struck her shoulder. The old man struggled out of his seat and limped after the ball. Amy jumped to he
r feet and pumped her gun again. The hem of her dress caught on the corduroy fabric of the chair’s wide arm and he got a second peek at the thigh-high hosiery.
Eric pulled his trigger. Nothing. Dammit, forgot to pump. Her shot hit him in the chest. The ball spun off, landing in the old woman’s lap.
“Got you two refills now, honey!” Hazel cried, waving one in each fist.
“Give me that ball, woman.” The old man held out his hand. “No reloadin’.”
Apparently, they didn’t get to make their own rules for this battle. Amy grinned at the old man. Eric shook his head, but somewhere in his heart, admiration bloomed. Most women he knew would’ve pouted for days when something they had their hearts set on didn’t pan out. This was why he liked her. She wasn’t like any woman he knew.
Amy dashed across the open space between the chairs and disappeared behind a cart selling sweatshirts, parked near the corridor leading to Phil’s office.
Turning away, he hid behind the toy cart to pump his gun. The little old man approached, holding out two balls. “I’ll try and round these up. Got a bag?”
The toy seller grabbed a shopping bag and shook it open. The old guy dropped the balls in, then tied the handle to his belt. “Show her how it’s done.” The vendor smiled at Eric. “You look like a hunter to me.”
“Count on it.” Eric nodded. “Twenty-five whole cents and the fate of free men everywhere is ridin’ on this, after all.” He spun toward the place he’d last seen Amy. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Amy girl.”
She showed some skill, and even more cunning, crawling on her hands and knees to pop up between a brown recliner and a green one. The ball she fired hit his forearm and careened away.
“When I win, I get foot massages every night for a week.” She ducked behind the green recliner. He could hear her pump the gun.
“I shoulda thought of that.” The old woman cackled. “He’s going around behind the blue chair, honey!”
“Hey! No fair. No spotters.” Eric pointed his gun momentarily in the woman’s direction.