Beautiful You by Chuck Palahniuk Read Free Book Online

unzipped it and inspected the red satin folds.
    “When I got home I tried it on,” Penny said. With one hand she made what she hoped was a dismissive gesture. “It isn’t at all what I had in mind.”
    The saleslady tossed and smoothed the skirt, peering at the seams, the hem. She asked, “So you didn’t actually wear it?”
    “No,” Penny replied. She held her breath, terrified that a snagged stitch or perspiration stain would expose her as a liar.
    The unsmiling woman pressed, “Not even for a quick dinner?”
    Penny was certain the woman had found a wine stain. A smudge of chocolate mousse. Or she’d smelled perfume or cigarette smoke in the fabric. It might’ve been Penny’s imagination, but suddenly the sales floor seemed crowded with shoppers, sales associates, even a security guard, all of them eavesdropping on her interaction. “No,” Penny insisted. Now she was sweating.
    “Not at Chez Romaine?”
    “No,” Penny squeaked.
    The saleslady fixed her with a stern look and said, “I need to show you something.” Tucking the dress back inside its garment bag, she reached below the counter and brought out something. It was a newspaper: today’s
New York Post
. There on the front page was the headline: “Nerd Prince Plucks New Cinderella from Obscurity.”
    And next to those huge words was a color picture of Penny sitting elbow-to-elbow with Maxwell. There was no denying it: She was wearing the dress.
    “If you don’t mind me saying so, miss,” the saleslady said, her expression damning, “this is unacceptable!”
    Penny was so, so busted. In her head she did a quick calculation. Based on the price and her current credit card interest rate, she’d have the dress paid for sometime around her fortieth birthday.
    “For this kind of publicity,” the woman admonished, “the people at Dolce and Gabbana ought to be
paying you
to wear their clothes.” Leaning forward like a conspirator, she said, “Prada. Fendi. Hermès. They’d die for this much ink.” She winked. “Let me contact a few people on your behalf. If you’re going to be accompanying Mr. Maxwell, you could earn a fortune by promoting certain designers.”
    That might be a problem. Maxwell had asked whether he could call her, but in Penny’s experience that was strictly a courtesy. It never guaranteed a second date. They hadn’t made definite plans. She didn’t say it now, but she might never see him again.
    Looking around the dress department, Penny saw that strangers were gravitating toward them. Men. Women. Some wearing uniforms. Some in fur coats. Everyone was clutching the same morning edition of the
Post
. And they were all beaming at her.
    This saleslady who’d been so unfriendly only the day before, now her face broke into a shy smile. Her eyes sparkling and alive, she sighed. Placing one hand flat against her chest as if to calm a rapidly beating heart, she said, “Please forgive my unprofessional behavior, but …”
    Even under the woman’s heavy makeup, Penny could see that she was blushing.
    Offering the day’s
Post
, she asked, “Would you autograph your picture for my daughter?”
    C. Linus Maxwell didn’t call. Not the next day. Nor the day after. A week went by.
    Penny went to work and shrugged off Monique’s excited interrogation about Chez Romaine.
    After work, Penny went to the Jackson Heights branch of Chase Manhattan and rented a safe-deposit box. It required two keys to open. She watched as the bank clerk inserted his key and turned it. She used her own key, and he left her to open the metal box in the privacy of a small room. Once he’d taken leave, Penny picked something small and pink from herhandbag and placed it in the box. Quickly, she locked it and summoned the clerk. Her share-and-share-alike roommates wouldn’t get another chance to borrow her diaphragm.
    Back at the apartment, she returned the earrings and necklace. Every time her phone chimed with a call or text, she caught Kwan Qxi and