Full Mortality by Sasscer Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

my mom. She worked for this prissy girl’s school as a cook. Got me a job working in the school’s stable for free riding lessons when I was 10.” I paused. A jet flew behind us, declining steeply for its landing at Reagan National Airport. I could feel my spirits going down with it. “She remarried this . . . person, and then she . . .”
    “What?” Apprehension laced Carla’s voice.
    “She died when I was 13.”
    “I’m so sorry.” Carla chewed her bottom lip between perfect white teeth. “I didn’t mean to push . . .”
    “A traffic accident.” We didn’t need the details.
    “Sounds pretty rough, Nikki.”
    “You don’t know the half of it.” We could both hear the anger in my voice.
    Wisely, Carla let it go, zooming up a ramp into the mall’s parking garage. We focused on happier things, like shopping.
    * * *
    Carla powered into Nordstrom’s like she owned the place, and I followed in her wake, sniffing the perfume-saturated air. Glitzy makeup counters swarmed the entrance, while fashionably dressed women with painted faces lay-in-wait behind elegant displays of cosmetics and products touting high-tech ingredients, all of it Greek to me.
    “I could move into this place,” Carla said, bee-lining for the Christian Dior counter.
    She grabbed a lipstick and peered at the color. She wore a stretchy black suit, with silver buttons. A silver clip fastened French braids at the nape of her neck.
    A cheap Goody band corralled my ponytail, and from there I slid downhill. Wait, my sneakers were clean.
    Two saleswomen purred over Carla, while a suspiciously perfect redhead insisted on spraying the blonde with sample perfume. Graciously, Carla extended her wrist. I didn’t mind being invisible; this was entertainment.
    Carla purchased more products than I could figure out how to use in a year, then slowly turned her gaze to me. “Can you do a make over for my friend?”
    “Certainly,” the two saleswomen replied at once, staring at me. At least they didn’t shudder. They frowned, scrutinized, conferred, and pulled lipsticks, brushes, bottles of foundation, mascara wands, eyeliners, blusher, and powder puffs. They stuck me on a stool and went to work.
    Later we rested in the Nordstrom’s coffee bar, inhaling buttered scones and sipping mocha latte. I’d stopped at every mirror along the way, amazed at my dramatic eyes and the illusion of perfect skin. Were those my lips? Surrounded by shopping bags, my head spun from a glut of purchases that included a red dress, a black evening bag, a pushup bra, and three shades of lipstick. Outwardly shocked by the indulgence, somewhere deep inside a thrill sped through me.
    Carla finished her coffee and gave a feline stretch. “So now you’re beautiful, which is no surprise to me. But we need to do something about your hair.”
    Mentally I resisted. Cinderella gets dragged to the ball kicking and screaming. “Most people think my hair is pretty,” I said, folding my arms against my stomach.
    “Your hair’s lovely, the style needs help. Wait! I’ve got the answer.” Her eyes took on an alarming gleam. “Felix Alfonso. He’ll transform your hair.” She inspected her Rolex. “It’s just 2 o’clock. I’ll call now, see if he has a cancellation.”
    “I don’t think so,” I said, feeling a sudden sympathy for the racehorse’s fear of those large, electric clippers.
    But Carla had already whipped out her cell phone and connected the call. The salon must be on speed dial. The conversation raced to a rapid finish and Carla disconnected. “You’re in. Let’s go.”
    I sat in Felix’s pink-and-chrome chair gazing at my reflection in the mirror. Most of my ponytail lay in heaps on the black-and-pink tiled floor. My eyes looked huge, my hair — okay, I’ll admit it. My hair looked fantastic. Carla knew style. Short and spiky with tendrils at the neck, an amazing improvement.
    Alfonso tweaked a spike more upright, admiring his work. “Darling, you