Jaine Austen 4 - Shoes to Die For by Laura Levine Read Free Book Online Page B

glop. The yellow glop, Becky informed me, was squash soufflé, and the green glop was bean sprouts.
    Nina looked at our plates and wrinkled her nose in disgust.
    “I don’t know how you can eat that stuff,” she said. “I read about this woman who ate too many bean sprouts, and they clogged up her insides so bad, they had to cut her open and take out two feet of her intestines. They found poop in there that was six months old.”
    Nothing like some sparkling dinner conversation to go with my tofu steak.
    Nina shot me a look of pity.
    “Want some fries?” she asked.
    “No,” Becky said, “she doesn’t want any fries. Not with all that yummy squash. Right, Jaine?”
    “Well, maybe just a few,” I said, snagging myself a handful.
    I practically inhaled them.
    Nina popped the last of her burger in her mouth and licked her fingers. Would this torture never end?
    “I’d better get dressed for work,” she said.
    “Nina’s a nurse,” Becky explained. “She works the night shift.”
    I only hoped she didn’t regale her patients with tales of clogged intestines and petrified poop.
    Nina went to change, and somehow I managed to force down a respectable portion of the meal. There was enough estrogen in all that tofu to keep me going through menopause.
    When I was through, Becky scooted off to get dessert, a depressing assortment of sugar-free, fat-free cookies. Accompanied by an herbal tea a most unsettling shade of green.
    As I gnawed on a cookie, Becky filled me in on the kinds of ads Passions had run in the past.
    “There’s not much to tell,” Becky said. “Grace always says she wants to do something different, but she always winds up with a straight fashion shot and the Passions logo.”
    That was it? She could’ve told me that in two seconds back at the store. But, of course, by this time I knew why Becky had invited me over. She just wanted somebody to cook for. And I was happy to be her culinary victim. Okay, so I wasn’t exactly happy. Technically, I suppose you could say I was miserable. But, as I kept reminding myself, Becky was a sweet kid, and without her, I wouldn’t have had the interview in the first place.
    “Hey,” Becky said, when I’d managed to gag down a cardboard cookie, “how would you like to see some of my clothing designs?”
    “I’d love it,” I said. Anything to put an end to this god-awful meal.
    Becky jumped up and minutes later was back from the bedroom with an armful of her designer creations. Now I’m no fashion maven, as Lance would be the first to tell you, but the outfits were a tad strange. Lots of floral prints and black leather. Laura Ashley meets the Marquis de Sade.
    “Aren’t they awesome?” Nina said, coming out from the bedroom in her nurse’s uniform.
    “Awesome,” I parroted.
    Becky’s eyes shone with pride.
    And who knew? Maybe she really did have talent. Her clothing looked a lot better than some of the stuff that passes for haute couture on the Paris runways.
    I did my best to act enthused, and just as I was running out of oohs and aahs, the doorbell rang.
    Becky raced to get it.
    It was Tyler, looking even cuter than he had at Passions. At the store, he’d worn the tight trendy stuff they stocked. But he’d changed out of his spandex gear into khakis and a button-down shirt, looking very much like the aspiring novelist Becky had said he was. He’d washed out the gel that had kept his sandy brown hair slicked back, and now it flopped boyishly onto his forehead.
    He was a decade too young for me, but I still found him adorable. Apparently I wasn’t the only one. Because just then Becky threw her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed her back with a good deal of enthusiasm.
    A little birdie told me this was not a platonic relationship.
    “You’re Tyler’s girlfriend?” I blurted out. “The one he dumped Frenchie for?”
    They both nodded.
    “We’re trying to keep it a secret at the store,” Tyler said. “Frenchie would