Part 12 (1/2)
Hermia opened her gold-dusted lids as if woken from a nap. ”You again?” She released her client's hand.
The chai smell had been overpowered by a nauseating mix of holiday perfumes.
”Do you need a minute with your daughter?” asked a familiar-looking woman, blowing into a tissue.
”My daughter daughter?” scoffed Hermia.
”Oh, I remember you,” Ma.s.sie blurted, taking in the woman's red nose and lap full of crumpled pink Puffs tissues. ”You're the one who likes Rick.”
”Liked!” she quickly corrected. ”After you told me he was here, I went out to find him and he was she quickly corrected. ”After you told me he was here, I went out to find him and he was gone gone. He couldn't wait five minutes for me.”
Ma.s.sie paced across the dusty Oriental rugs, shaking her head as if horrified by the nerve of it all.
”I told you.” Hermia sat back on her stack of pillows and ran a hand through her vibrant red hair. ”Rick is still with his wife. And he is staying with her. You need to move on.”
”I know.” Jenna blew into a pink Puffs. ”I know.”
”Are you really gonna listen to her?” Ma.s.sie snapped, remembering her own crisis. ”Thanks to her 'advice,' I have no friends, no bracelet, and no hope.” She slammed the purple stone on the scarf-wrapped table. ”Take it. It doesn't work.”
”I meant what I said,” Hermia insisted. ”The five pieces will be joined at midnight.” She checked her cell phone. ”And it's almost midnight. So you better go.”
”Where am I supposed to go go?” Ma.s.sie's throat locked.
”Didn't you hear?” Hermia asked with a Ches.h.i.+re cat grin. ”A young dancer slipped on a charm during her performance. She's backstage right now getting iced.”
”What?”
The psychic stood, shuffled over to Ma.s.sie, and pulled her into a hug. ”Hermia is never wrong,” she whispered, her breath smelling like Halls Mentho-Lyptus. ”Now go,” she urged. ”Go!”
Ma.s.sie hurried out of the tent, not quite sure if Hermia actually knew something or was just trying to get rid of her. Still, with the help of a fifty-dollar bribe, she bulldozed her way backstage just in case. A small object was knocking against the outside of her thigh while she walked. Without stopping, she dug her hand inside her dress pocket and gasped. The purple stone was back.
But how? Who? When? When?
Ma.s.sie began to run, fueled by questions she couldn't answer. A mystery she couldn't solve. A destiny she couldn't reach. And the hope that with every frenzied step, she was getting closer.
MERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYMERRI-LEE'S DRESSING ROOMFriday, December 31st11:09 P.M. P.M.
Pus.h.i.+ng past the backstage riffraff, Dylan stomped toward her mother's dressing room. Eminem's ”The Real Slim Shady” blared from behind its closed door. Her temper was hot but her backside was cool, thanks to the six-inch split in the rear of her pants.
”Yazzzzz-min!” She burst through the door, gold YSL wedges blazing. It smelled like salsa and fruit-scented products. ”Your Guccis are for hoochies!” She whipped her leopard faux-fur collar on the floor.
”What?” Yasmine turned down the music. Humid fog clouds swirled around the stylist as she steamed the rejected clothes that had been kicked, clumped, and tossed by the Marvil sisters.
”My pants ripped on the air!” Dylan turned around and wiggled her exposed b.u.t.t as proof. ”Where'dja get them? EBay?”
Kali, who was in the midst of pulling red hair chunks from her brushes, turned away, obviously not wanting to get involved. But it was too late for that. The whole world world was involved. was involved.
”I just flashed ham on a global broadcast, thanks to these terrible pants you made me wear,” Dylan shouted, her heart pounding. ”What happened? Did you buy a pair of Bebes and slap a Gucci tag on the back, then charge my mom for-”
”Enough!” Yasmine barked, her bottom teeth jutting out like a bulldog's. With cheeks flushed from the hot steam, she clomped over in her angry black boots and grabbed Dylan by the wrist.
”Owie,” Dylan moaned.
But Yasmine only tightened her grip.
”Maybe you beefed up a little over the holidays.” She dropped Dylan's arm and took a step back, as if expecting to be slapped.
”Please! I wish.” Dylan scoffed. ”All I do is eat. And every time I look in the mirror I see skin and bones. I'm starting to think I have a tapeworm.” I wish.” Dylan scoffed. ”All I do is eat. And every time I look in the mirror I see skin and bones. I'm starting to think I have a tapeworm.”
Yasmine rolled her eyes, then bit her thumbnail.
”Wait a minute.” Clarity snapped the back of her neck like a hair elastic. Dylan inched toward Yasmine's dewy face and squinted suspiciously. ”I know what you're doing.” She nodded slowly, like a smug detective who just cracked a case. ”You're trying to put this on me.”
”That's it it!” Yasmine huffed, meeting Dylan's green eyes with her hazel ones, then exhaling the smell of corn chips.
Kali turned up the music.
”You want to know what's happening here?”
Dylan raised her eyebrows and nodded yes in an oh, this is gonna be good oh, this is gonna be good sort of way. sort of way.
Yasmine glanced at Kali. Kali shrugged as if to say, Go for it. It's your life. Go for it. It's your life.
”Fine. I'll tell you.” Yasmine exhaled. ”I got sick of your mother and sisters complaining that they were fat so I brought in skinny mirrors. They shave ten pounds off when hung straight, fifteen when tilted.”
Dylan considered this for a moment. She could see how the stylist would be driven to such lengths. After all, her sisters were thin-sane. But that didn't explain the other mirrors in her life.
”What about the ones at home?”
”I had them replaced with skinny mirrors when you were in Saint Martin over Christmas.” Yasmine leaned against her sewing table and folded her arms across her flat chest.
”What about our hotels?” Dylan tried.
”Replaced.”
Dylan's insides sank. Or was that feeling her fat cells creating more s.p.a.ce for their friends?
”What about the dressing rooms at the mall?”
”Oh, those are just tilted,” Yasmine explained.
Dylan exhaled months of denial. A slab of skin curled over the top of her pants like a pouting lip. Had it always been there? Images from the last year of her life sped through her mind like a TV show rewinding.
A bag of cheese-flavored Combos... two slices of ham and pineapple pizza... chips and salsa... chips and guac... chips... caramel latte with whip... extra whip... two brownies... chicken BLT... extra B... extra mayo... waffles and sausage... mixed berries... creme fraiche... hot chocolate...