Undressed. Heather Macallister
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Lia typed back. So can we discuss it now and not in six hours? She added a smile emoticon.
Exactly. Gimme the deets. Zhin was getting really good with American English.
Twelve shades of pink from light to dark.
Twelve? They’re making a killing.
But Zhin wasn’t perfect yet. Lia stared at the screen and then got it. You mean “overkill.” Making a killing means making a lot of profit or acquiring much stuff. Didn’t it?
You not going to profit?
Yes, but…
Lia stopped typing and reached sideways for her dictionary of slang and idiom. Much better to use a paperback than to get caught looking it up on the Internet. Zhin’s computer was networked to hers and once, instead of downloading orders, Zhin had downloaded the slang dictionary Web site Lia had opened. Mucho loss of face for Lia.
Her fingers were pulling the book from the shelf when she heard rustling again. In Texas, rustling like that usually meant giant roaches—enormous flying things that lived in pine trees, unless they found their way inside classy bridal salons.
She thumped the shelf with the book and the noise stopped. But only because it changed to a flap. Flapping sounds were much better than rustling sounds, bugwise. Flaps were more likely made by the cleaning crew next door than flying cockroaches.
Her computer chimed the first part of “Shave and a Haircut,” signaling that Zhin was logging in to the order section.
Hang on, Lia typed. I want to talk pinks first and verify that the order numbers match the shades we really want before you download the order.
Okeydoke.
These are the twelve pinks. Lia cut and pasted from the order and sent it to Zhin.
Please arrange in order from lightest to darkest, Zhin requested.
In order from light to dark we have Bridal Blush, Blush, Morning Frost—check that one, I think it looks too purply—Ballet Pink, Petal, Petal Blush, Carnation, Shy Rose, Lipstick, Deep Pink, Rose and Vivid Rose. And these are the numbers I have for them. With Zhin, it was best to do words and numbers separately.
Can you get actual fabric samples and eyeball them all together? she asked Zhin when they’d finished verifying numbers and whether or not the shades were still manufactured.
Eyeball=look?
Yes, sorry. This is a serious order. If one of the shades is off, please say so.
BBIAF.
BBIAF? What was that? She chimed Zhin. Nothing. “BBIAF?” she muttered. “BBIAF. What does she think she means?” Lia chimed “Shave and a Haircut” again. And then again. And again. Zhin? Come on. BBIAF? One more chime.
“Be back in a few!” a male voice called, startling Lia into jerking her hands from the laptop.
She hit the edge of the slang dictionary, which smacked into her cup of nearly flat champagne, and ended up knocking both onto her keyboard. As a guitar strummed the “two bits” part of the jingle, the remnants of a moderately priced California sparkling wine fizzed and sizzled over her laptop. No, the wine didn’t sizzle—that would be her computer sizzling. In the throes of electronic death, the screen flashed and went dark.
“No!”
“I’m telling you it is. BBIAF is ‘be back in a few.’” The voice was male and deep and so loud, it sounded as though he was standing right beside her. He had to be in the fitting room of the tux shop next door.
“I don’t care!” she shouted at him.
Turning the keyboard upside down, Lia shook droplets of liquid from it and tried to reestablish the connection with Zhin.
Nothing. The thing was dead. “No. No, no, no, no.”
“I’m telling you, it is.”
“I’m not talking to you, whoever you are. Go back to cleaning.” At this hour, he had to be part of the cleaning crew.
“What happened?”
“You scared me and I knocked my drink all over my keyboard while I was talking with China, thankyouverymuch.”
“Bummer.”
Bummer? “Oh, it’s a lot more than a bummer.” Who was she talking to, anyway? She knew the staff next door, but she didn’t recognize this voice.
Where was he? Lia stood and walked toward the end dressing room. When she opened the door, she heard soft singing.
I was talkin’ to China
And drinkin’ a lot.
But I spilled my drink
And then I was not.
“This isn’t funny!” She heard rustling. So that’s what it had been.
“Who the hell are you? Where the hell are you?” She was swearing. She never swore. Never. Made it a point not to because Elizabeth fined them for coarse language, as she called it. But sometimes…sometimes it was called for. Like now.
Lia heard strumming.
I was sleepin’
In Tuxedo Park
It’s nice and quiet
When it’s dark
But then I heard
An angel swear
And I wished
I wasn’t here.
Lia inhaled. And exhaled and inhaled again. “You do realize that I’m so angry right now that I am about to punch through this very thin wall and strangle you?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Well, you did!”
“Sorry, darlin’.”
In spite of her anger, Lia couldn’t help noticing that the rich bass voice vibrated right through the wall and into her middle. Truthfully, slightly south of her middle, but she wasn’t going to admit it.
She didn’t like big bass voices that sounded like actors picked to play the Almighty in movies and commercial voice-overs.
She didn’t like being called darlin’.
And she didn’t like the way this voice made her strain to hear more and ignore her poor wine-soaked keyboard and—
Zhin. Today’s orders!
Lia yelped and scuttled back to the computer. She shook it upside down some more and then tried to reboot.
Nothing.
Okay. No time to panic. She’d just plug into one of the sales associates’ units.
Did that work? Of course not. That would have been too easy.
“Oh, come on!” She blew on the keyboard and then got one of the portable fans they used when the salon became too warm.
Women experiencing high emotion were hot and she didn’t mean sexually. Not to mention most of the mothers were of the hot-flash age. Small fans were in all the dressing rooms. Sometimes more than one.
After turning on the fan, Lia propped the laptop next to it. And stared. And waited. And hoped.
She was going to have to call Zhin. It was far easier for Lia to place an international call than it was for Zhin to get permission to do so. It wasn’t easy to actually get Zhin, herself, to the phone, but it was possible. Sometimes. Depending on who answered the phone and how well they spoke English and how well Lia could garble out the Mandarin Chinese phrase Zhin had taught her and she’d written out phonetically.
Yeah, the phrase she’d carefully stored in a flagged file—in her dead laptop.
With