of my outfit. I wore jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a denim jacket—an all-purpose ensemble that, with the right accessories, could run the gamut from preppy-casual to biker-chick-trashy. Normally, I’d fall somewhere in the middle: the nature-girl look, with wash-and-wear hair, fading summer tan and tinted lip gloss. Given Jack’s choice of disguise, more makeup was a must. I opened my makeup case, applied enough to scare myself, then took a tissue and pared it back a layer or two.
“Good?” I asked.
Jack glanced over and grunted. Not the most enthusiastic endorsement, but at least he didn’t say I looked so much better in a platinum wig and half-pound of makeup.
“One thing missing,” he said.
“Stilettos? Or a whip?”
His mouth twitched as he passed me a heavy wrapped bundle.
I unwrapped it to find a Glock 33. “Oooh. Serious bondage gear!”
“Got a waistband holster. Should fit under your jacket. Keep it on, all times.”
I found the holster and slipped into it, then double-checked my makeup application in the visor mirror, making sure the faint, thin scar on my neck was hidden. “Not bad. I have to work on my aging techniques, though. I can never get it right. You’ll have to teach me sometime.”
He made a noise in his throat that I took for agreement, then turned into a strip mall so we could get some research material.
* * *
Joyce
“I can try, but…”
The dry-cleaning clerk shrugged, bit back a yawn. Given that it was barely 6:30 in the morning, the yawn and the heavy-lidded eyes could be excused, but Joyce knew it wasn’t lack of sleep that was causing the younger woman’s attention to wander. She just didn’t give a damn.
“Look,” Joyce said. “You opened five minutes ago, so you can’t possibly be overbooked yet. Your sign says you offer same-day cleaning. I need same-day cleaning.”
“We are overbooked. With regular customers.” A slow quarter-smile. “If you were a regular customer…”
“I am a regular customer. I’ve dropped off clothes every Friday for the past three months.”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed behind her microframed glasses. “I work Fridays and I’ve never seen you.”
“Of course you have. I talk to you every week!”
The young woman’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve never seen you.”
Joyce pulled back and shoved her hands in her pockets, torn between crying and screaming. Maybe she should do both. Throw a hissy fit, see if that made her more memorable next time. She sized up the clerk, considered throwing herself at the young woman’s mercy, telling her the truth. Look, I’ve just been through the world’s shittiest divorce. I have my first date tonight and this old black dress may not look like much to you, but it’s the only thing I have to wear.
Joyce imagined saying the words. Imagined the clerk’s reaction. Imagined the smirk, the glitter of condescension. Imagined her response, “Oh, I’m soooo sorry, but no. Can’t do it.” Another smirk. Now piss off, you old cow. No twenty-year-old ever imagined herself sinking so low, her self-confidence puddled around her ankles, her ratty apartment and divorce petition exposing her failures as a wife, a woman.
“Piss off to you, too,” Joyce muttered under her breath, gathering her dress from the counter and swooping from the store with as much dignity as she could muster.
The door swung closed behind her. Joyce paused, and looked up and down the street, hoping another “same-day cleaning” sign would miraculously appear. There must be other places in town, but she had no idea where they were. She’d only moved there three months ago to take a job from a sympathetic friend.
She inhaled sharply. Okay, maybe she didn’t know where there was another cleaner, but she could find out. Joyce strode to the nearest phone booth, pushed open the doors, reached for the phone book…and found an empty chain.
“God-fucking-damn it!”
She hiccuped a laugh. Now that felt better, didn’t it? She glanced down at the dress slung over her arm. Ten years old. Ten years out of style. Made for a woman ten years younger. Screw this. If she was going on a date, she was doing it right. Break the bank and buy a new dress. Maybe something from the sales rack at Barneys. She checked her watch. Not yet seven. If she started work early, she could take an extended lunch hour, use the time to buy a dress. She smiled. Problem solved.
Joyce drove into her office building’s underground garage. The lot was almost completely empty. She shivered as she walked toward the elevator. Picked up her