Then I let out a little scream.
“Calm, calm,” Tod said, his hands out in front of him, palms down, pressing the air. “Let’s get crackin’. Finish your face, I’l sort through this.”
Then, without further ado, he started digging through my suitcases.
I didn’t have time to flip out that some guy I barely knew was digging through my suitcases. Hank was going to be there in twenty minutes and I hadn’t even moved to phase two of makeup.
I was shading and blending through phase four when Tod walked into the bathroom. “Outfit’s on the bed, I unpacked you because, girlie, you’re getting wrinkles in some of your fab-you-las blouses. So I hung them up, unmentionables and PJs in the drawers. You can return the belt and scarf to Indy and I’m borrowing those Manolo Mary Janes for my act this weekend if you’re stil in town. They fit like they were made for me.”
“Sure,” I said, even though it wasn’t a request.
We air-kissed and he took off.
I finished the makeup, fluffed out my hair and put on the black top, jeans, a black belt of Tod’s, the Manolo Mary Janes and looped once around my neck a thin, long rock ‘n’
rol scarf made entirely out of silver bugle beads stitched together. I put a wide silver cuff on my wrist, my Raymond Weil on my other wrist and some seriously long hoops dangling at my ears. I was spritzing with Boucheron at six twenty-nine and trying to breathe calmly and reach my zen zone (and failing) when my cel rang again.
It said, “Jet Cal ing.”
I flipped open the phone. “Hel o?”
“Hey Roxie, Daisy gave me your number.”
Daisy was a busy little beaver.
“How’s your Dad?” I asked.
Jet’s Dad had been shot, stabbed, beaten, then thrown out of a moving car on Broadway outside of Fortnum’s just days before. They moved him out of ICU that morning and Jet spent the day in the hospital with him.
“A lot better. Breathing, talking, conscious.” I smiled. “I’m glad.”
“I hear you’re going out with Hank tonight, you got something to wear?”
Cripes! I had four new best friends and I’d known them only a day. Next thing, Indy was going to be cal ing, asking me to a slumber party.
Before I could answer, the hotel phone rang.
I let out another little scream.
I heard Jet laugh.
“Hank’s there,” she surmised.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” I chanted.
“Deep breaths,” Jet said.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” I chanted.
“It might help if you answer the phone,” Jet suggested but I could tel it was through a smile.
“Hang on” I said to her, took the cel from my ear and picked up the room phone.
“Hel o?”
“Hey.”
It was Hank.