Sirenz - By Charlotte Bennardo Page 0,15

looks up? I poked her, but she waved me off behind her back.

Doll-face looked up and smiled smugly. “We’re full up, I’m afraid. Unless you have a reservation.”

Undeterred, Shar glanced at the dark and sparsely populated dining area. Only two tables were occupied.

“There are several empty tables and there doesn’t seem …”

Now Doll-face looked very irritated. “We have nothing available. I suggest you call and make a reservation for another afternoon. We require at least 24 hours notice.” She gave Shar a snide smile and resumed reading.

She was finished with us, but Shar wasn’t done. She pulled me forward, her long fingers digging into my arm, a commanding look in her eye: she wanted me to try.

I coughed, and Dolly raised her head, and I said slowly, “Are you sure you can’t seat us?”

“No,” she replied coldly. “Is there anything else?”

“And there you have it,” I said to Shar, and turned to leave.

“But—” Shar started.

“The manager can explain our policy if you need further clarification,” Dolly said icily.

“That won’t be necessary.” I grabbed Shar’s hand and steered her to the door. This time she complied.

“What happened back there?” she seethed fifteen minutes later when we were safely tucked into a booth at a quiet burger place. She’d managed to avoid eye contact while she ordered for both of us. There are times when only greasy fast food will kill the gall of being snubbed, especially by a half-starved, doll-faced tart.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She loved us not?”

“That’s not supposed to happen. All those guys were ready to throw themselves off buildings for us.”

I pointed at her with a French fry. “But not the hostess girl. Think about it. The barista wasn’t affected by us, and neither was the saleswoman at Bendel’s.”

“You’re right!” Shar lit up. “Great! I can still get my bikini wax! Oh … wait.” She slammed down her diet soda. “Meg, we have to interact with guys.”

I nodded thoughtfully, then brightened. “You can wear sunglasses—then no one will be able to see your eyes!”

Shar beamed at me, but her smile faded quickly. “But what about you? How are you going to get out of talking?”

“Learn sign language?”

“Cute. No time.”

A guy jived by our table, headphones in his ears. I dug in my purse and pulled out my iPod.

“Look.” I brandished the headphones. “I don’t have to have it on, but if people see me with these in, they won’t talk to me because they’ll think I can’t hear them.”

“That’s lame, Meg,” Shar shook her head. “You can’t have those things in your ears all the time! And what excuse could I have to wear sunglasses indoors?”

“You could say it’s for medical reasons,” I retorted. “Tell them you’ve developed glaucoma.”

“Real funny, girlfriend. We’ll have to think of something. Let’s go.”

Toting bags from Bendel’s to Red Velvet to Burger World had been a chore, so we hailed a taxi. I made eye contact with the driver, nodding while Shar rattled off the address to the penthouse.

“All right,” I said, once we were back in the apartment. “We have less than two weeks. What do we do?”

“I know what I’m going to do,” Shar said, raising up a shopping bag. “I’m going to try some of this stuff on. I have no idea what we bought, or what sizes things are. Those guys were just throwing everything at us. At least they got the colors right.” She dumped a bag onto a chair big enough to be a bed. “Here, take yours.”

I poked at the black pile. I liked the black umbrella that some balmy guy had tossed to me, but I hated the idea of how much it all cost and the certainty that someone in some far-off third-world country was being exploited because of it. I fished out a sheer, antique-looking black blouse with faceted jet buttons. Shar was already heading to her room with an armful of pink fluff.

Cloistered in my bathroom—there were too many mirrors, I didn’t need to see that much of myself—I took off my top, slipped the blouse on, and buttoned it. When I looked up, I squinted at the mirror. There was a small shadow behind me, but it didn’t make any sense. I undid a few buttons and slipped the blouse off a little. Twisting around, I caught sight of what looked like a feather.

“Damn it,” I muttered. Probably one of the pricey accessories in our stash had stuck to the blouse. I pulled at the feather and a twinge of