paper, boxes, and so much other junk cluttered the room.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” I said.
“Big surprise,” Meg replied tersely as she started collecting the trash. I pushed the racks of designer clothes against a wall and snatched up an upright vacuum. It took less time than I’d expected.
Meg exhaled sharply, blowing aside her spiky bangs. “What slice of serfdom will Reynaldo be serving up next?”
I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. We were given all the crappy jobs. Who knew that fashion was an ugly, degrading business? What would the cruel powers on high think of next? But before I could answer, I heard a velvety male voice above me say “Yo.”
He looked like someone famous, but I couldn’t think of a name. Extensive grillwork on his teeth, with diamonds, a ton of heavy gold jewelry, pants almost falling off what was probably a buff butt—he was some hip-hop dude, but which one?
He smiled at me and I saw my surprised reflection in his Gucci sunglasses; not the ones they sold to the overpaying public, but the private, one-of-a-kind custom-made line.
“Yeah, I’m QT . Here’s an autographed pic for you, shuga booty.” He snapped his fingers and another similarly dressed but less bejeweled guy rushed forward, shoving a glossy 8×10 in my face. “And one for your friend.” He snapped another photo at me. I took them both, then turned to roll my eyes at Meg as I handed them to her. The third person in the mini entourage, a woman whose angular face should have been on the cover of Vogue, minus the sneering lip, strutted up to QT. She was cradling one of those yippy teacup breeds of dog. It was wearing more diamonds on its collar than an Oscar-nominated actress. The gems spelled out “Shakur.”
“Get Shakur’s outfits. Now!”
She gave an imperious wave in our direction. I could feel how brittle my smile was. My tinted glasses were in place and hadn’t failed me all day, so I wasn’t worried about vamping the party boys. Thankfully, Meg was keeping her cool.
“Um, dog clothes?” I asked.
Ms. Vogue looked down the length of her long patrician nose at us. “Arkady created an exclusive line just for Shakur and named it after QT .” She smiled lovingly at the flea bag, scratching it under the chin.
“It’s called ‘I Love Pi,’” he said, showing us a sparkly smile.
Was I supposed to think that was clever? Fail.
“And he’s making matching outfits for me, so that Shakur and I can be coordinated. I want the leather jackets first. You!” she snapped at Meg. “Move your fat ass and find them. Then call Arkady down here.”
“Were you speaking to me?” Meg inquired, overly polite.
No! Not now!
“Meg! Shhh!”
Vogue glared at Meg. “Yeah, you shush, and get moving!”
I wanted to march up to Vogue and scratch her eyes out—see what she’d think of that. Instead, I said, “I’ll get Jeremy to assist you.” I didn’t bother with a smile.
Vogue’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Get ARKADY. I don’t deal with little people.”
Oh, Vogue, you’ve gone too far.
“Don’t speak to us like that!” Meg snarled.
I slapped my forehead with my hand. I wonder how often Cerberus poops. Could I convince Hades to get a kitty cat?
“Yeah, you heard the pretty lady. Don’t talk to them like that,” said QT, turning on Vogue with a sharp voice and grim set to his jaw. Her mouth dropped open in shock.
I looked at Meg, trying to give her a subtle Shut up! gesture, but she was too busy being pissed off and didn’t see it.
“We demand … ouch! Respect! Ouch!” Meg quickly put her hands behind her back.
Uh oh. She’s sprouting feathers! If she doesn’t shut up soon, she’s going to be wearing an emu skirt. I sneezed several times.
But Meg still couldn’t let it go.
“Keep a leash on her! Ouch! Damn it!”
“She’s right,” said QT, wagging a finger at Vogue. “You a mean woman. You need to be leashed.”
“I’ll get Jeremy, he’ll speak to Mr. Romanov, and this will all be settled,” I said, trying to shoo Meg out of the salon.
No one was listening to me. I felt another sneeze building.
“QT, don’t you listen to her! You can’t treat me like that!” Vogue did that hand-on-hips, head-weaving move that made her look like an angry Egyptian dancer.
“Baby, if she say you need a leash, then you need one—bad!”
A really nasty fight was imminent. I grabbed Meg’s wrist and pulled her out of the room as fast as I could,