Читать книгу Merciful Law - Darby Sr. Rae - Страница 6

Inside, the mall had two levels of shopping and a top level with a huge game arcade and a movie theater. It was fairly quiet for a Saturday, but it was still early. I went from store to store looking for something new; depressed to have to pass my favorites, Ann Taylor and Talbots.

On the second floor were several stores displaying hip new fashion. I hadn’t worn hip new fashion since high school. The first store I stepped into had music blaring so loudly I couldn’t carry on a conversation with the overly perky sales girl. The second store was quiet. I’d never used quiet as criterion for shopping before. The sales girl looked to be in her late twenties. She was a couple inches taller than me with straight brown shoulder length hair pulled back off her face. Her clothes were stylish and classy, with a sexy flair.

“I’m Cheyenne. Can I help you?”

“I’m interested in changing my wardrobe,” I said. In unison we both looked over my khaki pants, button down oxford shirt and flats.

“You just leave your new wardrobe to me, ma’am.”

“Alright Cheyenne, but don’t call me ma’am. It’s D…Annie.” “Danny?”

“No, just Annie.” I said simply as if she heard me wrong; not quite sure how I would explain not knowing my own name…or at the very least mispronouncing it.

“Follow me, Annie.” Cheyenne marched me around the store holding up different pants and tops before she sent me to the dressing room.

Three outfits later I was depressed. “Cheyenne, all of these clothes would look great on you, but I’m more conservative. The pants are too tight, the shirts are too low cut and the colors are too bright.” She eyed my khaki pants and pale blue shirt on the floor.

“You’re just not used to them, Annie.” We debated back and forth and finally she shook her head.

“Here’s the thing, Annie. Nothing’s gonna look right with that hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It just looks,” she hesitated, “old…and the color…” She wrinkled her nose. I tried not to be offended.

“I’ve been thinking about changing my hairstyle, but I’m new in town and don’t have a stylist.”

“Want me to make a phone call?” Cheyenne was standing still, folding her hands in a pleading way with an expression of sheer excitement on her face. I needed a new hairstyle and it wasn’t as if she stood before me with a pink and green mohawk. She looked great.

“Make your phone call.” I smiled.

Cheyenne pulled out her cell phone and shoved me back into the dressing room to try on more clothes.

“Ella, hey it’s Chy. I’ve got a make-over 911 here. What’s your schedule today? Can you fit her in?”

Geeze, make-over 911. I didn’t realize I was such a fashion train wreck.

“Gotcha all set up. She can take you now, but she’s gotta work you in between clients…she’s awwwwwesome.”

“Awesome. About the clothes; can you take it down a notch? I’m forty-two and…”

“Got it. How much do you want?”

“Ten, twelve outfits…and throw in a couple of those shoulder bags too.” I imagined my Versace purse would look a bit out place with my new wardrobe.

“Come back when you’re done with Ella and I’ll have everything ready for you. I’m here ‘til 7:00.” She handed me a business card with directions to Ella’s salon and I was off.

Five hours later I returned to the mall. My hair was chestnut brown with hair extensions down the middle of my back. My eyebrows were tweezed with a high arch, my make-up was flawless and now included eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, and eye shadow—none of which I had worn in a decade. My new look was complete with foundation, mascara and subtle pink lipstick. It wasn’t a make-over. It was a transformation. I could hardly stop looking at myself in the rear view mirror on my drive back to the mall. I didn’t look at all like myself. I was certain nobody would recognize me.

The mall was much busier now, but Cheyenne had all my clothes waiting. She had tops and bottoms—shoes, underwear, and jewelry too. She could hardly contain her excitement every time I came out of the dressing room. I walked out with a dozen new outfits and because she was worried I may deviate from her fashion prescription, she took photos with my cell phone of each one. I guess I can’t blame her for seeing me as stylishly handicapped…I like to think my style was just understated.

On the way back to the car I couldn’t resist a stop at the electronics store…in record time I had a new laptop, digital camera, iPod, GPS, memory cards, thumb drives and an external hard drive. Though I resembled a pack mule with bags hanging off my arms and neck, I felt whole again. Theresa wouldn’t let me take any of my electronics with me. Last stop was for luggage so I wouldn’t look like a homeless person when I walked into The Conrad Hotel—my new temporary home.

I picked The Conrad because it was close to restaurants, only four blocks. I had barely walked one block when I was quickly reminded why I had given up stuffing my feet into the torture chambers Cheyenne called shoes. The pain distracted me from fear, just as shopping at the mall distracted me earlier. Truth is, shopping could distract me from a missing limb.

Once comfortably seated in a restaurant, I had the uneasy feeling everyone was staring at me. I felt like a fugitive worried that at any moment someone would stick a gun in my face and state, “You’re coming with me.” Ruminating on that thought throughout dinner spoiled my appetite. I was on the edge of panic.

I walked with my head down back to the hotel as quickly as I could without attracting attention or breaking an ankle. I locked and bolted my hotel room door, leaned on it, and exhaled loudly. Safety. What I needed was a long bath and a good book.

After soaking in the tub for an hour I was shriveled up like a prune, but I was relaxed and looking forward to the down comforter that awaited me. The hotel provided a fluffy white terry cloth robe to wrap my wrinkled body in and I was headed out of the bathroom for phase two of relaxation—a good book. I rounded the corner out of the bathroom and landed face to chest with a monstrosity of a man; my face, his chest.

“Oh my God.” I breathed. I would have screamed, but all the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of my lungs. I’m dead. He found me.

“No, not God, lovely lady…only your angel.” He waited for me to recognize him; his unusual dialect; his massive form. He was well over six feet tall and easily close to 350 pounds of solid muscle. His mocha skin bore a litany of tattoos and brutal scars. His arms were the size of my legs and bulged with muscles. Tonight his fierce face wore an expression of warning, but his voice was smooth and soothing. He worked for Theresa; without them I could never have escaped.

“Michael?” I whispered. “How did you find me? How did you get in? Are you following me? Has Lawrence found me already? Say something Michael…why are you here? Has he found me? Is that why you came?”

“Shhh, my lady. Theresa sent me to closely watch over you. Lawrence searches for you with much man-power. Be wary in all that you do. Know that I am close.”

That was all he said before he left.