Page 21 of Savage Hearts

“I amnotwearing that.”

“Just put it on. You’ll thank me later.”

I stare indignantly at the tiny scrap of fabric Sloane is trying to pass off as the dress I should wear out to dinner. I’ve blown my nose into tissues with more substance than that.

“I’ll thank you to stop trying to make me look like a sex worker. You’ve already done enough damage with the platinum catastrophe on top of my head.”

“Are you kidding? Your hair is amazing!”

I say acidly, “Yes, if it’s three o’clock in the morning, and I’m working in a Reno cabaret as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator old enough to have gone on tour with Frank Sinatra, and everyone in the audience is sight impaired or drunk, it’s amazing. But in this dimension of reality, it’s not.”

Ignoring me, she turns to rummage deeper into the vault she calls a closet. “Do you still wear a size six shoe?”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “No. I wear a twelve now. I have this weird disease that causes massive foot growth.”

Ignoring my sarcasm, she says, “Good. These will go perfectly with the dress.”

She turns and tosses a pair of high heels at me. I refuse to catch them, so they bounce off my stomach and land onto the carpet near my feet. Next, she throws the dress. It lands on top of my head and hangs down in front of my face like a veil.

A minuscule, see-through veil with abdominal cutouts.

Sloane breezes past me out of the closet. “When you’re dressed, I’ll do your makeup.”

Seething, I yank the dress off my head and stare at it. I could literally fold it up and put it into the pocket of my sweats.

Honestly, how does she expect me to wear this thing? I might as well just put on a thong and some pasties and call it a day!

Sloane calls from the other room, “Hurry up, Smalls, I’m hungry!”

I mutter, “Oh, now it’s an emergency becauseshe’shungry. The queen is hungry, y’all! Everybody giddyap!”

“I can hear you in there.”

I holler over my shoulder, “How do you even fit into this thing? You couldn’t get one of your boobs into it, much less that booty!”

“There’s this interesting material called spandex. It’s highly stretchable. You would’ve heard of it before if you hadn’t been busy hoarding all that cotton fleece. Nowget dressed,or I’ll lock you in that closet without dinner.”

I close my eyes and heave a sigh.Should’ve brought less candy and more drugs.

I spend five minutes wrestling with the stretchy nightmare of a dress until finally it’s on. Barely covering my cooch, but on.

Then I shove my feet into the stripper heels and wobble out of the closet.

When Sloane turns to look at me, I throw my arms in the air.“Here. Happy now? I’m Julia Roberts inPretty Woman,only with a sluttier wardrobe and no happy ending.”

Sloane stares at me silently, her eyes wide.

I’d rip off the stupid dress, but I think I’ll need scissors to get out of it.

“Say something nice to me, Hollywood, or I swear to god, I’ll cut you.”

She says softly, “You look beautiful.”

“Oh-ho! Good one. Go big or go home, right?”

“No, I mean it. You look beautiful.”

I exhale hard in disgust. “Of course I do. I’m just a beautiful prostitute on her way out for an evening of romantic encounters in alleyways to earn fistfuls of sweaty dollar bills. Let’s get this over with and go eat. My blood sugar is dangerously low right now.” I glare at her. “I’m liable to stab the nearest person.”