Page 114 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Forty-five

“Can you believethe nerve of that guy?” Tracy complained loudly as we were leaving the reception area. “As if he couldn’t take two seconds to hear us out,” she was still complaining in the elevator on the way down to the parking garage. “It’s not like we don’t have Dad’s best interests at heart. I have half a mind to report him to the bar,” she said as we were pulling out of the lot.

“He had no choice,” I told her for what felt like the hundredth time. “His hands were tied.”

“Bullshit.” She pulled down the visor, examined her reflection in the small mirror. “So, what are we gonna do now?” she asked, snapping the visor back into position.

“Beats me,” I said honestly. “Find another lawyer, I guess.”

“Iknow what we’re gonna do,” she said as we headed north up University Avenue.

“What’s that?”

“We’re going shopping. Turn right on Bloor.”

“What?”

“Turn right. We’re going to Holt’s.”

“What?” I said again. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m buying that dress I told you about. And something for you, too, assuming they have anything nice in your size.”

I didn’t know whether to feel grateful, insulted, or both. “This is ridiculous. You can’t just…”

“I can’t? Watch me. Do a U-y and pull up right in front. The valets will park the car.”

“Tracy…”

“Come on. Don’t be such a goody-goody. Dad owes us.”

“He doesn’t,” I began, stopping my objection at the same time I stopped the car.What the hell?I reasoned, handing the car keys to the waiting valet and following Tracy inside the upscale department store.When’s the last time anybody bought me anything?

We made our way through the counters selling brand-name cosmetics to the escalator in the center of the three-story store, getting off at the second floor, where most of the designer labels were located, many in little boutique-like areas of their own.

“This way,” Tracy directed, removing her coat as she led me toward a rack displaying the latest in Victoria Beckham. “Here it is,” she said, looking around. “We’ll have to get a salesperson to unlock the hanger.” She pulled the calf-length, copper-colored dress toward her. “What do you think?” she asked. “Of course, it looks better without the hanger. Where is everyone?” She looked around. “Excuse me,” she called to a middle-aged woman with an old-fashioned bouffant of red hair. “Is Zack in today? Zack’s who I usually deal with,” she told me.

“It’s his day off,” the woman said. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’d like to try this on,” Tracy told her, “but I want Zack to get credit for the sale,” she instructed. “He’s the one I usually deal with, and he’d be really pissed if I let anyone else sell me anything.”

“Of course,” the woman said, although her tight smile indicated otherwise. She used her key to free the dress from its hanger. “No problem.”

“We’ll just look around for a bit, see if there’s anything for my sister. I’m an extra-small. You’re, like, what—a medium?” sheasked me, wrinkling her nose, as if the word itself was distasteful.

“I’ll start a dressing room for you,” the saleswoman said, lifting the dress from Tracy’s hands.

“Thank you,” I said when Tracy failed to.

“So, you see anything you like?”

“Pretty hard not to,” I admitted, focusing on a lovely camel-colored skirt. “This is beautiful, and I could wear it to work. Oh, my God!”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s three thousand dollars!”

“Yes? So? It’s Alexander McQueen.”