Grave Apparel Read Online Free PDF Page B

is over.” Lacey hung up with a silent oath, vowing that Cassandra would not ruin her evening. Or her Christmas spirit. She swung open the ladies’ room door.
    LaToya Crawford, the pretty AfricanAmerican Metro sec tion reporter, was rummaging in her purse for lipstick. She
     
    wore her trademark long jetblack pageboy, with never a hair out of place. It looked beautiful and bulletproof. She glanced up at Lacey.
    “Girl, you look frazzled. You do need a Christmas party.
    What’s up?”
    Lacey gazed at her reflection in the mirror under the ghastly fluorescent lighting and smoothed her hair. “Just a little runin with the one and only shepherdess of the downtrodden of the Earth.”
    “Ewww, Cassandra? What’s she jumping on you for? No, wait. I know.” LaToya laughed. “That Fashion Bite you wrote? Musta pushed all her buttons. Cassandra thinks Christmas sweaters are destroying the ozone layer or something.”
    “You’re psychic.” Lacey grinned.
    “Doesn’t take a genius, what with Sweatergate casting its pall over the entire office.” LaToya smoothed lipstick over her lips. “And that Wentworth witch has got no sense of humor.”
    “Some people never get one. And they can actually take oth ers’ away.” Lacey wondered what Cassandra could actually do to harm her. Bore the other managers senseless? Write another wretched editorial, attacking motherhood and apple pie, and blame it on Lacey? She pushed the thought from her mind.
    She hung her garment bag and opened it, revealing her dress for the evening, one of her Aunt Mimi’s vintage evening gowns. It was a perfectly simple cocktaillength dress from the 1940s, featuring a sweetheart neckline and sheer organdy sleeves dec orated in subtle velvet polka dots. The dress was a sapphire blue velvet that made Lacey’s bluegreen eyes look dark and myste rious—at least that’s what she told herself. She slipped out of her suit and into the dress. She admired her reflection in the mirror and felt better already. Her silky light brown tresses skimmed her shoulders in a soft wave, parted on the side with subtle blond highlights, courtesy of Stella, her stylist. As Stella would say, it was “very Rita bleeping Hayworth.”
    “Take that, Cassandra,” LaToya cackled. “That ain’t no pair of yellow bike shorts you got on.”
    Lacey smiled. Once again she silently thanked her late greataunt for leaving her a trunk full of wonderful vintage clothes from the late great twentieth century, chiefly the 1940s and a few gems from the 1930s. Not only was this vintage
     
    wardrobe fun and fabulous, Aunt Mimi’s clothes were one of a kind.
    “And I thought I was the only one who was going to look good here tonight!” LaToya exclaimed. “Where did you get that dress?”
    “The usual place.” Lacey grinned at her. “Just a little some thing from Aunt Mimi’s trunk.”
    “Honey, I wish she was my Aunt Mimi.”
    “Your dress is beautiful, LaToya, and it suits you perfectly. You look terrific.” Lacey admired the clean lines of the simple sleeveless Aline dress that LaToya wore. The bright red showed off her beautiful caramelcolored skin and flattered her curves. Lacey hoped she looked just as dramatic, in her own way.
    “It’ll do,” LaToya said, skimming her hands over her perfect hips. “So where is that other crazy woman, Felicity Pickles?” LaToya asked with a smirk. “Your little buddy.”
    “Please. It’s not my day to watch her.”
    “Whatever she’s wearing, I bet it’s gonna be good. You know, good meaning bad. As opposed to bad meaning good.”
    “You have a premonition? A feeling?” Lacey asked.
    “Moi? I’m hoping she comes as a human aluminum Christ mas tree, with a batteryoperated color wheel in one hand and a big shiny star perched on her head.”
    “I hope you’re right. She disappeared early this afternoon.” Lacey stroked some blush on her cheeks. “Maybe she had to get her star polished.”
    “What about the ecobitch,