Mrs. Million Read Online Free PDF Page A

staff interrupted her, insisting that she work on that silly quilt or something. When she called a cab, the cab never came.
    She had slipped past them once and borrowed a car, but when she got to Harold’s Fashions, the manager—a rodent-mouthed little twit less than half her age—had refused to let her in, bringing up those ridiculous accusations of shoplifting. It was embarrassing. True, Hilde had on occasion forgotten to pay for a few items, but she was no shoplifter. That chinchilla coat they’d caught her with, well, she’d tried it on and simply forgot to remove it. And the tubes of lipstick in the pockets, what was that? Four or five tubes. That was all. When one bought as many outfits as she had over the years it was natural that one might neglect to pay for a few items. She’d given Harold’s plenty of business. It was the height of insolence for them to squawk over a few lousy lipsticks and a coat.
    Hilde Grabo had tried her best to instill her sense of style in her three daughters. For the most part she had failed. Her oldest, Mary Beth, appreciated quality tailoring but chose to dress with the humorless severity of a modern-day Carry Nation. And poor Antonia, though she tried so hard, always looked as though she had one idea when she began applying her makeup, but a completely different notion by the time she stepped into her shoes, like a cross between the young mother she was today and the punk rocker she’d been a decade back. Hilde worried about Antonia. Twenty-eight years old and the girl still chewed on her thumb and never left the house without at least one button missing. If she ever became famous—although why that might ever happen Hilde could not imagine—Toagie would rocket right to the top of Mr. Blackwell’s worst-dressed list.
    But it was Barbaraannette who had provided Hilde with her greatest fashion triumphs and disappointments.
    Hilde was paging through the February Vogue when she came across a photo spread of Khristianya, a statuesque ice queen recently imported from Latvia. Khristianya wearing fur and lace. Khristianya wearing a ruby-sequined cocktail dress. Khristianya wearing a linen, silk, and alpaca suit. Khristianya, looking very much like Barbaraannette had once looked, except for having green eyes instead of blue, and being narrow-faced and thinner and taller.
    Hilde looked up from her magazine.
    “Speak of the devil,” she said. “Barbaraannette, I was just thinking about you!”
    Barbaraannette smiled. She had such a beautiful smile, but she was not wearing a spot of makeup, not even lipstick. Her outfit, some sort of sweatshirt with a big loon printed on the front and a pair of khaki slacks, concealed her figure as effectively as a gunny-sack. And those shoes! Like something a foot doctor might prescribe. A far cry from the old Barbaraannette.
    Hilde heard a flinty voice: “Mother, we’ve been sitting here talking to you for the past ten minutes.”
    “Mary Beth!” said Hilde. “I was thinking about you, too!” She put her hands on the arms of her chair and straightened up, gaining a few inches in altitude.
    “I am sure you were, Mother.”
    “Well then!” Hilde crossed her arms and composed her face. “And have you girls been behaving yourselves?”
    “Mother, we are grown women,” said Mary Beth.
    Hilde frowned. “Of course you are.”
    Barbaraannette said, “Hilde, did you know I won the lottery?”
    Hilde felt her mind spin free for a moment, then experienced an almost audible clunk as concepts meshed and formed complete memories. Of course she knew! Barbaraannette had won millions of dollars! She’d seen it on TV. It was all the other hotel residents had been talking about. Hilde’s daughter had won the lottery!
    “That’s nice, dear,” she said.
    “And she’s offered a one-million-dollar reward to get her worthless runaway husband back,” interjected Mary Beth. “I was hoping you could talk some sense into her, but maybe this isn’t a good