Shop Talk Read Online Free PDF Page B

yellow. A real man’s teeth. And there was the hint of a beard at his jawline. Her eyes slid to his chest to see if she could detect body hair. She hated a man without body hair. The slick, nubile chest of some fair-skinned men made her feel as if she were doing something illegal.
    “Say about seven o’clock. I could pick you up?” He waited for her answer.
    Jazz looked at her wristwatch. It was nearly six o’clock. Wednesday was the evening the library stayed open late, and the sun was just beginning to set. The soft dusk of Mississippi spring was giving the entire street a fading, pinkish-gold glow. There was time—hell’s bells, it was Wednesday night. Writers of Mississippi Books met at six-thirty, sharp.
    “I’m sorry, officer, I have a meeting tonight.”
    “Yeah, my ex-wife used to go to those AA meetings.” He nodded knowingly.
    “Not AA, W-O-M-B.”
    “Womb?” His gaze dropped to her belly.
    “Womb,” Jazz repeated, a tad impatiently. “It’s a perfectly legitimate word. It means …”
    “Maybe another time.” The officer tipped his hat. “I’d better get back on my beat.”
    “Another time,” Jazz called as he walked away. Once inside, she jotted down the officer’s last name, O’Neill. It had been right on the nametag on his uniform. She wasn’t a trained observer for nothing. He might call again and ask her out, and she wanted to be able to use his name.
    “Wrap it, please. It’s a present, from me to me.”
    The sales clerk smiled as she took the swan-shaped bottle of perfume and returned it to the box. The accumulated purchases of the woman standing before her would result in a hefty commission, and the day was still young. Dallas Dior had plastic to burn. “It’s exquisite, Ms. Dior. Shall I put it on your account?”
    “Mmmm.” Dallas had already turned her attention to a vivid shade of dark brick lipstick. “May I see that, please?”
    “In the gold or blue case?” The clerk was reaching for the gold before she even finished asking the question. The woman who stood before her always bought the best of everything, from the lace-topped French hose to her hair spray. Only the best, always the best. Dallas was a shopping legend all over the Gulf Coast. Her husband, Robert Beaudreaux, was a doctor, but not the kind who saw patients. Whatever he did for the flyboys out at Keesler Air Force Base, it was enough to provide his eccentric wife with a plush lifestyle and uncountable discretionary funds.
    “I’ll take the lipstick, and while I’m here, I might as well look at those cute gold earrings. The moon and stars. Those will look fine with the new dress I bought at La Belle Petites.”
    The clerk glanced at Dallas. Size four. Shoe size six, narrow. Waist, twenty-two inches. And long, dark, curly hair down to her ass. She was some little coonass package of dynamite, thought the clerk, handing over the requested earrings.
    “I suppose that will be all.” Dallas glanced at her watch, her perfect face momentarily marred by a frown. Coco, as usual, was very late.
    “Dallas! Dallas! I’m coming.” Coco skidded up to the counter. “I’m late. I know. I should have been on time, it’s just that—” She saw the stack of packages. “I thought you said Robert told you to chill out with the credit cards.”
    “I know how to handle Robert.” Dallas shrugged. “It’s the oldest form of bartering in the world.”
    “What all did you buy?” Coco’s voice held no envy, only curiosity. She lifted the smallest bag and smelled it. “Yum, that isn’t chocolate, but it smells great.”
    “Perfume.” Dallas lifted a shiny black bag and handed it to Coco. “The chocolate’s in there. How was your shoot?”
    “I like Walden. He’s a little sickly. Asthma.”
    “What about his work?” Dallas pressed.
    “We shot the pictures today.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re so impatient. You’re going to turn out to be just like Mona.”
    “Yeah, well, sometimes I could use one