Page 10 of Lethal Seduction

“Funky odor? Like body odor?” she says. “That’s nasty.”

I shrug and wince. “I mean… he didn’t smell bad, but he did have an odor of someone who works for a living.”

“Stop that,” she says, slapping my arm playfully. “Everyone in this town works unless they’re a trust fund baby. Plus, did you see the dark circles under his beautiful blue eyes?” she asks.

“Well, sure.”

“That man had been up all night… probably working. I remember a time or two when we stayed up all night and stood in line at a casting call together. Your pits smelled like a dirty cat box.”

“Hey,” I say. “No need to be snarky.” She could be right about the guy, but after I dissed him like that, there’s no coming back from it. “Oh, well. Too late now. Los Angeles is a big city… there’s a snowball's chance in hell I’ll ever see him again.”

She shrugs. “I suppose.”

We grow quiet, and as Tina and I stand out front sipping the last of our quad-shot skinny mocha lattes with coconut milk, I’m reminded of how much beauty surrounds me at work. Then, a horn blares behind us, instantly souring my caffeine-infused mood.

I turn as the smoky gray Bentley pulls up alongside us. The back window lowers, and a gnarled, claw-like hand with bright red acrylic nails emerges, resting on the door. Her four knobby fingers and the thumb are bejeweled with diamonds and emeralds, each worth more than I make in a year. The ostentatious display can only mean one thing.

The richest, most self-absorbed, narcissistic, and somehow cheapest old woman, has arrived.

“Sweetie,” Mrs. Nadine Thornbird says in a condescending tone. “I’ll be back in an hour for my usual mani-pedi, massage, and waxing.” She points somewhere below window level where I’m thankful I don’t have to see. Tina sighs before the olderwoman continues. “Have a cocktail or two waiting for me… would you dear?”

I start to ask exactly what kind of drinks she wants when Mrs. Thornbird tosses a crumpled dollar bill to the ground and raises the tinted window, effectively silencing me. Her driver pulls away with a squeal of tires.

I step over to retrieve the money, but Tina grabs my elbow.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I shrug. “I can’t let her litter.”

“It’s okay to dive to the ground for a buck. God knows we’ve all done it. But we have an agreement.” Her look is stern, and I feel myself deflate a bit.

I nod.

“I think I’m going to need you to tell me about the agreement… I’m not convinced you remember.” Tina crosses her arms.

“Fine. No matter how desperate we are, we will never appear that way in front of the clientele.”

“Good. Now explain to me why.” The intensity of her glare sends a wave of anxiety through me.

“When ultra-rich sons-of-bitches see us in need, it satisfies their egos. When they watch us take the money they throw on the floor, it soothes whatever distorted sense of conscience they may have.” I look Tina in the eyes. “I know you’re right about this, but old habits are hard to break.” I turn to see the car as it pulls out of the circle drive and disappears into the distance.

“Okay, grab the dollar before one of the other desperate losers that work here thinks it’s theirs. We should get inside,” she says.

I unfurl the dollar bill before putting it in my pocket. We walk side-by-side toward the front door and throw our empty drinks into the trash outside the main entrance.

“Do we dare?” I ask.

Tina looks from side to side. No one is around as far as I can see and she says, “Hell yes. I’m not walking all the way around to the side entrance where, we, the lowlyhelpis allowed to enter.”

All employees, no matter what shift or position, are required to go through either of the side entrances or any of the back doors. The management says it’s to allow employees to clock in and out immediately rather than walking through the premises off the clock. Everyone knows it’s far from altruistic on the part of management, but rules are rules. And when it comes to work, Tina and I don’t exactly abide by the rules unless someone is watching.

We step through the automatic doors together, and I hear the most annoying sound on the planet.

“Well look what the cat dragged through a big pile of shit.”

We both turn as Devon “Size Queen” Sanderson sashays toward us with a tray of morning alcoholic beverages—Champagne and orange juice. My mouth waters. I could use one… or three to deal with Devon at this early hour. I’m not going to lie, Devon is actually a decent human being, but we had a falling out years ago when he was convinced I was trying to hook up with his boyfriend. No matter how many times I tried to explain that I wasn’t interested in the self-proclaimed straight, happily married, fifty-three-year-old, father of three, Devon didn’t believe me. Ever since, if side-eye, mean quips, and annoying behavior could kill, he’d be in prison, and I’d be six-feet under.

I roll my eyes. “Honey, if your shorts were any shorter, your shriveled-up bits would be showing.”

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