“Why? How much room could a baby take up?”
“It’s not the baby so much, it’s all the stuff. You got your crib, your changing table, your activity center, your diaper unit, your-”
“Never mind. Jeez.” It gave her the mild weirds just to think about it.
“It was really smart to horn in using Mavis.”
“I have my moments.”
“Of course, you could’ve just told them you were Mrs. Roarke, and they’d have bowed to you.”
“I don’t want them to bow to me, I just want a damn interview. And don’t call me Mrs. Roarke.”
“Just saying.” Cheerful now, Peabody polished off the wrap. “Boy, nothing like a good breakfast to lift your mood. It’s not such a big deal, getting a place with McNab. It’s just another step in an evolving relationship. Right?”
“How the hell do I know?”
Fastidiously, Peabody dug out a wipe for her fingers, and made a mental note to replace the bloody handkerchief she’d left at Smith’s. “Well, when you moved in with Roarke you didn’t get all stupid and nervous and knotted up.”
There was a long pause, a long silence.
“You did?” Peabody’s head thunked back on the seat. “That’s so great. It makes me feel so much better. If you can get all screwed up over moving in with the god of men, into that palace, it’s okay for me to get wigged about moving to an apartment with McNab. It’s okay.”
“Now that we’ve solved that thorny dilemma, maybe we can concentrate on the case.”
“I just have one more question. When did you get over it? I mean, how long did it take for you to feel normal about hooking up with Roarke-living in the same space and all that?”
“I’ll let you know when it happens.”
“Wow. That’s…” She thought it over, and a dreamy smile bloomed on her face. “That’s sweet.”
“Please shut up before I have to hurt you.”
“Dallas, you said please. You’re mellowing.”
“Insults,” Eve grumbled. “All I get are insults. Mrs. Roarke, sweet, mellowing. We’ll see how mellow I am when I stuff your head up your ass.”
“And she’s back,” Peabody announced, and rode in contented silence.
– -«»--«»--«»--
You could always count on Mavis, Eve thought. For a favor, for a laugh, for a shoulder. And most of all for sheer surprise.
Being four months pregnant hadn’t depleted her energy or affected her bent for fashion risks. At least Eve assumed they were risks as nobody, absolutely nobody, looked quite like Mavis Freestone.
She’d gone for summer pastels, for her hair in any case, and had swooped it up in some sort of snaky twists that twined gleaming hunks of blue and pink and greens together. They were anchored here and there with lavender pins in the shapes of what Eve took for tiny flowers, until she got a closer look and realized they were naked babies curled into the embryonic position.
Talk about the weirds.
A dozen thin chains of gold and silver dangled from each ear. On each chain, colorful balls hung that clanged together every time she moved. Which meant constantly.
Her tiny body was decked out in a skirt the size of a table napkin, matched with a swingy vest, both in white, and both covered with tiny question marks that echoed the hues of her hair. She wore shoes with one clear strap. The thick soles and clunky heels were filled with more little balls that jingled with each step. Her toenails were painted in every color of the rainbow.
For Mavis, it was business attire.
“This is absolutely magalicious,” Mavis claimed. “Outré is like the cutting edge. It was my bible of style before I met my honeybear. I still go through it every month, but now I never have to think how I’m going to afford all the friggin’ clothes. Leonardo is the ult.”
“I need five minutes with her.”
“It’s a dunk, Dallas. If she could’ve kissed my ass over the ‘link, I’d have lip dye smears on my butt. Just watch.”
They crossed the wide lobby. It was done in sharp geometric patterns of white, red, and black. Fanning out from the central data desk were pathways that led to boutiques, a fancy café, and a home decor center.
Between them on the walls were screens on which elongated models walked runways in outfits that might have been designed by a mental patient on Pluto.
“Fall fashion shows,” Mavis told her. “New York, Milan, Paris, and London.” She let out a squeal and pointed. “See that? That’s my babycakes’ designs. Nobody comes close.”
Eve studied the ensemble of skintight red stripes that boasted an explosion of gold tail feathers and a transparent skirt that glowed with little white lights at the hem.
How could she argue?
Mavis marched by the data center to the security station that guarded a bank of glossy red elevators. “Mavis Freestone to see Julietta Gates.”
“Yes, Ms. Freestone, you’re to go right up to thirty. Someone will meet you.” The guard’s hand came up to stop Eve and Peabody. “Only Ms. Freestone is cleared for thirty.”
“You don’t really think I travel alone, do you?” Mavis spoke in icy tones before Eve could work up a snarl. “If my entourage isn’t welcome, neither am I.”
“I beg your pardon, Ms. Freestone. I just need to check upstairs.”
“Quickly.” Mavis shot her little nose in the air. “I’m a very busy woman.”
She made a show out of tapping her foot, examining her nails in the twenty seconds it took the guard to clear them.
“You and your entourage are cleared for thirty. Thank you for your patience.”
Mavis maintained the diva mode until the elevator doors shut behind them. “Subzero! I could eat that with a spoon. ‘You and your entourage are cleared for thirty.’ Is that hot shit, or what?”
She did a quick butt-wiggling dance, then patted her belly. “I only said entourage because I thought you might punch him.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“I’m keeping the baby away from displays of violence. Not even watching much screen. I heard how serenity and positive energy’s really good for brewing babies.”
With some trepidation, Eve glanced down at Mavis’ belly. Could the thing hear in there? “I’ll try not to punch anybody when you’re around.”
“That’d be good.” Mavis shut off her beaming smile as the doors opened. The diva was back. She lifted her eyebrows at the woman who waited for them.
“Ms. Freestone, such a pleasure to meet you. I’m an enormous fan of yours, and of Leonardo’s, of course.”
“Of course.” Mavis extended a hand.
“If you’ll just come with me, Ms. Gates is very anxious to see you.”
“I dig this to China,” Mavis said out of the corner of her mouth as they walked through another generous lobby.
In this one, clear cubes were set up for busy drones. Headsets and keyboards were fully manned by a troop that had obviously watched the fashion shows and tried to outdo them.
The space once again fanned out, and at the far curve were double doors in what Eve now assumed was Outré’s signature murder-red.
Their escort hurried along in a skirt snug as a bandage, on heels sharp as scalpels. She pressed a button at the center of the left door. Seconds later, a brisk impatient voice snapped: “Yes.”
“Ms. Freestone is here to see you, Ms. Gates.”
Rather than a response, the doors slid back into the wall, revealing an enormous office, ribboned with privacy-screened windows.
The black-and-white theme continued here. Black carpet, white walls, a massive white workstation. Wide chairs were covered in thin black-and-white stripes.
The red came from the scarlet roses massed in a tall black vase, and from the sharp, powerful business suit that decked Julietta’s impressive body.
She was tall, curvy with a simple sweep of honey blonde hair that swung around a diamond-shaped face. Keen cheekbones, keen chin, keen nose, with a mouth just a shade too thin for beauty. But the eyes, a deep, deep brown, pulled the attention away from the minor flaw.