Shop and Let Die (13 page)

Even more critically, my
marriage could use a new bra. Not that Seth needs to see me in a
lacy bra to feel attracted to me. I know some of my friends
complain their husbands have lost interest in them. Not me. I could
dress like a bag lady and Seth would still find me attractive. I
don’t know why. But it wouldn’t hurt for me to make an
effort.

Going through the job fair
had reminded me sharply of just how much I’d given up on caring
about my appearance. Sure, I changed out of my sweats for PTA, and
mystery shopping. But at home I was more into jeans and t-shirts,
with a sweatshirt for warmth.

Fortunately, for this shop
I did not need to sound like I knew what I was doing. I only needed
to ask three basic questions about the bras and check that the
salesgirl would upsell the newest bust-lifting device of the
month.

The store was nearly empty
when I entered, so I was greeted quickly by a young woman with
unnaturally jet black hair with a wide pink skunk strip. “May I
help you?” Her voice was soft and sweet, almost wispy, not at all
what I expected from the brow-pierced and nose-ringed woman. Maybe
things were looking up.

“
Hi. I need a new bra.” I
wasn’t supposed to lead her by asking for a specific type, which
was a very good thing, since I didn’t know any names of bra
manufacturers.

She scanned me, politely,
with no recoil of horror. “I know just the one,” she smiled and lit
up brightly. “The Uplift.”

Good girl, she’d done the
first step to upsell me and get a good report, little did she know.
“I don’t really think I have anything to uplift,” I said
honestly.

She laughed. “Wait until
you try this one, you’ll never wear another bra in your
life.”

She showed me the two
models, and offered me the opportunity to try on the black lace
version. “I don’t know about that one, it might be too hot for me
to handle.”

She glanced at the wedding
ring on my finger. “Best way to keep your man happy.”

Seeing that she looked
about sixteen, I couldn’t help joking back, “Do you know that from
experience?”

She blushed. It made a
strange contrast with the pink stripe in her hair. “No.”

“
Sorry. I shouldn’t have
asked that.” I felt bad. I hadn’t meant to embarrass
her.

She brightened. “Although
I wore it for the first time Saturday night when I went dancing
with my friends and I was surprised to see how many guys asked me
to dance—at least twice as many as usual.”

I’d give her extra points
for that—she seemed to be telling the truth, and making a point
about the bra at the same time. The sign of a good salesperson.
“Dancing. Guess the bra wouldn’t help for the on-line dating
scene.”

She shook her head. “Some
of my friends do that, but I like the face to face instead of the
pixel-to-pixel myself.”

“
I know what you mean.” I
didn’t, really, I wasn’t good with face-to-face and preferred
pixel-to-pixel myself. But not even a supermom admits such things
to a lingerie saleswoman with a youthful glow and a flair for
sales.

She showed me to the
dressing room and I did a quick once over in the tiny space—no
fingerprints on the mirror, no trash or extra hangers or tags on
the floor. Not even any lint on the floor.

I didn’t need a new bra—in
fact, I rarely even wore bras, one of the few perks of being
anti-buxom. For some reason, the piece of black lace seduced me
with its ephemeral promise of cleavage I’d never thought to
possess. I tried it on and felt absurdly sexy—the miracle garment
apparently managed to squeeze every ounce of fat from my back to my
front, giving me two tight little bulges of flesh out of the top of
the bra.

“
What did you think?” The
girl beamed at me when I came out of the dressing room, as if she
was privy to the thought in my head: “Wow, I have
boobs.”

I smiled. “Quicker and
cheaper than surgery.”

Cleary, knowing a sale
made could be lost with a slip of the lip, she merely smiled and
raised an eyebrow.

I bought the bra. It was
cheaper than surgery—but not by much. I’d made twenty plus fifteen
dollars reimbursement for the shop and paid sixty for the bra. Net
cost of my job was twenty-five.

Waiting in the carpool
line, I finished up the paperwork for the shop before I forgot the
details. But first I surreptitiously wiggled into the bra under my
zipped up hoodie.

I’d succumbed to one of
the dangers of mystery shopping—spending more than I made. Seth
would not be pleased…or would he? I pulled my hoodie tight over the
curve of my modest, yet well defined, bosom. Maybe this would be
one confession I could make that would make mystery shopping just a
little more interesting for both of us.

I settled the kids with homework, put dinner in the oven, and
then glanced at the kitchen calendar. Oops. PTA meeting tonight,
again. Curse you Bianca. Circled in red, and still I almost forgot.
It was inhuman to schedule weekly PTA meetings and then go off to
Paris for two weeks.

Fueled by the power of my
new bra, I switched from visions of an evening dating with my
husband as chaperone to visions of being a supermom among
supermoms. I took a shower and changed into clean
clothes.

Normally I brushed my
hair, my teeth and considered myself good-to-go. But on a PTA
meeting night, I tend to feel the need for a touch of mascara and
lipstick. I have, depending on who’s running the meeting, also used
the blow dryer on my hair. But tonight’s meeting will be run by VP
Norma Baker, Elliot’s mom. A more down to earth supermom I’ve never
met. She is at the same time laid back and soft-spoken and
supremely clear-sighted.

Never one to be distracted
by unexpected opposition to the color of the table cloths for the
bake sale table, Norma cuts through to the best color for the
theme-du-jour, acquires a consensus and moves on. She really should
have been president, except that there was a quick whisper-campaign
against her at the last minute right before the election.
Apparently, being a partial home-schooling mom is suspicious
activity among the PTA-voting parents.

Naturally, when the PTA
president, Bianca Thornton is chairing, I break out the blow dryer.
So, maybe I should be grateful she was in Paris for two
weeks.

Seth had come home by the
time I emerged primped and polished from the bedroom. His eyes
immediately went to my chestal region, where the new bra had my
girls looking perky. Did he have radar? And why did his attention
make me feel sexy? Was the bra magic?

He smiled and nuzzled my
neck. “You look nice. But dinner with the Dean isn’t until this
weekend.”

Oops. I’d forgotten to put
that little date on the calendar at all. “I know,” I lied, hoping
he wouldn’t follow me into the kitchen and see the evidence that
I’d forgotten. Not that he tended to consult the
calendar.

“
Are we having another
Serena evening?” He followed me, the bra apparently acting like a
magnet, and nuzzled my neck again as I stood staring at the
refrigerator, trying to decide whether to mark the calendar while
he nuzzled, or wait until he was busy elsewhere.

“
Serena will have to
wait.” I pushed him away, feeling slightly guilty about my spur of
the moment exchange with Hammond. “PTA. Can you hold down the fort
tonight? Dinner’s in the oven and the kids should be done their
homework by now.”

He frowned. “How long will
you be? I have some grading to do.” Big surprise. He did not like
to be dad-in-charge.

I handed him plates and
silverware and pointed to the table. “You can let Ryan load the
dishwasher and then they can both watch a movie while you grade.
We’ll probably go until 9 at least.”

While his back was turned
to set the table, I jotted “dinner with the Dean” on the calendar
and circled it in red. I’m going to need more than a fancy new
power bra for that get-together.

“
That’s later than usual.
Are you planning to implement world peace tonight?”

“
No. But you know how
Norma is—thorough and willing to listen to even the kookiest grump
on the committee.” Not like Bianca, who lays down the law as she
sees it and suffers no complaint. Somehow, though, an hour meeting
with Bianca in charge is much more stressful than a two-hour
meeting with Norma running things.

He held out a glass for me
to fill with wine. “Well then, if you don’t say anything to stir
things up, the meeting will be over by eight.”

I savored the aroma of the
Blackstone merlot—not an expensive wine, but decently fruity
without any bitterness—and take his advice.

“
Kids, dinner!”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

The PTA Follies

The PTA fair planning meeting had started by the time I
arrived. I sneaked in, glad that Bianca was not in charge tonight.
Guaranteed, she would have already assigned me a few duties I would
not have wanted to do, as punishment for being late.

Normally, I would have
stumbled in awkwardly, mumbling apologies and wanting to disappear.
But my new power bra made me bold. I waved at Deb and settled into
the seat at the table next to her. She gave me a surprised look,
reinforcing that my entire being radiated
I’m late, deal with it bitches
. She
nodded her approval.

Norma smiled at me, but
did not stop her report on the state-of-the-fair planning. Who knew
acting like you were confident of yourself could make life so much
easier? I needed more killer bras.

Halfway through, Norma
gave us a ten-minute break. As expected, the gossip started
immediately. And there was only one topic: the latest victim of the
serial killer. “She was a mystery shopper,” I heard one person
across the room say in a stage whisper, and I strained to hear
more.

“
I thought that was a fake
job. Like stuffing envelopes at home.”

“
Well, that’s what I
heard. She got lured to her death through mystery
shopping.”

Whoa. Wait? I looked at my
smart phone and calculated whether I could get away with checking
my email to see if the shopper boards had gotten hold of this
story.

I wondered if Deb would
tell me, if I asked. Maybe nod if I guessed right? She didn’t like
to gossip about her job, which made her a good cop, but a
less-than-helpful friend in this situation.

My suspicion was confirmed
when one of the mom’s said, “Hey, Deb. How worried should we be?
The police say this guy stakes out the mall, but what if he decides
to moonlight at a local strip mall because you guys are all over
the real mall?”

Deb put on her official
no-comment expression and said, “It’s always better to be safe than
sorry.”

All the moms groaned at
the unhelpful cliche, and she shrugged. “If you can avoid the mall,
avoid it until this guy is caught. If not,” she glanced at me. “If
not, then take a friend, or pepper spray. And make sure it is in
within reach, not inside the car when you need it most.”

I wanted to stick out my
tongue at her. I regretted telling her about Nosy Cowboy Guy. But
if I reacted, I’d out myself as the guilty party, and the others
would start asking questions I didn’t want to answer.

After the meeting, Deb
whispered. “Sorry. But I thought it was worth it to do the public
service announcement.”

“
I guess.” I wanted to
find a way to ask her just how much danger we were all in, with
this guy out there.

She changed the subject on
me before I could. “What do we do if we don’t have enough cakes for
the cake walk? Nobody bakes anymore and Bianca says they have to be
homemade. That’s always a popular game, and the more cakes, the
more money it brings in.”

“
What Bianca doesn’t know,
doesn’t hurt us, right? I’m not going to be the cake police. Who
can tell between homemade and store bought, anyway?”

Nancy Sackris overheard us
and scooted over. Nancy was my co-leader for Anna’s Brownie troop.
She was a lifelong Girl Scout, and proved it once again by offering
to help. “What if we had the girls help with the Cake Walk for
their service project.”

Deb looked doubtful.
“They’re a little young to be baking cakes.”

Nancy waved her hand in
the air to dismiss Deb’s doubts. “Molly and I will make it a troop
project. We’ll have the mothers come and help. They’ll bake the
cakes ahead of time, and then we’ll all decorate them.” Nancy’s
blue eyes twinkled. “Competition usually brings out the creativity.
And I’ll make sure to have some pre-made icing flowers and do-dads
to make sure every cake is worth winning.”

Deb nodded. “Better you
than me.”

I thought Nancy’s idea
deserved more praise, so I chimed in, “I love you, Nancy. Don’t
tell Seth.” We all laughed.

Deb relaxed about the cake
walk…a little…as we figured out how to handle the logistics of
planning the troop meeting and delivering the cakes to the fair on
time.