Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel (22 page)

“Here ya go,” said Val, passing Nikki an envelope full of papers.

“What’s this?” she asked blearily.

“Background on our missing girl.”

“Not much of a girl,” said Nikki, staring blankly at the pages. “She’s thirty-two.”

Val was digging through her pockets, ignoring Nikki, looking for something. She had just found her cigarettes when she noticed the No Smoking signs. “Damn,” she swore at the signs, and then turned her attention back to Nikki.

“Where’d you read that?” She twitched the top sheet out of Nikki’s hand and scanned it.

“I didn’t,” said Nikki. “They showed a piece on her during training.”

“Why?” Val asked, reaching for the cigarettes again, visibly struggling under the no-smoking policy.

“We were learning about the kind of causes Carrie Mae supports. Lawan is a major crusader against the sex trade. She founded a free health clinic and she works with a scholarship program for children born into brothels.”

“What a saint,” commented Val dryly, and switched to playing with her lighter. Nikki noticed that Val was drawing suspicious looks from the militant nonsmokers at the bar.

“They say she’s dating one of the top kickboxers in the country,” Nikki added, hoping that gossip would interest Val more than facts.

“Sounds good,” Val said. She had noticed her audience now and her lighter fiddling became more flamboyant as she took out a cigarette and put it on the table.

“Do you always bait the wildlife?” Nikki asked, quoting from someone, but unable to remember who.

“We all have our hobbies,” said Val with a grin.

“So if you could find something that irritated people without causing cancer, you’d do that instead?” Nikki asked with a laugh.

Val nodded. “Maybe.”

“I think you just like causing trouble!”

“Maybe,” Val agreed with an impish smile. “You should try it sometime. You might like it.”

“I’ll stick with my own passive-aggressive habits, thanks,” Nikki said as her cell phone began to sound its familiar tune. Why she had assigned a Rolling Stones song as her mother’s ring tone she never could remember. She pressed the Ignore button, hoping that her mother would take the hint and not call back. Val raised an eyebrow at her.

“My mom,” said Nikki by way of explanation.

“Why don’t you tell her where to get off?” asked Val.

“I can’t do that. She’s my mom.”

“I would,” Val said, leaning back in her chair.

“That’s because she’s not your mom. Eventually, I am going to have to speak to her again and, really, I just don’t want to fight.”

“What do you want?”

“What, like in an alternate universe where I have the perfect mom?”

“Yeah,” agreed Val, picking up the cigarette and putting it in her mouth. The hyenas at the bar began to move. Val put the cigarette back down, and the hyenas relaxed.

“Well, I’d like her to actually be supportive, for one thing. I
mean, she says she wants me to succeed, but then she does everything to get in my way.”

“What do you mean?” asked Val.

Nikki tried to think of a concrete example, something that was more than just overtones and implied expectations. “Oh, like one time, in high school, I needed to lose five pounds, which I did by sticking to a diet and working out more. When I told my mom, she said, ‘That’s great!’ and then made brownies.”

Val had been taking a sip of her drink and snorted with laughter, dribbling Bloody Mary down her chin. “Not while I’m drinking, Red!” she exclaimed, grabbing for a napkin. Nikki pondered her mother and handed Val a napkin.

“I’d really like her to not judge my dates by their cars. She’s so independent. I mean she owns her own home and all of her money is
her
money. You’d think she wouldn’t care what my boyfriends were making. She says she just wants them to be ‘good enough’ for me. But really it’s all about the money. There was this guy I was totally in love with, and she hated him. I swear it was because he drove a beat-up old Ford truck. But at the same time, it’s like she thinks I
have
to be dating somebody. Dating a poor guy is still preferable to dating no guy. Being single just isn’t an option.”

“Your mother has issues,” said Val. “Did she just miss the whole feminist thing or what?”

Nikki shrugged. “I guess.”

“All right, what else?” Val asked. “What else would your perfect mother do?”

Nikki shook her head. Thinking about her mother just made her already splitting headache worse. She thought about Val. She was tough, independent, and divorced—a lot like Nell. But unlike her mother, Val seemed not to need Nikki to do anything but be Nikki.

“Mostly I just want to be left alone,” said Nikki with a sigh.

“So, tell her. Find a nice way to say it, but tell her.”

“There’s a nice way to tell your mother to back off?”

“Hmmm. OK, maybe there isn’t, but, really, do you want to have her calling you every day for the rest of your life?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal when I was living with her.”

“Well, now you’re not. So you’d better do something. You have to stand up for yourself.”

Nikki shrugged uncomfortably. “That’s easy for you to say. She’s not your mother. She may not be Perfect Mom, but she’s the only family I have.”

Val flipped her lighter a bit more and eyed her cigarette. Nikki watched the lighter and drank her orange juice.

“Never had any family myself. Deadbeat dad. Mom was pretty much out of the picture. Bounced around between relatives.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nikki, surprised by Val’s revelation.

“I don’t tell you this to get sympathy,” Val said acerbically. “I’m just explaining. I never had much family and never really missed it. It’s always been Me and Self, and generally I like it that way. Don’t get me wrong—I like having somebody. You do reach a certain point in life where an empty house at the end of the day starts to look like the seventh ring of hell.”

“Why don’t you find someone nice and have a couple of kids, then?” suggested Nikki, interrupting Val’s thought process.

“Kids? Me and kids? Together? Like at the same time? Is that really something you can picture?” Nikki smothered a smile and shrugged. “And I don’t date nice people. Nice doesn’t really work for me. Besides, I could already have had six husbands and how would you know?”

“No pictures around the house. No one but the company has called you. And, um, you’re kind of prone to violence.”

“Well, aren’t you an observant little person,” said Val, narrowing her eyes to slits. Then she waved a hand through the air as if dismissing Nikki’s speculations. “Poor logic, though. I’m prone to violent outbursts whether I’m getting laid or not. But my point was—before I was derailed by the ludicrous idea of me procreating—that I just think it’s a little weird when I run into people like you who get hung up on their families.”

“Thanks so much,” said Nikki dryly. “Nice to know that
I’m
the weirdo in this partnership.”

A smile cracked across Val’s face. “Well, it couldn’t be me.”

“Don’t you ever get hung up on anyone?” Nikki asked. “There isn’t anyone who can make you do stupid things?”

“I’m a grown-up. I can do stupid things all on my own,” Val said, sternly, but there was a sparkle in her eye that belied the toughness of her attitude. “But yeah, there are one or two people who skew my decision-making skills.” A faint smile hovered on her face, and for a moment it looked like she was going to say something, but then she shook her head.

“Look, all I’m trying to say is that I’m probably not the best person to listen to on the family thing. If you’re happy having your mom call you whenever she feels like it, then rock on. If it works for you, then what do I know?”

“But I’m not happy about it,” Nikki protested.

“Then tell her to take a long walk off a short pier.”

“It’s not that simple,” answered Nikki, laughing.

“Yes, it is.” Val flicked her lighter and watched the flame burn for a moment. At the bar the hyenas tensed, but didn’t move. “I may not know about families, but I’ve been around the block a time or two. And ultimately, it’s always that simple. That’s your problem. You overcomplicate things. You have to exist right here, right now.”

Hic et nunc
, Nikki’s brain translated gratuitously.

“You can’t wait for the mythical perfect moment in the future. It won’t come. See what you want and go get it. Shortest distance between two points, that’s what life is all about,” Val said, and Nikki frowned. She had no way of refuting Val’s statement, but she couldn’t quite agree with it, either. She sighed and twisted her drink glass until it tore the napkin it was resting on. Val flicked her lighter on and off, playing with the flame.

“I’m going to mess this all up,” Nikki said, contemplating the soggy remains of the napkin where it clung to her glass.

“Mess what up?” asked Val, squinting at her watch.

“This,” Nikki answered, gesturing carelessly around the airport bar. “The mission. Carrie Mae. Whatever. I’m going to blow it.”

“You worry too much. Besides, why do you think they partner people up for the first missions? You’re not alone. You’ve got me, and who could possibly need more than that?” Val flashed a wide, toothy grin, and Nikki chuckled.

“No, seriously, just stick with me, kid. Follow directions and everything will work out fine. You can do that, can’t you?”

Nikki felt the tightness in her chest ease and she nodded, taking a drink of her orange juice to cover her embarrassment. Val flicked her lighter again and then again, until one of the hyenas by the bar made a move.

“Excuse me, madam,” a man said. He was fifty-something, but very fit, and dressed in the latest in business casual. Nikki guessed that his Italian leather loafers probably cost somewhere north of six hundred dollars.

“Yes,” Val purred, flicking the lighter again. The flame reflected in her eyes.

“This is a nonsmoking zone. You’re really not supposed to . . .”

“Supposed to what?” Val interrupted, leaning forward and smiling. Nikki could see the predator behind the smile, but she wondered if the man could. “Don’t tell me this is bothering you?” Flick, went the lighter. “It’s not as if I’m actually”—flick—“smoking.” Flick.

“Yes, but the latest security measures . . . you’re not supposed to have a lighter at all,” said the man, backpedaling a bit.

“Oh, you’re worried about my safety.” Val smiled and patted his hand. “That’s sweet.”

The man smiled back, relaxing under the onslaught of feminine charm. Nikki gulped the remainder of her orange juice. With grave deliberation, Val lit a cigarette, took a puff, and then handed it to the man.

“If you wanted a cigarette,” she said loudly, standing and collecting her bag, “all you had to do was ask. But really, they’re not good for you.” She walked away from the table and Nikki hustled to keep up with her. At the bar, she could see a nonsmoking lynch mob starting to form.

“I think they’re going to hurt him,” Nikki said, looking back over her shoulder.

“I hope they do,” Val said. “I hate people who think it’s their job to tell me what the rules are.”

They made the plane with no trouble, but once in the comforting embrace of a business-class seat, Nikki found her eyelids drooping in a southerly direction. She woke up enough to stumble through the Narita airport and onto another plane. The stewardesses changed race, but not smiles, making Nikki wonder if they simply passed the smile down from generation to generation of flight attendants.

Once in Thailand, Nikki was a step behind Valerie, as usual. Val navigated the bustling maze of the Don Muang Airport as
easily as if it were her local mall. They collected their luggage, with Nikki resentfully hauling her backpack and a second bag that contained the enormous makeup case Rachel had given her. She hadn’t felt confident enough to leave any of the gadgets behind, but the bulky case was messing with her packing philosophy.

Valerie led them toward the sliding double doors that opened onto a crowded sidewalk. It was nearly 10:00
P.M.
local time, but the wave of velvet heat seemed to swaddle Nikki in an instant shroud. After the air-conditioned cool of the airport, the incalescence of the sidewalk pulled at her skin in a riptide of warmth. She took a deep breath as if she had just surfaced, but the heat simply swept in her open mouth and filled her lungs. Val walked on as if the torrid temperature were nonexistent.

The sidewalk was lit with the grainy tint of a freeway tunnel. Val deposited them into a medium-size line that led to a brightly lit booth.

“What are we doing?” asked Nikki, adjusting the straps of her backpack.

“Waiting for a taxi.”

“We can’t just take one of those?” asked Nikki, pointing at the street, which was crammed, end upon end, with taxis.

“Nah, it’s some sort of unionized thing. You tell this lady in the booth where you want to go, she gives you a ticket, and you hand the ticket to the driver, who deposits you at your destination, then charges you double.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sometimes the price is really reasonable.”

Nikki set down her extra bag and, still wearing her backpack, rested it on the railing that cordoned off the line, taking the weight off her shoulders. She’d never been to Asia before. Never been much of anywhere. She supposed that a taxi line wasn’t all that
interesting to someone who’d been there before, but she found the hubbub exciting and was having a hard time copying Val’s expression of cool boredom.

They had reached the front of the line. Val told the woman in the booth the name of their hotel. The woman typed up a receipt, stamped it, and handed it to Val.

“Mandarin Hotel,” the woman yelled at a driver hovering nearby. The driver nodded and helped them put their bags in the trunk of his taxi.

As they drove, Nikki noticed that many of the billboards were in English. The city seemed a vast sprawling mess, but modern enough. There was no feeling of entering some mythical, forbidden East, only another grimy twenty-first-century city. Noticing a building surrounded by scaffolding entirely constructed of bamboo, she mentally corrected her classification of the city to somewhere in the early twentieth century.