The Pretty Ones (12 page)

Nell tried to read the menu while gingerly holding it between a pair of fingers, turning the thick laminated pages without touching them too much.

“Ugh, disgusting,” Adriana complained, turning her own menu over with a set of French manicured nails. “We should have gone to Finnigan's. At least it's sanitary there.”

“So,” Savannah said, turning her attention away from Adriana's grievances and focusing on Nell instead. “How're you feeling?”

Nell watched Adriana and Miriam's faces for half a tick before settling on Savannah's concerned expression. She nearly jumped the gun and assured Savannah that she was fine, just fine.
Great
really, now that she didn't have to eat her bologna and cheese sandwich in the break room by herself. If only Barrett could see her now. He'd blow a gasket, for sure. And for some reason, picturing him freaking out amused her rather than caused the usual worry. She was in too good a mood to tarnish the afternoon with anxiety. After all, the police hadn't bothered to stop by the office to ask a single question about Linnie. The cops were looking in the wrong direction, and her brother should have been counting his lucky stars; Nell certainly was. Just another reason to shrug off tension and enjoy the moment. But the thought of Linnie made her expression fall. Surely, Mary Ann had voiced her doubts about Nell and Linnie's friendship to these girls. Mary Ann wasn't the type to keep her mouth shut about anything, especially things that weren't any of her damn business.

“Oh.” She looked down to the repugnant menu before her. “I'm all right, I guess.”

“It's just terrible,” Savannah murmured.

“Terrible,” Miriam repeated beneath her breath.

“Terrible if you
knew
her,” Adriana mumbled.

The more Adriana talked, the more Nell didn't like her.

“But Nell
did
know her,” Savannah said. “Right?” She raised an eyebrow at Nell.

Nell nodded.

“See?” Savannah appeared satisfied with Nell's mute reply. “Linnie and Nell were friends. Just because Mary Ann didn't know—” The waitress cut her off.

“Here we go,” she said, sliding their drinks onto the table. “Ready to order?” Nell kept her eyes fixed on a picture of a greasy hamburger and ordered first—a BLT and fries. She was mortified when all three girls ordered health-conscious salads in contrast to her own not-so-healthy choice.

Whale.

She slouched in the booth seat and sipped her Coke, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. Did she honestly think she could fit in with girls like these?

Pig.

They were an alien species.

They aren't human.

“Anyway, you shouldn't let Mary Ann get to you,” Savannah said. “She's just freaked out like everyone else. The city's gone certifiably bananas with all this crime.” She paused, gave Nell a once-over. “Are you really going to bleach your hair?”

Nell blinked up from her glass of soda, not sure what Savannah was talking about.

“Isn't that why you asked Mary Ann about her hair in the break room?”

Oh. Yes.
That had been just before Adriana had made Nell spill coffee down the front of her blouse and pants.

The memory of it sent a pang of disdain down her spine. She couldn't help but shoot a glance Adriana's way, but Adriana didn't meet her gaze. She was staring out the window instead, disinterested, as though this particular lunch was the most boring one she'd ever had in her life.

“I don't know,” Nell replied. “Probably not. I'd look silly as a blonde.”

“But aren't you scared
not
to?” Savannah asked.

Nell shrugged. “Not really.”

Mary Ann Thomas had said it best; Nell didn't need to worry. The Son of Sam only went after pretty girls. What was she supposed to be scared of,
Barrett
hurting her? Nell bit the inside of her cheek, stifling a smile.

“Miriam has family in Williamsburg,” Savannah said. “They're pretty scared out there.”

Nell cast a glance Miriam's way, feigning concern.

“I'm the only one in my family who's smart enough to lop off my hair,” Miriam said with a smirk. “You should have heard the fuss my mother made when she saw it.” She directed her last comment to Savannah rather than Nell. “My God. You'd think she'd rather me get murdered by some prowling psycho than cut my hair off to save my own skin.”

“Well, I'm not letting some psycho freak ruin
my
life,” Adriana chimed in, finally shooting Nell a hard look. “Last thing I'm going to do is lock myself up after dark. If I'm gonna end up dead, I want to have a good time first.”

Oh, you bet
,
Nell thought.
The drunker the girl, the easier she is to knock off her feet.

“The Cabana Club?” Nell asked.

“We go there after work sometimes,” Savannah said. “It's a cool place. The bartender is nice.”

“Really nice. Good looking too.” Miriam grinned to herself. Clearly, she'd fantasized about Mr. Bartender a couple of times. “He gives us half-price drinks when his boss isn't around, and his boss is
never
around.”

“You should come,” Savannah offered. “I know you didn't want to before, but if you feel up to it . . .”

Nell's heart fluttered inside her chest. So her initial refusal
hadn't
ruined her chances.

“Oh God,” Adriana murmured. “Next thing you know, she'll be telling everyone at the office we're all best friends.”

That perturbed statement deflated some of Nell's hope.

“Anyway, it's a free country,” Adriana said, her eyes fixed on Nell, as though the girl was on the verge of challenging their Plain Jane lunch companion to a duel. “Don't act so flattered.”

Nell looked down at her hands. No matter how much she wanted to reach across the table and slam Adriana's face into the plate-glass window, Adriana had a point. Nell didn't belong in this group, and she didn't belong at the Cabana Club, especially not in an ugly knee-length office skirt. But she had to try, for Barrett's sake.

Savannah shot Adriana a look. Nell pretended not to notice.

“I'd love to,” she said, “but . . . I can't tonight.” She had a few folded twenties tucked into her purse. After work, she'd miss her train and go to the shops instead. She'd pick out an appropriate outfit to meet them at the club the next time Savannah went. Maybe she'd be bold enough to chat up that nice bartender, because wouldn't
that
be a shock? Nell Sullivan, going out on the town in nice new clothes, talking to men and scoring a date? But as soon as the waitress slid Nell's BLT and fries in front of her, the voice inside her head reminded her that those ideas were insane.

Look at yourself,
it said.
Look at what you're eating. They're just being nice because of Linnie. This has nothing to do with you, Nell. Nothing at all.

“Well, okay . . . maybe some other time,” Savannah said, stabbing at her salad with a fork.

“Probably for the better,” Adriana muttered beneath her breath. “Best you have some time to mourn the death of your
friend
, huh? Wouldn't be that great of an idea going out to party right after finding out your pal got chopped up in an alley. I mean, it seems a little crass, don't you think?”

Nell's stomach twisted.

A pang of pain, like a bullet to the brain.

“Jesus, Adri. Cool it,” Savannah said.

Maybe it hadn't been Mary Ann after all. Maybe Adriana had been the one who had typed
NELL SULLIVAN IS A LIAR
onto Nell's transcription. The more she considered the possibility, the more likely it seemed.

Her insides clenched and cramped. She winced, her headache coming on strong.

“Don't listen to her,” Savannah muttered, but Adriana wasn't deterred.

Adriana exhaled an aggravated huff, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and fired off a question. “Where's Mary Ann anyway? Why are
we
here and she isn't?”

“Just eat your food, will you?” Miriam asked.

“This is stupid.” Adriana dropped her fork onto the table with a clang and slid out of the booth. “This place is a hellhole, and we don't even like her. We didn't even like
Linnie
.” Before anyone could ask her where she was going, she turned and stomped out of Moe's. The trio watched Adriana through the window as she marched across the street toward the deli at the corner.

Nell looked away from the window, stared down at her food. Suddenly, all she wanted was to disappear.

This was a mistake. You're fooling yourself. You shouldn't have come.

“Nell.” Savannah placed a cool hand on Nell's arm. Nell pulled away, as though the chill it carried was burning hot instead. “She's just annoyed,” Savannah said. “She doesn't like competing for attention.”

Nell furrowed her eyebrows. “Competing,” she said softly, not understanding how Adriana could even begin to think Nell was a worthy contender.

The table went quiet.

The girls ate their salads while Nell picked at her fries, doubt buzzing around her headache like a swarm of gnats around a piece of rotting fruit. Logic nagged her to get up. Reason encouraged her to go back to the office, to forget this whole confounded, impossible plan.
Just eat your sad sandwich by yourself,
she thought.
Choke it down, Moby
-Dick.
She scratched at the fabric of her skirt, her right hand drifting closer and closer to her purse as she contemplated a semi-graceful exit. The restaurant was getting hotter, her sweater insulating her, threatening to boil her brain. She could forget shopping for clothes after work, pay the entire bill, and tell them that she needed to get back to her desk. Linnie's death had put her behind schedule, and Lamont was riding her to catch up.
That
, at least, was true. Nell reached for her bag, deciding that it was the best course of action, but she was derailed by Miriam's quiet compliment.

“I like your bow,” she said, nodding to the yellow ribbon Nell had tied into her hair. “You should wear it more often.”

Nell stalled, blushed at the praise. She couldn't remember the last time someone had said something so offhandedly kind. Her fingers retreated from her purse just as the voice of doubt retreated to the back of her mind.

No, this was right.

This was what she needed.

This was
good
for her.

Straightening her shoulders, she gave the girls a questioning look. “Do you think Adriana would mind if . . .” She motioned to the untouched salad.

“Please,” Savannah said. “Not like she's coming back.” With that, she scooted the abandoned plate toward Nell.

Nell smiled in earnest then. She stabbed her fork into the leafy greens and pushed them into her mouth, chewing as she narrowed her eyes at her original order. Because she could do this; she could change her life for the better. Barrett would just have to deal with this the way he had forced her to deal with Linnie's death. Fair was fair, after all.

.   .   .

Nell stepped off the train later than usual, a plastic Gimbels garment bag draped over her arm and her fingers looped through the handles of a large paper bag. She had thirty-eight dollars left in her purse after eating lunch at Moe's with the girls, and she'd spent nearly all of it among the pretty, glittering racks of clothing that the world-­famous department store had to offer. The salesgirl had been helpful. She handed Nell dress after blouse after skirt—things Nell would never have chosen for herself but that looked better than she had expected under the flattering dressing-room lights. She'd even found a pair of cork-bottomed sandals she liked, ones that didn't make her look like a tramp.

Coming off the platform, Nell immediately took notice of the all-too-familiar bicycle gang. At first they didn't look her way, too busy huddled together, the back wheels of their bikes jutting out from behind them. Nell knew there were drugs in the center of that tight cluster. When it came to that sort of thing, Kings Highway was predictable. She tried to sneak by them. The last thing she needed was their attention, especially with her arms loaded down with shopping bags. But it didn't take long for one of the boys to look up, and when he did, he didn't hesitate in pointing her out to the rest of his pals.

“Ey,
es la bibliotecaria
.”

She could hear them despite their distance. Whoever had said it sounded miffed, like she'd been the topic of more than a few conversations since the last time they'd run into each other.

“What do you want to do?” another boy asked.

The inquiry quickened her pulse.

All at once, she imagined them coming at her. Pulling her into the shadow of a building. Tearing up her new clothes and knocking her front teeth in with a brick. She fumbled with the garment bag that was flung over her right arm. Dipped her hand into her purse. Felt around for the switchblade she'd shoved into her bag after the rock-hurling incident. It had been something she'd done in passing, doubting she'd ever need to use it. So she shouldn't have been that surprised when her fingers failed to locate the weapon among the clutter of her things. Her heart shouldn't have somersaulted quite so readily. But it did.

The boys murmured among themselves, probably deciding between aggravated assault or flat-out homicide, when something completely unexpected came tumbling out of Nell's mouth.

“You don't want to do anything,” she warned them, loud enough to breach the distance between them and her.

She didn't stop walking.

She didn't look their way.

“I have a gun,” she said, “and you can bet your ass I'm not afraid to use it.”