Page 37 of Lick
A black tank top fell into my lap. At least this one looked the right size. The thigh-high red dress had been a size-four joke. Quite possibly a mean one, given Martha’s dislike of me back in LA. No matter.
A tag dangled from the tank. The price. Shit. They couldn’t be serious.
“Whoa. I could pay my rent for weeks with this top.”
In lieu of a response he threw a pair of skinny black jeans at me. “Here, they’re okay too.”
I put the jeans aside. “It’s a plain cotton tank top. How can this possibly cost two hundred dollars?”
“What do you think of this?” A length of silky blue fabric dangled from his hand. “Nice, huh?”
“Do they sew the seams with gold thread? Is that it?”
“What are you talking about?” He held up the blue dress, turning it this way and that. “Hell no, it’s backless. The top of your ass will probably show in that.” It joined the red dress on the floor. My hands itched to rescue them, fold them away nicely. But David just ripped into the next box. “What were you saying?”
“I’m talking about the price of this top.”
“Shit, no. We’re not talking about the price of that top because we’re not talking about money. It’s an issue for you, and I’m not going there.” A micromini denim skirt came next. “What the fuck was Martha thinking ordering you this sort of stuff?”
“Well, to be fair, you do normally have girls in bikinis hanging off you. In comparison, the backless dress is quite sedate.”
“You’re different. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t entirely believe the tone of my own voice.
His forehead wrinkled up with disdain. “Damn it. Look at the length of this. I can’t even tell if it’s meant to be a skirt or a fucking belt.”
Laughter burst out of me and he gave me a hurt look, big blue puppy-dog eyes of extreme sadness and displeasure. Clearly, I had hurt his heart.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you sound like my father.”
He shoved the micromini back into its bag. At least it wasn’t on the floor. “Yeah? Your dad and I should meet. I think we’d get along great.”
“You want to meet my father?”
“Depends. Would he shoot me on sight?”
“No.” Probably not.
He just gave me a curious look and burrowed into the next box. “That’s better. Here.”
He passed me a couple of sedate T-shirts, one black and one blue.
“I don’t think you should be selecting nun’s clothing for me, friend,” I said, amused at his behavior. “It’s vaguely hypocritical.”
“They’re not nun’s clothes. They just cover the essentials. Is that too much to ask?” The next bulging bag was passed to me in its entirety. “Here.”
“You do admit it’s just a tiny bit hypocritical, though, right?”
“Admit nothing. Adrian taught me that a long time ago. Look in the bag.”
I did so and he burst out laughing, whatever expression I wore being apparently hilarious.
“What is this?” I asked, feeling all wide-eyed with wonder. It might have been a thong if the makers had seen fit to invest just a little more material into it.
“I’m dressing you like a nun.”
“La Perla.” I read the tag, then turned it over to check out the price.
