"I just thought--" He smiled coolly. "Unless you're too tired from last night, that is," he said. "I didn't hear you come home. I lost myself in bookwork," he added, mostly for my benefit.
"Too tired to go out to dinner? Never," Ami replied. "It's a wonderful idea. Let's go to Hunters."
Wade grimaced.
"Don't you think something more like Billy's Hideaway? The food's good and it's not pricey and--" "No," Arai said thinly. "Hunters."
Wade nodded.
"Okay. I'll make a reservation for seven." He stood and looked at me.
"Enjoy your shopping spree," he said.
"We will," Ami promised. It sounded more like a threat.
He folded his paper, glanced at me to smile and nod, and then left.
As though she was constantly in the doorway watching and listening, Mrs. McAlister appeared instantly and began to clear off his dishes and silverware. Ami nibbled on a small piece of my toasted muffin.
"Please get me a piece of diet-bread toast, Mrs. McAlister," Ami told her. "The one with the raisins."
She nodded and returned to the kitchen.
Ami shook her head and turned to me.
"See," she said, "see why I need you to help me liven up this dreary place? Billy's Hideaway. If you ever go there, you'll understand why it's a hideaway. All he cares about are the prices on the menu."
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her about the pajama bottom and about her whimpering, but I thought if something had made her sad, she wouldn't want to talk about it. I never liked to do that at the orphanage, no matter how the nuns pleaded for me to reveal what had darkened my eyes and brought tears to my cheeks. I was more comfortable with silence, so I just assumed she would be.
Ami sipped her coffee. As suddenly as the depressing note had come into her voice, it was gone, and she was excited again.
"First, we'll go to my beautician and do your hair. I've got that all arranged. Then we'll go to my boutiques and get some fun clothes for you. We'll have lunch at an expensive restaurant, too."
She slapped the coffee cup down so hard, I was surprised it didn't shatter.
"Mrs. McAlister!" she shouted.
The cook appeared instantly.
"Forget about my toast. I don't have time. Come on," she told me as she rose. "Get ready to leave. We have too much to do to waste time here."
She squealed with delight and hurried out of the dining room. I felt funny leaving dirty dishes and glasses on the table. All my life, it seemed, I'd helped clean up, especially after myself. I looked back at Mrs. McAlister. She was shaking her head in those small jerky motions that reminded me of a
weathercock.
As soon as she was dressed, Ami appeared at my door and held out a pair of designer sunglasses.
"Take them. I have two pair," she said. "Don't lose them either. They're five hundred apiece."
"Five hundred?" I hesitated, my hand frozen in midair.
"I'm just kidding." She pushed them into my hand. "If
you lose them, we'll get them replaced instantly. Put them on," she urged, and I did so. Then she put hers on. They were exactly the same. "We're killers," she said. "Let's go hunt."
I hurried after her out of the house and into her sports car. As we pulled out of the garage, I looked to the left and saw Mrs. Cukor standing in the field, a shovel gripped in her hand. She looked like someone holding a flag on a field of battle. She watched us leave before returning to her task. Ami hadn't seen her. She was talking quickly, describing her boutiques and the great relationships she had with all the sales personnel. With the money she spent at each shop, that didn't surprise me.
All day Ami moved me from one place to another as if she didn't want me to stop and think about any-thing. If that was her intention, she was right. I was caught up in a whirlwind of her