Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel

by Bethany Maines

  Nikki considered the idea. Her mother would hate it. She said charities were like working for the government, all responsibility and no compensation. And it was in California, another thought that was bound to irritate her mother. But it was thirty-six thousand more dollars than she was getting right now, and it was better than working at Starbucks, which was where she had picked up an application earlier this morning. Was it really only this morning? And besides, she’d already done it. She’d snapped. She’d been in jail. How much madder could her mother get after that?

  “I’ll understand if you need time to consider it,” Mrs. Merrivel said.

  “No. I don’t need any time to consider,” Nikki said. A flash of surprise and, perhaps, disappointment appeared on Mrs. Merrivel’s face and then was gone as quickly as it had come. “I’ll do it,” Nikki said.

  “Great!” Mrs. Merrivel smiled triumphantly, like Patton upon seeing the Rhine.

  The words of Aisha Lewis seemed to echo in Nikki’s ear. Nikki swallowed hard. She had already been figuring out how much she’d make a month. She opened her mouth to demand forty a year, medical benefits, and travel expenses to and from California, but her mother’s voice seemed to be shouting in her ear to keep what she had and not reach for anything more.

  “What if I don’t like it when I get there?” Nikki asked cautiously, trying to ignore her mother’s voice. “And will I have to pay my own way to and from California?” It took all of her courage to ask for that much.

  Mrs. Merrivel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her lips retained their smile.

  “I’ll send you a round-trip plane ticket and arrange all your travel to and from the airport.” Nikki exhaled, and only then realized she’d been holding her breath.

  The limo began to slow down. Looking out the window, Nikki saw that they had arrived at the airport.

  “Now, then,” Mrs. Merrivel said, draining her glass and setting it in the cup holder. “I’ll send you a plane ticket this week. I’ll try to get you on a flight to L.A. by Saturday at the latest. Will that be enough time to get your things in order?” Nikki tried not to gape. “Just bring some clothes. If you need anything else you can always send for it later.”

  “Of course,” said Nikki.

  The limo had stopped. Nikki could hear the trunk being opened and the luggage unloaded. Mrs. Merrivel picked up her jacket from the seat beside her and slipped it on. She tidied her spread of documents and cell phone into her briefcase and closed it with a click.

  “I’ll ask the driver to take you home.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Saying thank you reminded Nikki that she had a great deal more to be thankful for than a simple ride home from the airport. “About the jail,” Nikki began hesitantly.

  Mrs. Merrivel shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Yes, but, I mean . . .” Nikki didn’t know what she meant. “Those women were pretty upset.” Mrs. Merrivel smiled again. It was beginning to seem to Nikki that Mrs. Merrivel had only two expressions: smiling and not.

  “I imagine they were, but I believe Ms. Lewis took care of everything,” Mrs. Merrivel said somewhat distractedly; she was peering out the window. Nikki opened her mouth to protest, but the limo door opened just then.

  “I have just one question,” asked Mrs. Merrivel, sliding forward in her seat, preparing to leave. “Did you really make a woman eat lipstick?”

  “I . . .” Nikki wanted to explain, but suddenly felt too tired even to make the attempt. “Yes,” she said, and nodded sadly.

  “Good,” Mrs. Merrivel said firmly. “I’m sure she deserved it.” She smiled again and exited the limousine. The door closed firmly behind her and Nikki sank further into her seat, wondering, not for the first time that night, what on earth she had just done.

  CALIFORNIA VIII

  Skills

  “Well, that was supremely unhelpful,” said Dina as they came out of the lecture. Carmella and Sarah were playing keep-away with Cheryl’s stuffed animal key chain and Dina was shouting over the noise of Cheryl’s protests and the rattle of the keychain.

  “I thought it was interesting,” Ellen said.

  “Ignore everything we taught you? Improvise?” snapped Dina. “Yeah, that’s helpful. I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about.”

  “That’s Mrs. Robinson, dude,” said Sarah. “Her name is on the Consultants of Note plaque. They say she pulled five women doctors out of Afghanistan, by herself.”

  “That doesn’t mean she knows how to teach tactics.” Dina sniffed.

  “I don’t know, she seemed to know what she was saying when she called your strategy stupid, ill conceived, and dangerous,” said Heidi.

  “Shut up, Heidi,” Dina said.

  “Ooh, clever comeback,” said Carmella. “Really stretching your intellect there.”

  Nikki looked back to the classroom doorway where Val lounged, cigarette dangling from her hand. When she caught Nikki’s eye, she mimed using the breath spray, then gave a thumbs-up. Nikki frowned and shook her head, but of its own accord her hand tightened around the small canister in her pocket and began to pull it out.

  Dina was only a few steps away. She could put on a fake, cheerful smile, walk over, and offer her the breath spray, and then everything would be OK. Nikki wavered, then decided. Poisoning a teammate was not the Carrie Mae way. She just couldn’t do it, no matter how obnoxious Dina was.

  “Incoming,” yelled Carmella as Cheryl cannoned into Nikki. Nikki staggered and tripped, her notebook and bag scattering in front of her. The breath spray bounced twice and rolled to a stop at Dina’s feet.

  “Hey, that’s mine,” said Dina, scooping up the breath spray.

  “No, it’s mine,” Nikki said breathlessly, scrambling to her feet.

  “I lost mine in the common room yesterday,” Dina said, pocketing the ILL001. “You must have taken it. By mistake, I’m sure.” She added a snide smile and walked away.

  “Sorry, Nikki,” Cheryl said, clutching the jingling mess of her keys with their stuffed dog key chain in one hand and helping to gather Nikki’s belongings with the other.

  “That’s OK,” said Nikki, forcing a smile.

  “Sorry, Nikki,” echoed Carmella and Heidi as they ran by. Cheryl took off after them.

  “Did Dina just steal your breath spray?” Ellen asked, shaking the dirt off Nikki’s notebook.

  “Yes, and I need to get it back,” said Nikki, following Dina toward the dorms at a quick trot.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll pinch it off her during Cocktails,” volunteered Jenny. “I’ve been practicing my pickpocketing skills.”

  “I didn’t realize that you had pickpocketing skills.” Ellen sounded skeptical. “If I remember correctly, in class you pretty much just flashed your boobs at people and dug around in their pockets.”

  “Like I said . . . skills.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work on Dina.”

  “Girls! You don’t understand! I have to get that breath spray back!”

  Jenny and Ellen looked at her with twin expressions of curiosity.

  “It’s not really breath spray. It’s ILL001.”

  Ellen’s mouth stretched into an oval O of disbelief, while Jenny grinned and did an impromptu happy dance.

  “You stole product from Specialty Items?” whispered Ellen, shocked.

  “No,” Nikki said. “Not exactly.”

  “We should let her use it,” interjected Jenny.

  “We don’t do that,” Ellen said. “We are the good guys.”

  “And she’s the bad guy. I hope she pukes all day,” said Jenny cheerfully.

  “No, Ellen’s right,” Nikki said. “We can’t poison someone who’s on our side. But I sure as hell am not going to confess to Dina, so I’ve got to get it back.”

  “I still say we should let her use it,” said Jenny, “but you can count on me.”

  “You don’t have to help,” Nikki protested, looking at the pair. “It’s my goof-up.”

 
; “And you’re our friend. You can count on us.” Jenny and Ellen nodded.

  “Meanwhile, we’d better keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t use it,” Ellen said.

  “A good time to get it would be after she changes for Cocktails, don’t you think?” Nikki said, linking arms with her friends. “Those dresses she wears don’t have pockets, so she can’t bring it with her. I can sneak in her room and get it then.”

  “That sounds good,” Jenny agreed. “Her room’s across the hall from mine. I’ll keep an eye on her until then and give you the signal when it’s safe to go in.”

  With the plan in place, there was little left to do but return to their rooms. Nikki looked nervously after Jenny, but Ellen pulled her firmly into their room. “No sense in worrying about it now,” she said. “Just hurry and get changed, so you’re ready when Jenny gives you the sign.”

  Mere minutes later, Nikki was standing in front of the mirror tugging with irritation at the strap of her new dress. She and Ellen had gone shopping over the weekend and Nikki had used $19.99 of her pitiful cash hoard to purchase it. She had been looking for something to wear to Cocktails class. Preferably something classy with pockets, which was apparently like getting Paris Hilton to wear underwear: entirely implausible.

  When she found the little clearance rack dress with pockets, it had seemed absolutely perfect. Standing in the dressing room wearing the flirty Marilyn Monroe dress with her favorite flip-flops, Nikki wished that she’d been wearing something like it when she had met Z’ev. At the thought of Z’ev, she took a moment to savor the memory of his delicious smile, before moving on to more productive thoughts. She still hadn’t come to any conclusions about Canada, despite her constant replaying of the incident, but in the dressing room it had seemed very clear that Z’ev would have liked her in the dress.

  Ellen was trying on a skirt suit in front of the mirror as Nikki stepped out, but turned around as Nikki came into view.

  “That is absolutely perfect!” Ellen exclaimed. “It makes you look about this big around. Well, you are this big around, but the dress just emphasizes that fact.”

  Nikki had beamed and pulled on her shoes before turning to look in the mirror. Then she frowned. In the store, the dress had been perfect, but now, in the privacy of her own room, with her black high heels on, the short, flowing skirt that allowed for pockets seemed too short and the top, which had been perfect in the store, seemed too tight. The other girls were going to think she looked like a tart. Maybe she could put a sweater over it.

  She didn’t have a sweater.

  In desperation Nikki tried the dress with her zip-up sweatshirt; the effect was ridiculous. It was the shoes, Nikki decided; they just didn’t match. She sighed in frustration and decided that she would just have to brave it out; she could not wear her old dress one more time.

  Nikki slipped a golf pencil that she’d worn down to a nub and a small folded piece of paper into one of her pockets and surveyed herself in the mirror. Turning this way and that, she decided that the pencil and paper were invisible to a cursory glance and nodded in satisfaction.

  Ellen came out of the bathroom and looked Nikki over, pausing on the shoes.

  “You don’t have any other color shoes?”

  “If I did, I’d be wearing them,” said Nikki sourly.

  “Well, shoot. We should have gone shoe shopping when we were at the store.”

  “I didn’t think about it at the time,” said Nikki with a sigh.

  “Neither did I. Oh well, nothing you can do about it now. You still look nice. We’ll make a quick trip next weekend.”

  Ellen had purchased an elegant dress-and-jacket combo that was figure-flattering and left room for an unseen wire. Nikki found herself admiring Ellen’s confident, graceful style and wishing that Nell could be a little more like Ellen. Ellen picked up the wire and adjusted it on her lapel, pinning it in place with a large Carrie Mae butterfly pin. She spoke quietly into it, and sounds came out of the recorder on the bed.

  “We don’t have to wear those tonight, do we?” Nikki asked, worried that she’d mixed up her deadlines.

  “No, that’s Friday. I just wanted to test this with my new outfit before then. Sort of a dress rehearsal for the dress, if you know what I mean.”

  Ellen looked at herself in the mirror and did a quick spin to make sure no wires were dangling. She took a quick pat at her hair and then leaned forward, her nose just inches from the glass.

  “Do you think I should dye my hair?” she asked suddenly. “I let it go after Dale died. It seemed so pointless. Well,” she amended, “everything seemed pointless; dyeing my hair didn’t even make it near the list of things to do. But now I’m thinking maybe I should start again. It’s getting so gray and it makes me feel old. I’m not that old! I’m only forty-seven. What do you think?”

  She turned to Nikki with a questioning expression. Nikki paused, wondering how best to answer the question. She was never comfortable advising people on their looks.

  “Well, if you’re unhappy with it, then maybe just put in a little bit of color and just brighten it up a bit,” she suggested. “It looks nice now, but color could be good.”

  “I think so, too,” said Ellen, turning back to the mirror. “I’d love to go red like you, but I don’t think I could pull it off.”

  Nikki burst out laughing. “You don’t want to go red,” she said firmly. “It’s not a good color.”

  “What are you talking about? I love your hair! It’s beautiful. So many colors all in one—copper and carrot and blonde. You just can’t get that out of a bottle.”

  “I get it from my dad,” Nikki said, startled by the unexpected compliment.

  “I’ll go check on Jenny,” Ellen said, settling the microphone a little more firmly into her pin and turning on the recording device.

  Nikki took a moment to adjust the strap of her dress again in the mirror and, with a pleased pat at her hair, followed Ellen into the hall. It was a pretty dress, even if the shoes were wrong, and she looked good in it.

  “Dina just went down,” said Ellen breathlessly. I’ll go wait by the stairs and make sure she doesn’t come back up.”

  “Right,” Nikki said, hurrying toward Dina’s room. Her heart was beating fast. Jenny was waiting for her by Dina’s door.

  “You keep lookout while I search,” said Nikki, and Jenny nodded as Nikki slid into Dina’s room.

  The room was a mess, and Nikki suddenly felt better about her own clutter and bulging laundry basket. At least she used the laundry basket, unlike Dina, who apparently used the floor. Nikki searched quickly, trying not to leave any telltale disturbance in the strata of mess.

  “Hurry!” Jenny hissed from the hall. Nikki wanted to yell something back, but she bit her tongue and lifted a bit of the pile on a chair in the corner. Heaving a sigh of relief, she pulled out the jeans Dina had been wearing earlier in the day. And there in the pocket was the tube of breath spray.

  “Got it,” she said, gently closing the door and slipping the tube into her pocket. Jenny grinned and led the way down to Cocktails class.

  CALIFORNIA IX

  Cocktails

  As this was a dinner event, the class was being held in the common room. Many of the girls were already downstairs mingling, or practicing mingling. The easy camaraderie of the day had been replaced with forced small talk as everyone pretended they didn’t know each other. Mr. Bamoko, the Cocktails instructor, was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He frowned heavily at Nikki’s shoes. Nikki waited as Jenny received her assignment and then stepped forward. She could see Jenny and Ellen holding a brief conversation just inside the common room.

  “You know your shoes are the wrong color?” Mr. Bamoko asked, recapturing Nikki’s attention. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit, matching vest, and tie. The crisp white collar of the shirt fit his neck to perfection, with no gaps or airway-blocking snugness. The high shine on his beautifully molded Italian leather shoes reflected a world not half as per
fect as their owner.

  “Yeah, I know, but I don’t have any other dress shoes,” Nikki said weakly. Mr. Bamoko raised his eyes from his clipboard and stared as if Nikki had just announced that the Pope would be converting to Buddhism. Nikki tried to smile back.

  “Please dismiss the word yeah from your vocabulary,” Mr. Bamoko said, just after the point at which his stare had became unbearable. “It is a deplorable piece of slang that has crept into our national speech. Slang is careless speech and a detriment to the language.”

  “Slang is a generational marker and denotes in-crowd status. Many people feel it broadens the language, adding depth and character, and is a necessary innovation for language growth.”

  Too late, Nikki’s internal editor ran in, waving his hands, and yelling, “Shut up, shut up, shut up, you stupid cow!”

  Mr. Bamoko blinked. Twice.

  “I am not one of those people,” he said repressively. “Furthermore, if slang denotes in-crowd status, then I can truly state that it is not a crowd I wish to be in. And since none of the said ‘in-crowd’ will be grading your performance in class tonight, I would suggest that you not use the word yeah. Have we reached an understanding in this matter?”

  Her internal editor held up a cue card with her recommended dialogue, and Nikki read it carefully, word for word.

  “Yes, Mr. Bamoko.”

  “Excellent. Here is your assignment,” he said, handing her a three-by-five index card.

  Nikki read the card. It said: “Discover where the ambassador will be going tomorrow and any pertinent information about her security staff.”

  Nikki handed the card back, and Mr. Bamoko handed her a nametag. Nikki pasted TRIXIE, TEACHER’S WIFE over her heart and hoped that the sticker’s adhesive material wouldn’t mess up her new dress.

  Giving Ellen a subtle wink as she entered, Nikki began to introduce her teacher’s wife persona around. Each time she picked up any information on the ambassador’s security measures, she surreptitiously jotted down a note on the paper hidden in her pocket. She met several “journalists,” two “teachers,” and a “marine” before spotting the “ambassador.” Erica, Jorge’s assistant instructor, was taking her role as ambassador seriously, expounding to a journalist about the leading export of Carrie Mae-land and the importance of mascara in international politics. Nikki smothered a laugh and checked to make sure none of the instructors had caught her slipup.