Fleur De Lies(39)
“FOR MASCARA?”
“It’s not just any mascara, darlin’. This mascara is transformational. Men will be dazzled. Your boss will beg to give you a raise. I guarantee you’ll feel more sexy, empowered, confident, influential—”
“—ripped off. Don’t you sell anything for like … $8.99?”
She lowered her brows dramatically. “For $8.99 I can sell you a travel-size bottle of alcohol-free mouthwash.” Her voice dipped to a whisper. “The alcohol thing can be a huge deal breaker in the Bible Belt.”
“You sell any products for guys my age?” asked Woody.
“Is the Pope the Pope?” she teased.
I guess it wasn’t relevant if he were Catholic or not.
Lifting Woody’s hand off the table, she examined his fingers with dollars signs spinning in her eyes. “You would love the seaweed based cuticle treatment we sell, hon. And from the condition of these nails, I’d say, the sooner you buy it, the better. In one quick treatment, I can guarantee you healthier nails polished to a liquid shine … or your money back. Three-way buffer and nail file not included.”
“How much’ll that set me back?”
“The oil is only $49.95, excluding postage and handling fees,” she tittered. “And the three-way buffer and file are on special, so I can let you have them both for an inclusive charge of $49.95, excluding postage and handling fees. I’ll thank you for noticin’ that I’m practically givin’ ’em away.”
Even through the film of UV protection coating my lenses, I could see every ounce of blood drain from Woody’s face. “You got anything else?”
Focusing on his hand with renewed interest, she patted his finger. “Well, idn’t this just the cutest ring. What’s this doohickey on the top here? Some kind of flower?”
“Yup. It’s either a lily or an iris, stylized up the wazoo. The French call it a fleur-de-lis. We’re supposed to see them everywhere over here—on flags, coats of arms, postage stamps. I think at one time it was the symbol for the French monarchy.”
“How come one of the petals is broken?”
Woody shrugged. “Beats me. But that’s what makes it special. It’s not perfect. The jeweler put a daring spin on an old theme.”
“Look at it, Emily.” She twisted his hand around to show me. “Idn’t it just the purdiest thing?”
I nodded. “Very eye-catching.”
“Fourteen carat?” asked Krystal.
“Gold? Not on your life. It’s solid brass.” He rapped it on the edge of the table. “Gold is for sissies. Real men wear brass.”
“Is it a family heirloom or somethin’?”
“Yup. Been in my family as long as I can remember. I’ll hand it down to Cal when I’m gone.”
Patrice arrived with my breakfast before Krystal could attempt another sales pitch.
“That looks pretty tasty,” Woody commented as he eyed my plate. “What is it?”
“L’omlette de jambon et de legume avec le raifort a infuse la sauce,” said Patrice as he freshened Woody’s coffee and poured a cup for Krystal.
Woody nodded. “What is it in English?”
“Ham and vegetable omelet with horseradish-infused sauce,” Patrice translated.