Fleur De Lies(7)
“Bobbi!” cried a voice from across the beach. “Dawna! Krystal! Wait up! I want to be in the picture, too!”
The woman running toward us was dressed in a skintight mini-dress that inched higher up her thighs as she raced across the tidal flats, splattering wet sand with the abandon of a child jumping into a mud puddle. Her legs pumped like pistons. Her mane of long hair whipped straight out behind her as she gained speed. Her oversized metallic handbag banged against her hip with every footfall, calling into question her choice of fashion accessories today. She was six feet tall, shaped like an hourglass, boasted the kind of beauty that most women could acquire only through heredity or expensive plastic surgery, and. unlike her girlfriends, was unabashedly brunette.
Her name tag identified her as Jackie Thum, and years ago, when she’d been a Broadway actor named Jack Potter, I’d been married to her.
two
“I stopped at the souvenir shop to buy a booklet,” she choked out as she sprinted toward the platform to join the blondes.
“Ewww, you’re spraying gunk,” yelped Bobbi, ducking behind her companions to avoid the mud splatter.
“Cut it out!” snapped Alligator Boots as she swiped a glob of wet sand from her designer footwear.
“Sorry.” Jackie shrunk visibly beneath the unforgiving glares of the toothsome threesome. She dropped her shoulders and hung her head with proper contrition before bouncing back in a burst of excitement. “So, where do you want me?”
Snakeskin Jeans flashed a squinty look that said, “Anywhere but here,” but to Jackie’s face, she said, “You know something? I don’t think the light’s quite right anymore. So let’s just skip the photo for now and try for a better shot later.”
I focused Bobbi’s camera and captured all four of them within frame. “The light looks great to me,” I called out.
Bobbi hustled out of frame as if her feet were on fire. “I’m all in for waitin’ on the picture takin’. We can find a better backdrop than a piece of rusty old junk.”
“It’s not a piece of junk,” Jackie enthused as she whipped a booklet out of her shoulder bag. “It’s part of the artificial harbor that the British—”
“How about we saunter through some shops to see what kind of cosmetics our competitors are peddling?” Alligator Boots proposed, sending her two companions into fits of glee.
“Ewww!” cried Bobbi. “You think we have time?”
Snakeskin Jeans clapped her hands with excitement. “Yes! I don’t know why we’re lookin’ at all this sand anyway. It’s borin’.”
Jackie waved her booklet with the zeal of a cheerleader waving her pompoms. “But it’s one of the D-Day beach—”
“We’ve only got an hour,” interrupted Bobbi, “so we better get our tushes in gear.”
“We can skip the shop where I bought my booklet,” Jackie offered helpfully. “It’s the one directly across from the museum. They had no beauty products whatsoever. It was really disappointing.”
“Jackie, sugah.” Bobbi smiled sweetly. “Since you’ve already hit some of the shops, would you do me a Texas-sized favor and take some pictures of the beach so I can show the folks back home? Emily will give you my camera.” She nodded toward me before bobbing her head back and forth with abbreviated introductions. “Emily, Jackie. Jackie, Emily. And lemme tell ya, I’m happy to entrust it to another Mona Michelle rep, ’cause I know you’ll take good care of it. You wouldn’t believe what I paid for the thing.”