Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel Read Free

staying with you?” Nikki asked, nervous at the prospect of being Mrs. Merrivel’s houseguest. “I thought I was going to some sort of training center.”
    “Well, you will eventually, I expect.” Nikki looked doubtful. “It’ll probably only be a night or two,” said Mr. Merrivel cheerfully. “And we’re perfectly good hosts, I assure you. None of our guests have died since that time in ’92.” He waggled his eyebrows comically, and Nikki couldn’t help but laugh.
    “Wait,” Nikki said, catching up to the rest of Mr. Merrivel’s comment. “Dustup? Over me?” Nikki was worried that her potential job was in peril.
    “Not to worry,” said Mr. Merrivel. “Just that Connie’s got a bee in her bonnet about you starting late.”
    “Late? How late am I?” Nikki was confused. Mrs. Merrivel hadn’t said anything about starting late.
    “A couple of weeks, I think. Not really my department, you understand. More the wife’s thingie. Connie doesn’t like to bend the rules so much, but I expect Mrs. M will get her way. She usually does, my little Miranda.”
    “That was my impression of her,” agreed Nikki, trying to keep her tone diplomatic.
    “She’s a bit of a bulldog,” Mr. Merrivel said, smiling fondly. Nikki thought Mrs. Merrivel was probably more of a Rottweiler in poodle’s clothing, but didn’t mention it.
    They passed through smoggy Burbank, and Nikki noticed with a comforting feeling of familiarity that they were on I-5 going north. If they stayed on this little ribbon of concrete, in another seventeen hours she would be standing on her mother’s doorstep. Nikki laughed at herself a little; it was ridiculous to feel comforted by an interstate. Especially since she didn’t want to go home at all. At least, most of her didn’t. There was a little voice in the back of her head that was insisting that this entire escapade was doomed to failure. The voice sounded suspiciously like her mother’s.
    Mr. M turned on the radio. He flipped channels for a while before settling on an oldies station. They caught the last half of“Last Train to Clarksville” before it ended and the DJ began to talk. After a moment of chatter, the DJ stated that they were listening to K-Earth 101 and this was the Mamas and the Papas with “California Dreamin’.”
    “And the skyyy is grayyyy,” harmonized Nikki, unintentionally singing out loud. She stopped moments later, blushing, but Mr. M picked up the next line as if singing with strangers were perfectly natural.
    “Say,” he said as the song ended, “we sound pretty good.”
    The DJ began to talk again, and Mr. M snorted with irritation.
    “Let’s see what we’ve got in the old CD player. Maybe we can find something else to sing to.” He flipped through several CDs, listening to the beginning of each before punching up the next one.
    “Mr. M?” Nikki said, distractedly feeling through her own thoughts. His finger was still hovering over the Fast Forward button.
    “Did you just call me Mr. M?” Mr. Merrivel asked. Nikki paused guiltily, and hesitantly she nodded. “Ha. I like it! I always call Miranda Mrs. M, but she just thinks I’m strange. What’s up?”
    She smiled, relieved that her habit of shortening names hadn’t offended him.
    “Well, frankly, I’m a little nervous.”
    “About the job?” he asked, nodding sympathetically.
    “Well, I’m not really sure what I’m expected to do. And I didn’t realize I’d be behind in the training. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch up, because I don’t really know what kind of training it is. And I really want this job. Well, a job anyway. And . . . I’m just nervous.” Nikki stopped herself before she devolved into a blubbering fountain of uncertainty. She hadn’t meant to spill thatmuch; she’d meant to ask for a few useful hints about the new job, not reveal her quaking Jell-O center. Mr. M’s cheerful face wore an expression of seriousness for a moment.
    “They didn’t