Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel Read Free Page A

tell you what you’d be doing?”
    “Mrs. M just said she’d tell me all about it when I got here,” Nikki said.
    “Hmm.” He scratched his forehead. “Well, I’m sure it will be fine.”
    “What will be fine?” asked Nikki, wondering if one more time she’d gotten herself in over her head.
    Mr. M shook his head as if to dismiss her question and his thoughts at the same time. “Not my place. But trust me, everything will be fine. If you want this job, it’s yours. And since you seem to be a very bright, in-shape person, I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to excel.”
    His calm statement of confidence in her abilities momentarily relaxed Nikki. And then she began to worry about being “in shape.” What had he meant by that? What kind of charity foundation required people to be in shape? Her ribbon of thoughts was snipped short by the musical jangling of Mr. M’s cell phone.
    “Sounds like the wife,” said Mr. M, reaching for the phone. “Hello, sweet pea!” he proclaimed. “Yes, mission complete, got her right here!” He was silent for a moment, listening.
    “Hmm,” he said. “Well, yes, but I’m not sure . . .” He trailed off, listening to Mrs. M. “Nope, it’s not a problem.” He glanced at Nikki. “Yup, love you, too. Bye.”
    “Everything OK?” Nikki asked.
    “Just fine, but Connie’s being a stick-in-the-mud, so until Mrs. M can get all your paperwork signed off at headquarters you’ll have to stay with us.”
    “How long will that take?” asked Nikki, worry lines furrowing into her forehead.
    “A couple of days. A week at most. Not to worry. We’ll think of something to do. I don’t suppose you play golf?” Nikki shook her head, still worried. “Want to learn?” he asked with a cheerful grin.

CALIFORNIA II
    Permanent Record
    “Well, it’s very clear that a bunch of women live here,” Nikki said.
    “Yes,” Connie agreed. “And in line with our company philosophy.”
    The week with the Merrivels had flown by, but eventually Mrs. Merrivel announced that Nikki would be meeting Connie for a tour of the facilities on the following day at 8:00 A.M. sharp. Mr. M had gotten up early to drive her over the winding Santa Clarita roads and up to a wide plantation-style property that encompassed several acres and was surrounded by a rock wall and arching iron gates.
    “The company philosophy?” Nikki was trying to ignore the alarm buzzing in her brain.
    “Making the lives of women everywhere a little better!” Connie looked at Nikki as if she’d asked what color the sky was. Connie Hinton was tall and broad-shouldered with a wide, flat bottom. She reminded Nikki of a basketball player she had known in college.
    “I haven’t been with the company very long,” Nikki said, by way of explanation. Connie sniffed with disapproval.
    The alarm was flashing purple now. The tour really hadn’t gone as she had expected. First there had been the nondisclosure form with the clause on death and dismemberment, and then there had been the guns. Nikki was pretty sure that most charity foundations didn’t have their own gun range. Not to mention an obstacle course and scenario training ground. The computer lab and the dorms had seemed reasonable. Connie had been very keen on the dorms: they all had en suite bathrooms. And now they were standing in one of the bathrooms and admiring the multiple outlets, dual sinks, marble tile, and built-in gun safe. It was a very pretty gun safe—Carrie Mae purple.
    “Um,” said Nikki, sensing that she had better ask something before her brain melted. “So this, er, training center”—she wasn’t sure what else to call the place—“how does it fit in with that philosophy?”
    “Ah,” said Connie, smiling as though Nikki had finally done something worthwhile. “We here at the Carrie Mae West Coast Training Facility train operatives to carry out the Carrie Mae philosophy in many ways. Whether it’s navigating the international red tape