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“And she’s back,” Peabody announced, and rode in contented silence.
You could always count on Mavis, Eve thought. For a favor, for a laugh, for a shoulder. And most of all for sheer surprise.
Being four months pregnant hadn’t depleted her energy or affected her bent for fashion risks. At least Eve assumed they were risks as nobody, absolutely nobody, looked quite like Mavis Freestone.
She’d gone for summer pastels, for her hair in any case, and had swooped it up in some sort of snaky twists that twined gleaming hunks of blue and pink and greens together. They were anchored here and there with lavender pins in the shapes of what Eve took for tiny flowers, until she got a closer look and realized they were naked babies curled into the embryonic position.
Talk about the weirds.
A dozen thin chains of gold and silver dangled from each ear. On each chain, colorful balls hung that clanged together every time she moved. Which meant constantly.
Her tiny body was decked out in a skirt the size of a table napkin, matched with a swingy vest, both in white, and both covered with tiny question marks that echoed the hues of her hair. She wore shoes with one clear strap. The thick soles and clunky heels were filled with more little balls that jingled with each step. Her toenails were painted in every color of the rainbow.
For Mavis, it was business attire.
“This is absolutely magalicious,” Mavis claimed. “Outre is like the cutting edge. It was my bible of style before I met my honeybear. I still go through it every month, but now I never have to think how I’m going to afford all the friggin’ clothes. Leonardo is the ult.”
“I need five minutes with her.”
“It’s a dunk, Dallas. If she could’ve kissed my ass over the ’link, I’d have lip dye smears on my butt. Just watch.”
They crossed the wide lobby. It was done in sharp geometric patterns of white, red, and black. Fanning out from the central data desk were pathways that led to boutiques, a fancy café, and a home decor center.
Between them on the walls were screens on which elongated models walked runways in outfits that might have been designed by a mental patient on Pluto.
“Fall fashion shows,” Mavis told her. “New York, Milan, Paris, and London.” She let out a squeal and pointed. “See that? That’s my babycakes’s designs. Nobody comes close.”
Eve studied the ensemble of skintight red stripes that boasted an explosion of gold tail feathers and a transparent skirt that glowed with little white lights at the hem.
How could she argue?
Mavis marched by the data center to the security station that guarded a bank of glossy red elevators. “Mavis Freestone to see Julietta Gates.”
“Yes, Ms. Freestone, you’re to go right up to thirty. Someone will meet you.” The guard’s hand came up to stop Eve and Peabody. “Only Ms. Freestone is cleared for thirty.”
“You don’t really think I travel alone, do you?” Mavis spoke in icy tones before Eve could work up a snarl. “If my entourage isn’t welcome, neither am I.”
“I beg your pardon, Ms. Freestone. I just need to check upstairs.”
“Quickly.” Mavis shot her little nose in the air. “I’m a very busy woman.”
She made a show out of tapping her foot, examining her nails in the twenty seconds it took the guard to clear them.
“You and your entourage are cleared for thirty. Thank you for your patience.”
Mavis maintained the diva mode until the elevator doors shut behind them. “Subzero! I could eat that with a spoon. ‘You and your entourage are cleared for thirty.’ Is that hot shit, or what?”
She did a quick butt-wiggling dance, then patted her belly. “I only said entourage because I thought you might punch him.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“I’m keeping the baby away from displays of violence. Not even watching much screen. I heard how serenity and positive energy’s really good for brewing babies.”
With some trepidation, Eve glanced down at Mavis’s belly. Could the thing hear in there? “I’ll try not to punch anybody when you’re around.”
“That’d be good.” Mavis shut off her beaming smile as the doors opened. The diva was back. She lifted her eyebrows at the woman who waited for them.
“Ms. Freestone, such a pleasure to meet you. I’m an enormous fan of yours, and of Leonardo’s, of course.”
