“No bull?”
“No. That is, it’s not very difficult to create false identification with the right tools. A template, photo, laminate, a computer with Photoshop.”
“Brain trust. What’ll it take for you to make me a driver’s license that’ll get me into a club?”
“As I said, a template—”
“No, Jesus. What do you want for it?”
“I…” Bargaining, Elizabeth realized. A barter. “I need to buy some clothes, but I don’t know what I should buy. I need someone to help me.”
“A shopping buddy?”
“Yes. Someone who knows. You know.”
Eyes no longer sulky, voice no longer bored, Julie simply beamed. “That’smybrain trust. And if I help you pick out some outfits, you’ll make me up the ID?”
“Yes. And I’d also want to go with you to the club. So I’d need the right clothes for that, too.”
“You? Clubbing? More than your hair’s changed, Liz.”
Liz. She was Liz. “I’d need a photo, and it will take a little while to construct the IDs. I could have them done tomorrow. What club would we go to?”
“Might as well go for the hottest club in town. Warehouse 12. Brad Pitt went there when he was in town.”
“Do you know him?”
“I wish. Okay, let’s go shopping.”
It made her dizzy, not just the way Julie piloted her into a store, snatched up clothes with only the most cursory study. But theideaof it all. A shopping buddy. Not someonewho preselected what was deemed appropriate and expected her to assent. Someone who grabbed at random and talked about looking hot, or cool, even sexy.
No one had ever suggested to Elizabeth that she might look sexy.
She closed herself in the dressing room with the forest of color, the sparkle of spangles, the glint of metallic, and had to put her head between her knees.
It was all happening so fast. It was like being caught in a tsunami. The surge just swept her away.
Her fingers trembled as she undressed, as she carefully folded her clothes, then stared at all the pieces hanging in the tiny room.
What did she put on? What went with what? How did she know?
“I found the most awesome dress!” Without even a knock, Julie barged right in. Instinctively, Elizabeth crossed an arm over her breasts.
“Haven’t you tried anything on yet?”
“I wasn’t sure where to start.”
“Start with awesome.” Julie shoved the dress at her.
But really, at its length it was more of a tunic, Elizabeth thought, and in a screaming red, ruched along the sides. Its razor-thin straps sparkling with silver.
“What do you wear with it?”
“Killer shoes. No, lose the bra first. You can’t wear a bra with that dress. You’ve got a really good body,” Julie observed.
“I’m genetically predisposed, and maintain fitness and health through regular daily exercise.”
“Get you.”
