Read Jaine Austen 4 - Shoes to Die For for Free Online Page B

when I ran into Lance.
    “Hey, beautiful,” he said, looking me up and down approvingly. “How did the interview go?”
    “Great! I’m going back next week to pitch ads for a new campaign.”
    “Congratulations! Now we have to get you a new outfit. We’ll just return the Prada and get something else. Maybe Armani. You can’t go wrong with Armani.”
    “No way, Lance,” I said. “I’m not pulling the same scam again. I’m feeling guilty enough as it is.”
    “But what will you wear?”
    “The Prada. I’ll wear it one more time, and then I’m going to return it.”
    “But you can’t wear the same outfit twice.”
    “Why not? I’ll just put on a different blouse and change my jewelry.”
    “I guess it might work,” he conceded.
    “It’ll be fine.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up a new blouse for you?”
    “I’m sure. I’ve got a very pretty Ann Taylor blouse I can wear.”
    “It’s not polyester, is it?”
    “It’s silk. A hundred percent. I swear on a stack of Women’s Wear Daily s.”
    After convincing Lance that the world would not collapse if I showed up in the same outfit twice, we air-kissed each other good-bye, and I let myself into my apartment.
    The first thing I did was stow the Prada suit in a garment bag, away from Prozac and her Claws from Hell. The second thing I did was slip into a T-shirt and a pair of elastic-waist pants.
    I spent the rest of the afternoon paying bills and getting things done around the apartment.
    Okay, so I spent the rest of the afternoon stretched out on the sofa, watching House & Garden Television. But I got to watch a lot of other people getting things done around their apartments. Does that count?
    After a Chinese take-out dinner of wonton soup and chicken lo mein (which Prozac was kind enough to let me share), I headed off for a soak in the tub. As I lay there, up to my neck in strawberry-scented bubbles, I could feel my straight Gunterized hair spronging back into tight ringlets. Oh, well. Who cared? I had a whole week before I had to look stylish again.
    When my muscles were as limp as my lo mein noodles, I hauled myself out of the tub and slipped into my pink chenille bathrobe, the one with the coffee stains in the shape of the big dipper. Then I toddled to the kitchen, where I treated myself to an Eskimo Pie for dessert.
    I was just about to climb into bed when I caught a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror. Frizzy hair. Bunny slippers. A fresh ice cream stain on my bathrobe.
    In less than twelve hours, I’d gone from Prada to nada.
    And frankly, it felt great.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

    To: Jausten
    From: DaddyO
    Subject: A New Career

    Pip-pip and cheerio, old bean!
    (That’s British for Hi, Sweetpea! )

    I’ve been busy as a bee working on my British accent and learning my lines. I figured I might as well memorize the whole part; I’m sure to get it. Your mom has been rehearsing with me. As we theater folks say, she’s been “feeding me” my lines.

    If I do say so myself, I’m getting better with each reading. In fact, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I’m seriously considering taking up acting as a career. I could work the dinner theater circuit, and who knows where that might lead? Remember that lady who said, “Where’s the beef?” Didn’t she break into show biz in her eighties? Heck, I’m a spring chicken compared to her.

    All of which leads me to why I’m writing. Don’t you have a friend in show business? The gal who writes for a cartoon show? Something about a termite? Maybe she can get me a part on her show. I do a great impersonation of Daffy Duck. It’s not an insect, but it’s close. Let me know what you think.

    To: DaddyO
    From: Jausten

    Hi, Daddy. Actually, Kandi’s show is about a cockroach, not a termite. And, yes, I do remember your impersonation of Daffy Duck. It was very funny. But as far as I know, Kandi’s show uses only union actors. So I’m afraid she won’t be able to help