Hanna pricked up her ears, afraid she was going to hear the eerie high-pitched giggle that had been haunting her lately. But instead, she heard a loud smacking sound coming from inside one of the dressing rooms.
“What is that?” Hanna said, slowly rising to her feet. She crept closer to the dressing rooms, which were empty except for the noisy stall. Two pairs of shoes peeked under the door, one of them dark black boots, the other prissy black-and-white heels that looked vaguely familiar.
Hanna exchanged a knowing look with Dinah. With a slight nod of her head, Dinah encouraged her to move closer. Hanna tiptoed a few more steps toward the room. The shoes and boots under the dressing room shuffled. The slurping sounds increased in intensity.
Suddenly, the door flung open, and two people tumbled into the corridor. Hanna pressed against the wall, pulling Dinah with her. There, reflected in the three-way mirror, was a guy in a red Santa suit, Santa hat, Santa beard, and shiny black boots. “You’re so hot,” Santa said in a skeevy voice.
He was sucking on some skinny girl’s neck, and the girl was running her hand through his beard. Hanna stared at her. The girl’s chestnut hair was swept into a messy French bun, her ass was nonexistent, and on her thin, ballerina-like wrist was a very familiar silver David Yurman bangle.
It was Kate.
Hanna grabbed her phone, which was conveniently in her bag’s front pocket, and snapped a picture. Then she and Dinah sprinted out of the dressing room. Out of breath, they collapsed on a table of jeans and stared at each other for a pregnant pause. At the exact same moment, they both burst into peals of laughter.
Chapter 12
Soul Mates
A few hours later, Hanna sat on a ripped barstool at Snooker’s, a college bar in Hollis. There were sports jerseys all over the walls and ugly green banker’s lamps behind the counter, and the air smelled like fried mozzarella sticks and stale beer. An old Bruce Springsteen song played on the jukebox, and the room was packed with loud college kids.
“Okay, who would you rather hook up with,” Hanna said, scanning the crowd, “Mr. I’m Taking Over Daddy’s Company in Five Years, or Mr. The Only Interesting Thing About Me Is That I’m Irish?” She pointed at two college boys nursing beers in the corner. The first guy wore a preppy button-down and had a smug look on his face that only someone with a trust fund could pull off. The second guy had doughy features, red hair, was wearing a T-shirt that said DUBLIN on it, and was drinking—of course—a Guinness.
“Ugh, neither.” Dinah popped the olive from her martini into her mouth. “Look at the girls they’re with! Is that a Burberry bag she’s carrying? That is so 2001!”
“Says the girl who wears poodle skirts,” Hanna teased, poking Dinah on the arm.
Dinah pretended to be offended. “Poodle skirts are retro,” she said haughtily.
“I forgive you,” Hanna said. “After all, you’ve got an awesome bag.” She pointed to Dinah’s quilted Chanel on the stool. It turned out it wasn’t a fake—Dinah’s aunt who worked at Bazaar had put her at the top of the waiting list and scored her one from the New York flagship store.
The bartender set down another martini for Dinah and another vodka-cranberry for Hanna, and they clinked glasses. A warm sense of happiness washed over Hanna as she took the first sip. After she and Dinah had scampered away from Kate and Santa in the dressing room, they’d ditched the Elizabeth and James dress on a random table, called a truce, and decided to hit the college bars. Dinah had left her car at the mall, and on the drive over in Hanna’s Prius, they’d chatted about fashion, beauty products, celebrities, and their favorite suburban boutiques, Hanna’s four most favorite topics. The conversation had come naturally, as though they’d been friends for years.
But when they’d approached Snooker’s, Hanna had been apprehensive. She didn’t have a fake ID, and after getting caught shoplifting last fall, she didn’t really want the cops after her again. Dinah had squeezed her hand and said, “Leave everything to me.” She breezed up to the bouncer, who had a crew cut and wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, and said, “Hey, Jake! Remember me?”
The bouncer had smiled at Dinah appreciatively, but then asked to see the girls’ IDs. Dinah had stuck her lip out in a pout. “C’mon, Jakie-poo. Don’t be like that.” She traced her fingers up and down his arm. Finally, the bouncer just shrugged and opened the door for them. Inside, Hanna gave Dinah a thumbs-up. It was just like something Ali might have done.
Dinah reached for a French fry from the plate they’d ordered. “We are so going against our boot camp pledges right now. I bet Vince is going to know and make us work out for five hours next session.”
“Yep, I can feel the fat oozing back to my thighs,” Hanna joked.
Dinah waved her hand. “As if you ever had fat in your thighs! Why did you join boot camp, anyway?”