Too Weird for Ziggy (26 page)

She stood up. Her legs were shaking. Her silk dress was gummed to her with sick.

“Can I get you some water? A drink?”

Ignoring him, she peeled off her dress, folded it, and put it on the table. She was naked except for her shoes. He didn't look away. She took an oversized T-shirt from the clean pile and pulled it on. Cal West's big round face on the front of the shirt smiled quizzically up at her. The shirt almost touched her knees; Taylor's resurrection seemed to have shrunk her. “I'm going to get cleaned up,” she said, picking up her bag. Jack moved to come with her. “I don't need your help.” On the way to the door she passed the shelf where the woman had found the shirts. Grabbing a promo baseball cap bearing the logo “Shoot 2 Kill,” Pussy walked out.

At the end of the corridor in the stairwell, she piled her sticky hair on top of her head and jammed on the baseball cap, back to front. She might have been a teenage boy. She went down the stairs, into the lobby, and past the receptionist, who didn't give her a second look. Out in the street she jaywalked the busy road to the shopping center opposite, lighting a cigarette as she walked. On a low wall at the back of the car park, she sat smoking fiercely, cigarette after cigarette, blowing out thick chutes of smoke at disapproving passersby. Reeve's card was still stuck there in the cellophane. She dialed his private line.

Five cigarettes later, the limo pulled up. Reeve jumped out and opened the back door.

“Where to?” he asked.

She'd assumed, when she called him, that she would go to Taylor. She changed her mind.

“The fuck out,” she answered.

“You got it,” he said, swerving around and heading for the exit. Saint Dymphna danced on her chain.