My bare thighs scrape against the taxi’s sun-heated vinyl seat as I slide out. While Natasha pays the driver, I self-consciously tug down the hem of my daringly short dress.
I catch my reflection in the taxi’s dusty side mirror and barely recognize the girl looking back. I’m overdressed and uncomfortable, though I’m trying not to show it. Natasha spent a great deal of time selecting tonight’s outfit for me; a slinky gold dress that hugs my body with strappy heels to match.
Unfortunately, the upper portion of the dress is designed out of an itchy, metallic mesh that I’m already hating because it’s irritating my sensitive skin. I’ll be lucky if an ugly red rash doesn’t cover me before the evening is over.
The mesh material was chosen because of its ability to conceal my cellphone, and yet thin enough to allow video transmission through the dress. The high collar, rigid and uncomfortable, encases my neck like a golden choker while hiding the tiny camera pinned to the lace of my bra.
After the cab pulls away from the curb, Natasha steps closer and places a comforting hand on my arm. “Stop fidgeting with the dress,” she whispers. “It’s meant to be short. You are beautiful. Do not worry.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” I say, reaching up out of habit to adjust my glasses that are threatening to fog up from stepping from air-conditioning into the heat.
She extends her manicured hand towards me. “Take your eyeglasses off and give them to me.”
“No.” I adamantly shake my head. “My glasses aren’t for decoration. They have a purpose. I need them.”
“Do you need them to see close up or far away?”
“What difference does it make?” I fire back. “I need them! My eyes are bad.”
“Can you see the slot machine without them? Do not lie.”
“Maybe,” I admit reluctantly.
“Give them to me,” she presses, holding out her open palm. “The glasses do not match your hair and makeup. Have you ever thought about contact lenses?”
“Not really,” I reply, squinting. “I don’t want to stick a foreign object in my eye. This isn’t a good idea. I should keep them on.”
She doesn’t take her hand away. “I will be your eyes tonight,” she promises. “Hand them over. You should wear contact lenses. The glasses hide your brown eyes. How long have you worn them?”
Natasha isn’t one for fake compliments. I can always count on her to be brutally honest.
“Since eighth grade,” I admit. “I can’t afford new, stylish glasses every year. I’ve had to make do with what I have.”
“Soon you can buy a new pair. For tonight, I will hold them for you.”
With a reluctant sigh, I give my glasses to her. “Be careful and don’t scratch them.”
She opens the zippered side pocket of her dainty purse and slides them inside. “Can you see?”
My vision gazes across the busy street, the once sharp outlines of passersby now reduced to blurry smudges.
“Never mind,” she blurts, anticipating my answer. “It doesn’t matter. Time to go inside.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” I ask. “For the plan to work, everything needs to fall into place perfectly. A million things can go wrong, and we can’t afford mistakes.”
“Don’t worry,” she assures. “This is only a practice run. We’ve gone over the plan many times; it’s solid. There will be no mistakes. Everyone will handle their parts and we will do ours.” She slides her arm through the crook of my elbow. “Smile, try to pretend as if you’re having fun and come with me. The first Peggy Penguin slot machine is waiting for us inside.”
Her unwavering confidence bolsters mine and gives me hope that we’re ready. Today’s trip is only a short practice run to test the plan on a single machine. If we make any mistakes, and I’m sure we will, we have plenty of time to correct them before the real deal on Christmas Eve.
Practice makes perfect.
I smile brightly and put on what I hope will pass for a happy, carefree expression.
“Stop trying so hard,” she whispers to me when we step inside. “Your smile is fake. Plastered on like a mannequin in a store window. Act natural. Pretend we’re out for a party night. Follow my lead.”
I relax my fake smile a little and take a deep breath.
“Much better,” she says. “This will be easy. As you Americans say…a piece of cookie.”
