American Girls(31)

Delia pointed at my plate. “Just don’t complain that you’re hungry later.”

I tried not to breathe through my nose and took another bite of the hot dog and a big swig of apple juice. I made eye contact with the creeper at the next table, and he smiled like he knew me as well. I looked away.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Delia said. “You’d think we were trying to poison you.”

Roger ordered more coffee.

“That reminds me,” I said. “So I guess there were a few girls on the ranch who were less crazy and more scared. One of them, Barbara Hoyt, hid out in the brush for days while they hunted her down, but they didn’t get her. And then she was supposed to testify for the prosecution in the trial, and she ran away to Hawaii, and one of the women fed her a hamburger laced with so much LSD that it almost killed her.”

“You can’t kill a person with LSD,” my sister said matter-of-factly.

“Whatever. They tried to do it anyhow, but the thing was that it was like this inside joke, or punishment or something, because they were all vegetarians and they weren’t supposed to eat meat.” I pushed my plate away. Even the Manson girls knew that everyone needed a burger now and then. “Maybe if it were someone like her, who went crazy or something and was just wandering around, not knowing who she was … Anyhow, that seemed more interesting to me, since you asked.”

“Only then the movie would have to star a senior citizen.” My sister was irritated.

“Do not be so literal,” Roger said. “I like this. It is a good start. I want you to find out about every woman in this case. More of these hamburger stories. More that we do not remember. Something…” He fanned his hands dramatically over the Formica tabletop. “Something will click.” He picked up the check and opened his wallet, put his credit card down, and handed me three hundred dollars.

“Seriously?” I said. It was a hundred dollars more than I figured he owed me, and I was even counting the time I spent staring into space when I got bored.

“This is LA,” my sister said. “People do way less for more all the time. Take it and keep walking.”

*

If shopping with Olivia was kind of like accidentally being taken hostage, shopping with my sister was like watching a top hostage negotiator lay out a plan of attack. We crossed the street while Delia mapped out the order of shops we were going to hit—consignment, then low-end retail, then high-end with excellent sale rack.

“I think you’re fighting what’s attractive about you,” she said. “Your hair, for instance—you should get better product and let it run wild. Everyone straightens their hair around here, so it makes you different, and you are different, so you might as well play it up.”

My sister saw everyone, even people who weren’t actors, as trying to create an image. Last summer she’d convinced me that I wanted to be like a French film actress from the fifties. Now she thought I should go boho chic, let my inner flower child out to play.

“This is the best secondhand place in LA,” she said, and pointed to the entrance of a color bomb of a boutique where even the mannequins had posh green and blue wigs on their too-hip, size-zero frames. “But I’m swearing you to secrecy.” The dresses in the windows were short and colorful, with layers of necklaces and rows of bangle bracelets.

“I’m going to look like I had a psychotic break if I show up tomorrow wearing this stuff,” I said, and lowered my voice because it was embarrassing to even talk about it. “He’s going to know that I went shopping to look different.”

“Anna,” Delia said. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but your average guy won’t notice anything you change about yourself short of missing limbs. If you came in armless, he might ask if you got a haircut, okay?”

“But I wear that purple sweater every day. I think he’ll notice. He calls me ‘Purp’ sometimes.”

“Oh dear lord.” She raised her hands to the ceiling. “I have my work cut out for me.”

Within minutes she had two armloads of clothes, and ushered me into the dressing room.

“I’ll be here,” she said. “And unless it doesn’t fit, I want to see everything. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

The first dress was crazy, and I do mean padded cell for the criminally insane. Electric purple with neon-pink flowers and green trim, it looked like someone had repurposed upholstery. There was no way I was walking out of the dressing room in it.

“How’s it going?” Delia asked.

“Not this one.”

Delia’s hand rattled the knob. “Can I at least see it?”

I opened the door.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re right, it’s a little loud, but look at the length. Halfway up the thigh is perfect for you. And I love the sleeves. We’re in the ballpark.”

I tugged at the back of the dress like maybe there was some secret panel that would drop down and cover my ass. No dice.

“This is a terrible length. I can’t go to the set naked. I’m naked. You realize that?”

“It’s not naked, seriously, look around this town. You wear this, you’re still practically a nun.”

She may have been right, but not right enough for me to bare my butt over.