ALICE Ch 68

“Diorgasm sounds good,” Alice says. “I’ve seen their ads, I think. They’re always super horny. Probably a good fit for me.”

Glynda takes that in with a patient expression. She gazes at Alice for a long moment with that look on her face.

“The board will be pleased,” she says finally. “They feel that of the two, Diorgasm matches their values more closely. I suppose that’s true, although Dom Ford might let you keep a scrap of your dignity.”

“How’s it going to be undignified? A fancy French perfume company? That sounds classy as hell. Besides, I haven’t made up my mind yet. I haven’t even met with them, let alone signed something.”

Glynda takes off her reading glasses and leans on the desk, looking at Alice quite directly.

“Alice, these companies will have done their research. Do you think for one solitary second that you’ll be able to resist their representatives?”

“Sure,” Alice replies without hesitation.

FF1

The meeting’s set in the hotel bar rather late. Glynda threatened Alice that she had better dress properly, but all Alice has are comfy clothes and FUTA-branded clothes. That means leggings and a polo, like always. She brushes her hair, throws on a little nude pencil and eyeshadow, and then wonders what she should do about scent. Before Formula One, she liked to wear an Ariana Grande perfume, but these days she’s just out there in deodorant all the time. Will this perfume person care? Probably. Alice is not a scent person, but she knows that these people exist and they talk about having ‘amazing noses’ and stuff. It’s a whole thing.

Just not Alice’s thing. That gives her pause. Then she shakes her head and waves a hand. So what? She doesn’t have to be obsessed with perfume to help sell it. It’ll be fine.

She heads up to the bar, where she finds her date waiting for her. She wears a short, filmy, layered lavender dress with a white silk scarf around her neck. Her hair is aggressively highlighted with purple, and big, chunky, black-rimmed glasses perch on her delicate nose. Her courageously high heels are strappy and minimalist, drawing attention to her perfect little feet.

She introduces herself as ‘Cosette’ in sexily accented English.

“I am Alice,” Alice says, joining her at the little table by the window. The Melbourne skyline is spectacular. She feels big and clumsy across from this elegant creature.

“Is something wrong?” Cosette asks, and Alice senses that it has to do with her awkward, fixed, dopey smile.

“Sorry,” Alice apologizes. “I’ve just had all of these meetings lately. A Russian ogle lark, a… it’s a lot. Sorry. I’m from Florida.”

Cosette laughs musically.

“Of course,” she says. “The change to Formula One must be difficult.”

She’s pretty. Really pretty. Rational thought is already leaving Alice’s head.

“I’m learning to like it,” she says.