guys,” I called over my shoulder, before I darted a glance at Josie. She nodded at me to go ahead. Not her regular customers.
One woman was looking for a strapless bra. I remembered the section where Josie kept them. I found three for the woman and showed her to the dressing rooms. When she bought one of the bras ten minutes later, I was proud of myself.
But Josie wasn’t. “You should have showed them the spring panties,” she said when they left. “And the lounge-wear. We make money in this business not just giving people what they want, but also by showing them what they don’t yet know they want. Now, while we’ve got some time, let me show you how to handle returns.”
I came around the desk to stand with her. She rang up a pair of lavender cotton panties with a white branch pattern on them.
“Now …” She held the panties aloft. “First thing, check to make sure the tags are on and ask them if they’ve been worn.” She then started to rattle off a series of complicated steps to return the panties. She gave me more information than I had needed to take the bar exam. I struggled to memorize it all, watching her hands fly across the register, as if she were operating the Space Shuttle.
“Then,” she said dramatically, “sniff.”
“Excuse me?”
She pointed to the crotch of the panties. “Make sure you sniff.”
I had to be misunderstanding something. “Do you mean …” No, she couldn’t mean.
“Yes,” she said in an irritated voice. “We have to ensure that the merchandise wasn’t worn before it was returned.”
“Would someone do that?”
She gave me a look that made it clear she thought I had reached new levels of stupidity.
“So we have to smell the underwear to make sure they didn’t do that?” I said, just to make sure I was hearing her right.
“Yes.” No hiding her irritation.
“Well, isn’t it rude to the customers to smell the panties right in front of them?”
She actually rolled her eyes this time. “You do it surreptitiously, of course. Like this.” She turned her body away from the register and grabbed one of the return forms behind the desk. As she did so, she casually and quickly lifted the panties and waved them in front of her face, taking a clandestine inhale.
“Got it?” she said.
“Sure.” Despite myself, I giggled a little.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” Another small laugh escaped my mouth. God, I wished Q was here. The fact that I was sniffing undies for a living would slay him.
“Lexi …” Josie said in a stern voice, not bothering to complete the sentence.
“I’m sorry. Really.” I squelched down a laugh and gave the panties a practice sniff.
From the vantage point of the watcher in the crowd, Jane Augustine looked stunning. She stood in front of the Daley Center, the sunlight glinting off the Picasso sculpture and giving her face a luminescent glow. Her hair and her smile gleamed as she spoke into the camera.
“Welcome to Trial TV,” she said, flashing a vivacious grin, “where we bring you gavel-to-gavel coverage of the courtrooms topping the news. From New York to L.A., from Chicago to Miami and from every city in between, we’ll bring you up-to-the-minute reporting, but we’ll also give you the real stories of what’s happening behind the scenes. We’ve got the best news team in the business. We’ve got our ears to the ground. If there’s breaking legal news, you’ll hear it on Trial TV first.”
She paused. She flashed that smile again.
“Cut!” her director yelled.
The crowd that had gathered to watch broke into a smattering of applause.
Jane gave a half bow to the onlookers. “Thanks!” she called out.
She began to discuss something with her director, pointing at the courthouse behind her, then at the light. They glanced at their watches. They moved a few inches to the right and seemed to be preparing to try another promo shot.
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