Kit considered. “Again, use your discretion, but I’m inclined to think a little of both.”
”So am I. I’ll, uh, meet you at Connie’s,” he said. “In, say, fifteen or twenty? These pants Rachel gave me, uh, pinch.”
”Make it the Prince Albert and we’ll finish lunch before we collar her.”
Malcolm grinned. “Whatever you say, boss! You may shower me with free food and money all you like.”
Kit just snorted “I’d tell you to go soak your head, but you already did. See you at the Albert.”
Connie Logan’s establishment was–in keeping with La La Land’s reputation-one of the true first-class Outfitters in the business. Connie was young for it, barely twenty-six, but she’d started with an advantage. A theatrical aunt who’d owned a small touring company had raised her in the business of historical costuming, then died and left her with an inventory, a room full of cloth waiting to be turned into historically accurate clothing, considerable skill as a seamstress and designer; and enough money to attract venture capital.
Connie Logan was sharp, creative, and a delight to ‘eighty-sixers. They often laid wagers on what she’d be seen wearing next. The sign over her doorway was short but effective: CLOTHES AND STUFF. A few tourists were stupid enough to prefer shops with fancier names, but not many. On their way across the Commons, Margo admitted that she hadn’t been inside yet.
”I hate to shop when I’m too broke to buy anything,” she admitted “It’s depressing.”
”What about that barmaid’s dress?”
Her cheeks colored. “Skeeter gave me money for that. He told me to buy it in Costumes Forever because the prices were better. I, uh, haven’t been shopping since.”