Natasha Marie-Jeanne leCarre. Quatre Janvier, mil neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit.“She rambled off more French numbers and Owen’s eyes glazed over... He turned to Frieda. “Where would you go if you needed to burn an hour or so?”“Dad’s store,” Frieda said. She saw that was a bad suggestion. She tilted her head. “I don’t think you’d want to go hang out with a bunch of high schoolers playing pool.”“Good point,” he frowned. “Screw it. Let’s go see Janny at work.”“Plus vite. Plus vite.“ Natasha. A thick layer of foundation went onfirst, and I worked it around my face with a small makeup sponge. I puton some pink eye shadow, which in retrospect must have looked awful,but I thought it was OK at the time. I didn't have any mascara oreyeliner, so the only thing left was my bright red lipstick. I put onseveral layers, soaking up the excess with a tissue in betweenapplications.I took my wig, and pulled it into place. I stood in front of the mirror- I was quite pleased with the way I looked.. More

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