5“Your mother is in the middle of something right now,” said Margaux’s assistant, Freddy. He was a short man with bulging muscles on top and bird legs on the bottom, always sporting skintight plaid pants and a poufy afro.
“Doing what?” Cecil asked.
Freddy put his lips to Cecil’s ear, scooting right up to his cheek, encroaching on his personal space. “It’s the po-po. The penguins. The Stasi. She’s on the phone with Roosevelt. Not the president, the cop.”
“I assumed,” Cecil said, inching away from Freddy’s face.
Freddy pointed to the staircase where two young models sat in red dresses, legs parted open enough to see white lace peeking between their thighs. “Come upstairs and wait.”
Agents spun around them in a frenzy, shouting into their headpieces. Girls sprinted out the doors to get t
