"I'M MARGAUX Beaudine."
Her name fell right off of her lips like it had become a customary response. Her words came off so suddenly as if she had been saying it a dozen times this night and the mere phrase just played out automatically. She looked at me under those thick long eyelashes. The sparkling contour of her make-up emphasized the bold and sharp angles of her cheekbones, the accentuated arch of her brows, and the thin edges of her curved lips that quirked up into a fashionable smile and revealed the fraying wrinkles on each side of her clear blue eyes.
"You look so young, dear," she told me, letting the smoothness of her words flow in a sultry melody through the soft-spoken sound of her velvety voice, "How old are you? If you don't mind."
"Oh, don't act so genuine, Marga
