9 Winifred YatesWinnie held the hem of her denim skirt between her fingers and wiggled in the bucket seat. The two-shades-of-gray upholstery was cool against the backs of her knees.
She’d bought the silver four-door sedan three months ago and the thrill of car ownership still gave her a boost whenever she slipped behind the wheel.
She flipped down the visor mirror and rearranged the neckline of her mauve sweater. Pulling a tube of lip gloss from the glove compartment, she pinked up her mouth to contrast with her pale cheeks. Only September, and her skin was in White Christmas mode.
At least her hairdo withstood the pressure of two jobs. Every coal-black strand was carefully engineered to look tousled while remaining firmly locked in place. Access to top stylists was one of the perks tha
