"Madam wishes to see the dress on madam," Toffee said. "The sooner the better."
"You got guts, honey," the model said. "And you'll need them, too, to keep this thing up."
The two of them adjourned to the dressing rooms and Toffee returned a moment later, the very picture of the most recent thing in scandalous chic. She joined Marc and Mr. Baker and took her place between them.
"How do you like it?" she asked Marc.
"You'd be more modest in a plastic shower curtain," Marc said. He boosted himself forward. "Come on."
"I want to meet the congressman," Toffee said. And even as she spoke a portly gentleman with a ruddy face and almost theatrically white hair appeared in the entry and started forward. "And I think I'm about to."
At the manager's limp wave, Congressman Orvil Bloodsop, the accomplished absconder of public funds, presented himself before the company. His eyes, true to forecast, registered a lively appreciation at the sight of Toffee. He nodded perfunctorily to Marc.
"These are some people I met in sporting goods," the manager said. "I haven't the least idea what their names are—or if they have any at all. They can tell you, if they think it's wise."
"What's in a name?" the congressman said with hackneyed gallantry. He got himself a chair and wedged it deftly between Toffee's and the manager's. "It's the ... uh ... heart that counts, eh?" He settled himself with a snort. "I don't believe I've ever seen you around before, dear. Where are you from?"