"Shit," Courtney mutters, spinning in front of the safe house bathroom mirror.
"What? Did we not get all the money?" Duncan asks from the bedroom, counting Owen's small wad of bills and his bag of groceries.
"No, it's not that. I forgot I completely tore through this dress when you left me on the side of the road," she says, toying with the tear that stretched up to her thigh now. "I can't believe I was looking like this the whole time I was sticking up Owen."
"To be fair, you've been wearing that dress on and off for the last few weeks, Bonnie," Al says, leaning on the open bedroom door.
"The tear didn't use to be so bad," she argues, covering her legs when Al doesn't leave. "And it's not like I brought lots of clothes with me when you kidnapped me from the train."
Harold peeks into the room. "You were kidnapped?"
"Coersion ain't kidnapping," Duncan says, standing up and shutting the door in Harold and Al's faces.
Courtney sighs and appraises the dress again. "Great. So now I either wear scraps or nothing."
"I like it when ya wear nothing," Duncan says, coming up behind her and purring in her ear. His fingers graze the bare thigh exposed by the tear in her dress. "That's what ya get for wearing clothes meant for farm work or speakeasies with no in between."
"You know what's on our way to Tulsa?" Al suggests through the closed door. "Sol C. Cohn and Company in Fort Smith."
"What's that?" Courtney calls, tilting her head as Duncan dusts kisses on her jaw.
Heather scoffs from the parlor. "A halfway decent department store," she retorts. "Not that you and your cheap haircut and hick clothes would know anything about it."
"Why don't ya show her how to dress, Heath?" Duncan asks, smirking against Courtney's throat. He grabs both halves of the tear and rips the dress further up, past her waist. "Take her on a grand ole tour of Cohn and Co."
"Tell me you're joking," Heathers says as Courtney grumbles, "Are you serious, Duncan?"
"Who better to teach Bonnie how to dress than you, love?" Al says. "Let's drop you off at the department store and pick ya up, say, in an hour or two?"
Harold knocks lightly on the bedroom door. "Do you want me to start the car?"
Kissing down Courtney's collarbone, Duncan mumbles, "Sounds keen to me."
"That's the worst idea either of you have ever had," Heather tells the brothers.
Courtney shifts in Duncan's arms. "Can't we just go shopping, you and I?" she whispers.
"Babe, ya just robbed a convenience store, single-handed and unarmed. You can manage a shopping trip with one Mrs. Barrow."
Courtney lightly pushes him off. "It's easy for you to say. You're not shopping with her."
Duncan pecks her on the lips and slips a ten into her hand. "I'm a 42 in suits and a 9 in shoes. Pick something out for me. I'll like whatever it is."
"To Sol C. Cohn and Company then," Al says. Courtney hears the keys jangling. "We'll double back for you two ladies once we've got taught Harold here how to jack a car. How's that sound, Harold?"
"Swell!"
Courtney opens the bedroom door to find Heather at the other end of the parlor, blowing out a heavy cloud of smoke and rolling her eyes. "Whatever."
"Oh hell no. Not that one," Heather says, putting the dress Courtney had just picked out back on its place on the rack.
"You've had something to say about everything I've picked up so far," Courtney snaps.
"It's hardly my fault you lack any taste," Heather patronizes, tossing another dress onto the growing pile being carried around by their shopping attendant.
Courtney pulls the dress off the stack of clothes and throws it to the floor, to the concern and confusion of the shopping attendant. "You know what? We're on the same goddamn team, Heather! The sooner you accept that the better we can put up with each other."
"Pick that up off the floor. You're not a savage," Heather retorts, blotting at her teeth with her finger before holding up another dress to her body in the mirror. She grabs a pantsuit off the rack and tosses it at the attendant. "Try that one on. It should work with your train wreck haircut."
Courtney touches up the ends of her bob. "Will you stop making fun of my hair? Yours isn't even up to date. Waist length hair went out of style years ago."
"Please," she scoffs, "I make my own style. Alejandro's been trying to get me to cut it for years."
"Why?"
"Same reason. Out of style. Gets in the way of robberies when I need to shoot something in my peripheral, blah blah blah." She tosses the attendant a pencil skirt and blouse, ignoring the woman's wide-eyed stare. "Try those on too."
Courtney grabs the clothes from the pile, bold green colors in the skirt and a crisp white blouse. "How is this going to stand out any less than what I was wearing before?"
"For one thing, it's better quality. And these outfits are sure as hell more practical." Heather slaps a matching green hat on Courtney's head and shoves her and the attendant in the direction of the changing rooms. "Now go try those on so I can do some shopping of my own."
Courtney shuffles off towards the changing rooms with the very silent attendant, admiring the department store as she walks. They take the wooden escalators to get to the changing rooms to see to it that the skirts and tops are properly fitted. After Courtney tries on Heather's picks and waits for her adjustments, she walks through the store, admiring everything from the perfumes to the kitchen appliances. It's a small city with whole floors dedicated to clothes and jewelry and children's toys. Finally, she makes her way back to Heather.
"Hey," Courtney says, noticing a dress on the hangar. She pulls out the red beaded piece, an almost identical copy to the one she'd bought in the seedy store in Dallas. "I used to have a dress like this," she tells Heather.
"This one is much more classy," Heather says, pulling out a black dress embellished with lace. She tosses it at Courtney. Courtney takes the red beaded dress as well and hides it from Heather under the black one.
"Hurry up. We have to get to the seventh floor before the boys come back."
"What's on the seventh floor?" Courtney asks.
"Every beauty product you ever wanted," Heather says with a dreamy sigh. She tries on a hat in the mirror before shaking her head and tossing it back on the mannequin. "If you think we're going shopping every week, think again."
"Alright, alright, stop rushing me. We haven't shopped for Duncan and Al. You haven't even tried on anything."
"Don't need to," Heather says, picking up a dress that's far too skinny for Courtney. "I already know what I look good in and what my sizes are. I'll just grab my things on the way out."
Courtney huffs, hustling as Heather walks to the escalators. "For someone rushing me through my first department store, you seem to know a lot about shopping and how to do it."
"Los Angeles has a department store on every street corner," Heather says, walking up the escalator. Courtney rides it standing in place, refusing to rush up the technological marvel.
"When did you go to California?"
"I'm from Los Angeles." Heather gets off the escalator and starts walking off before Courtney has even reached the top.
Cursing, Courtney climbs the last couple stairs if only not to lose her guide. "Is that where you met Al? Or did that happen after you started a career in crime?"
Heather rolls her eyes. "Bonnie, please. Stop trying to bond with me. It's pathetic and very obvious."
"You should really stop being such a bitch to me," Courtney snaps. "We're practically sisters-in-law and—"
Heather stops in the middle of examining a shade of rouge, looks at Courtney incredulously for a second, then starts laughing.
Courtney blushes, and adjusts the clothes in her arms. "What?"
"Oh god," Heather says, sobering up as the make-up attendant behind the counter looks between the women. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard you say, Bonnie. Number 60 for me," she tells the attendant before pointing at Courtney. "Number 73 for her."
"I don't know why that idea is so hilarious to you," Courtney snaps as the attendant goes to get the makeup.
"Bonnie Jones, if you think that Duncan Clyde will keep you around once he's had his fun indulging your rebellious housewife fantasy, then you have another thing coming."
Courtney puts her clothes up on the makeup counter and crosses her arms across her chest. "Well that's where you're wrong. I'd sooner give up a life with Duncan Clyde than stop being the rebellious housewife," she says.
"You keep telling yourself that," Heather says noncommittally.
"I mean it," Courtney says. "If the choice is making it out on my own without Duncan or going back to Texas, then I have what it takes to do just that."
"Your voice becomes more irritating when you bluff, you know that?" Heather picks up a small sample container of rouge and puts it in her blouse pocket. "Did you bring your gun this time?"
"It's in my purse. Why?"
Heather discreetly pulls out her own handgun and checks bullets. "You ready to rob something larger than an outhouse?"
"Really, Heather?" Courtney says. "We don't need the money."
"We always need the money. That's the thing about money."
Courtney picks the pair of dresses back up in her arms. "Well do what you like. I'm going to grab a suit for Duncan, pay for the clothes I'll actually wear, and wait for our ride."
Heather looks her over. She scoffs, puts the gun away and snatches the rouges from the attendant's hand.
"You are absolutely zero fucking fun."