Dec. 15th, 2011

murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] daily_prompt Prompt #530: "I apologize for the confusion."


"Sorry for the confusion," she murmured demurely. "I saw this spilling out of someone's bag and I simply had to know what label it is." She smoothed her designer skirt, meek smile dropping and a worried frown taking its place. "Only, I couldn't help but feel a little shocked when I saw that this was touting to be Golce & Dabbana. Why, anyone knows that a Golce & Dabbana piece would never, ever use this method of stitching. Ma'm," Sam paused for added drama, "I have reason to believe that your daughter is involved with counterfeit."
 
 "¡Dios mio! My dear, what an accusation. . . ."
 
"I am sure that, should you ask, Paulina would confirm that she had this shirt in her possession." 

"I, I do seem to remember her---Paulina!" she turned her head, calling toward the stairway. Through the gap between Paulina's mom and the door facing, Sam could see Paulina's voluptuous form tripping down the staircase. At her name, she looked up, her mane of dark curls swishing behind her. Her eyes met those of her mother in what was, for once, confusion that was not feigned. Magically, her electric eyes slid from her mother's worried face and aligned with Sam's smirking face. Sam, in response, held the blouse where Paulina could clearly see it, and casually swung it from her pointed index finger. 

Paulina paled, and her mother did not fail to notice. "What--! Get off my door step before someone sees you, freak." 

"Paulina," said her mother, who then moved aside, allowing Sam's body to be seen in her full designer, made-over glory. "That is no way to speak to anyone, much less a concerned classmate. Mama didn't raise you like that." 

"No, Mama," she said, although her heated glare belied her true opinion. Crossing her arms and tossing her hair, she addressed Sam. "What do you want, Manson? And what are you doing with my blouse? You better not have gotten any of your geek germs on it. Do you even know how much that thing costs?" 

Paulina's mother tensed, lips parted, and Sam took the chance to edge in a few words. "A hefty fine and a few years in prison, I would think." 

"What--"

"Relax, they'd probably go easy on you because you're a minor. Oh, no, wait. . . You turned eighteen two weeks ago, didn't you? That's too bad." 

Huffing, she demanded, "What are you talking--" 

"Selling counterfeits is a serious crime, Paulina. I've had this shirt analyzed by experts--which you know I can afford. There's no way this is a genuine Golce & Dabbana." Paulina imitated a fish. 

"It's not mine! I borrowed it from Star," Paulina cried, pleading with her mother.

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