Let’s stop in this drugstore. I’m running a little low myself. I’d better stock up too,’ Frank advised with a smirk. Ernest turned a little redder yet, but hesitantly followed his brother into the store. ‘Where do they keep em?’ Ernest whispered. ‘Back at the pharmacy counter,’ Frank replied in a voice a little too loud to suit his shy brother. ‘I can’t ask her for ’em,’ he pleaded, in a whisper motioning toward a forty-ish-year-old woman behind the counter in the back. ‘She reminds me of our mother!’ ‘Don’t be such a wimp,’ Frank shot back in a voice clearly audible to anyone within fifteen feet. ‘Frank, I just can’t do it,’ Ernest pleaded, in a tone even more hushed and supplicatory than before. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll get you some and you can pay me when we get outside,’ Frank answered in a voice level that pleased Ernest a little better. You wait here, I’ll be right back.’ Frank approached the lady behind the pharmacy counter and when she acknowledged his presence, asked for five. Some of them would be private and contracted by Prada for the event, but others would be provided by Berlin police and perhaps even GSG-9, depending on the threat of terrorist attack, which was something nobody took lightly in this day and age.Eva smiled at a pale and decidedly elegant David Bowie as he walked past with Iman, equally elegant and much darker, of course. He smiled back, meeting Eva's eyes for a split second, and nobody stopped them. Apparently they didn't need invitations. The one Eva and Wolfgang had stolen contained a thin electronic chip embedded beneath the silk paper and goldleaf lettering. That might have posed a small problem if the rightful owners reported the invitation missing, but it was unlikely they'd wake up before noon the following day."Thank you, Herr Steuben," the man said pleasantly. He returned the invitation and offered Eva a small bow. "Frau Steuben. Please, enjoy your evening."Inside the gallery, which was an august and venerable shrine to.
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