"You have," Graham said, pointing weakly at her mouth, "a little—"
She wiped it off with her napkin. Her lipstick came with it, and she didn't care.
"One-nothing," she said. "Castellano."
"The event isn't over until the loser tells the truth," Graham reminded her, "and I'm the loser."
She waited. The tree glittered.
But before Graham could say anything, there was a noise from below.
It came up through the atrium, through the branches of the great tree, five floors of it, a roar like the crowd at Wrigley when someone hits one onto Waveland Avenue. Then the public address system crackled, and a woman's voice, pleasant and exhausted, said: "Attention, Halloran's shoppers. We are now sold out of the Starlight Sweetheart doll. We are now sold out of the Starlight Sweetheart doll. We thank you for your patience, and we wish you a very merry Christmas."
There was a second roar, smaller and angrier.