having a fashion emergency?” Mel’s laughter boomed. “I think I need to sit down.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Sorry.” Her friend’s tone turned serious. “It’s just I’ve never had you call to borrow clothes for a date let alone for work.”
“This is important.”
“So you’ve already said. Work shouldn’t be more important than your love life. That’s just sad, honey. Sad.” Elizabeth thought she heard a tsking sound before Mel went on. “You need to get out more, kick up your heels. And the heels I’m referring to are not those dowdy pair of black pumps that would suit my great-aunt Geraldine.”
Elizabeth pinched her eyes closed. “Can we have this conversation another time, please?”
“Fine. Another time. And don’t think I won’t hold you to it,” Mel warned, then added, “So, am I coming to your place or are you coming to mine?”
They decided on Mel’s since her two-story town house was closer to the restaurant Thomas had selected, and it wouldn’t require her friend to pack up an assortment of outfits.
Once there, Mel wasn’t satisfied with dressing Elizabeth in a ruffled shift that was surprisingly flattering on her less curvaceous form, and pairing the soft pink number with strappy silver sandals. She insisted on restyling her hair and applying additional makeup, too.
The effect was an improvement, and she hardly appeared overmade, but it still presented Elizabeth with a dilemma.
Studying her reflection in Mel’s vanity mirror, she said, “He’s going to think I’m interested in him.”
“He who?” Mel asked, leaning over to dab a little more coral-colored gloss on Elizabeth’s bottom lip.
“Thomas Waverly.”
Her friend drew back, eyes wide with surprise. “Thomas Waverly? GQ-cover-worthy Thomas Waverly? That’s who you’re having dinner with?”
“Do you know him?” Her stomach pitched. Had Mel dated him? That question was followed rapidly by: Why would that matter?
“I know of him,” Mel clarified. “I saw him at a celebrity golf outing that I played with Dominic last summer.”
Dominic, right. Mel’s beau of the month several months ago. A corporate highflyer of some sort. Yet for all the money he’d lavished on Mel, he’d been downright stingy when it came to contributing to Literacy Liaisons.
“So, what’s Thomas like?”
“We didn’t actually meet, but I saw him tee off on one of the par threes. Very nice swing. Fluid and strong. He nearly wound up with a hole in one. He settled for a birdie thanks to one very smooth putting stroke.” Mel made a purring sound that kick-started Elizabeth’s barely settled nerves.
“Do you ever not think of sex?”
Mel propped one hip on the edge of the bathroom counter. “I only think of it so often to take up the slack for you. You need to think of it more.”
“I don’t have the time.” A pitiful excuse, and, of course, Mel called her on it.
“Yes, it would be a real shame to miss your evening line-up of cable television shows once in a while.”
“You like to watch White Collar, too.”
“I like to watch the hunky guy who plays the ex-con,” Mel clarified while examining her manicure. “But I’m not faithful to him. When I have a better offer, I go out.”
Elizabeth scowled. “I haven’t had any better offers.” Indeed, she hadn’t had any offers in months.
“Because you make sure every guy around thinks you’re only interested in your work,” her friend said.
“It’s important.”
“That goes without saying, Elizabeth. And I understand why it’s so important to you. But—”
She put a hand out, pushing away the pain even as she redirected the conversation. “Can we get back to the crisis at hand, please?”
Mel sighed heavily. “Fine, but just so you know, I don’t see Thomas Waverly as a crisis. In fact, I find myself a little jealous of you. He’s one very prime specimen.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Elizabeth managed a nonchalant tone.
Mel wasn’t fooled. In fact, she nearly doubled over with laughter. Her mirth echoed off the bathroom tiles.
“Oh, please. You’d have to be dead not to notice, and even then I have a feeling that man could raise a woman’s pulse rate. Are you really going to sit there and tell me you don’t find him hot?”
“He’s attractive,” Elizabeth allowed.
Mel merely raised her brows at the bland assessment.
“Okay. He’s gorgeous. Drop-dead so. But we’re not going out on a date, Mel.” Elizabeth glanced at her reflection again. She liked what she saw—the softer hairstyle, the somewhat smoky eyes, the flirty dress. But that was the problem. She looked like a woman who was ready for an evening out. “I don’t want him to think that I think it’s a date.”
Mel pursed her lips. Unlike Elizabeth’s, they were an inviting pink color without any added gloss. “Why would that be a problem?”
“This is business. I need his donation.”
“I understand that, but I don’t think that’s the real answer.”
Elizabeth sighed. “You know me too well.”
“And don’t forget it. So, answer the question.” She crossed her arms in challenge.
“Come on. Look at me, Mel.”
“I am looking. I see a beautiful woman, not to mention one who is exceedingly smart and interesting.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Well, I am wearing your clothes.”
“I’m not just talking about what you’ve got on or the way your hair is styled, though that little finger-fluffing trick is flattering and a little extra gloss does wonders for what is already a great set of lips. But clothes, a different hairdo and a little more makeup don’t make you smart and interesting. That’s all you, honey.” She waited a beat before adding, “That dress does make you sexy, though.”
Mel’s perfectly arched brows bobbed twice for emphasis.
Her friend’s words should have done wonders for Elizabeth’s ego, but Elizabeth had never had much confidence in her looks. She chalked that up to the fact that from an early age her post-hippie parents had discouraged any sort of “enhancement” or improvement to one’s appearance. Both her folks sported long hair. Her mother wore hers in an unflattering ponytail. Her father’s was twisted into dreadlocks that streamed halfway to his waist. Skeet Morris didn’t believe in shaving.
