watch her spending. Courtney and Gwen had quietly stopped hanging around with her. Since she and Gwen didn’t invite Laura anywhere, her entire posse excluded her.
She sat up with a jerk. Would that happen to her? Gwen’s text ringtone, “My Best Friend,” sounded. What happened?
She couldn’t tell Gwen. She tapped her nail against her lower lip. I hit the driveway pillar again.
Again?
Yes
Club 2nite?
Her heart pounded. What was she going to do? Can’t. Family dinner.
K. 2morrow?
I’ll let you know. She would avoid everyone until this crisis had passed. Mother would fix everything.
She stripped off her sheath and stepped into her closet to hang it with the rest of her red dresses. This was her haven, her beautiful clothes. Her armor.
She placed her heels in their spot next to the rest of the pairs that had caused this firestorm. She stroked her gorgeous new Manolo Blahnik boots. Okay, they hadn’t been on sale. Actually none of the shoes had been on sale, but it seemed like a reasonable excuse when she’d blurted it out.
Her fingers tapped her bare thigh. What could she wear that would make her look fragile and innocent? She twirled in a slow circle. Audrey Hepburn. White sleeveless blouse. Skinny black capris and black ballerina flats. She’d pull her hair up. Emphasize her eyes. She wasn’t as thin as the actress, but she was willowy. Who could punish Audrey Hepburn?
Maybe she should take up acting. She’d done that all her life.
Her hand shook a little as she added eyeliner and more mascara. Then she pulled her mass of black curls into a French twist.
She checked her appearance one more time before slipping on her shoes. The look worked.
Straightening her shoulders so an imaginary book lay flat on her head, she forced her feet into the glide. It was her term for the walk she’d learned in her finishing classes. Like a ballerina, she floated down the hallway to her mother’s sitting area.
Her mother worked at her desk, the tip of her Montblanc pen tapping her lip.
“Mother?”
“Courtney, what do you think about a fire-and-ice theme for the ballet foundation’s benefit?” Mother asked.
“In August?”
Mother nodded, her blond hair swaying.
When Courtney was a child she’d wanted her mother’s straight blond hair instead of her father’s curly black hair. Now she didn’t know what she wanted. Her life no longer fit. “I don’t think fire-and-ice will work. I assume you would want ice sculptures and since you’re using the terraces, melting would be a problem.”
“I agree with you. But Dorothy loves it.” Mother set down her pen. “Maybe you want to join the committee and give us fresh ideas?”
Would it get her out of finding a job? “Maybe.”
Mother finally looked up. “That outfit looks good on you. Is it new?”
“The pants.” And shoes. Part of the infamous shoe purchases. She stroked the ballerina sculpture that graced her mother’s desk. “Have you talked to Father?”
“This morning.” She eased back in her chair. “Why?”
“He’s upset.” She moved to the coffee table and picked up the book her mother was reading. Some thriller. Not her style.
“About?”
“The shoes I bought last month.” She pointed to her feet. “But these are adorable.”
Mother stood. “He’s upset about a pair of shoes? That’s strange.”
“I bought more than one pair.” She turned, the words rushing out. “I showed you everything the day I bought them. You didn’t complain.”
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Did he put you on a budget?”
“Budget? He made me cut up my credit cards.” She ran and took her mother’s hands. “You have to help me. He said I have to find a job.”
“A job?” Mother shook her head. “He’s been listening to Gray.”
“Can you help? I—I can’t work.” She didn’t know how. “All my friends will abandon me. How will I hold my head up? Without credit cards I’ll be stuck in the house.”
“I’ll talk to him at dinner. We’ll work this out.” Mother wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go down and pour him his Jameson. Lord knows why he developed a taste for it. It’s Gray’s wife’s fault. But maybe it will mellow him out.”
Was it the darn Fitzgeralds putting this stupid job notion in her father’s head? It would be just like his brother’s wife and her sisters to be envious of her life and whisper things to Gray. What did men see in them, anyway? Gray had given up a relationship with her best friend, Gwen, for the woman he’d married last February. Courtney had suffered through being a part of the wedding party. She and Gwen had envisioned a totally different wedding. Classy. It wasn’t fair.
Courtney followed her mother to the library. Just inhaling had the tension in her shoulders easing. Two stories of books soothed her. Heading to the small bar, she added ice to a tumbler and poured Jameson from a Waterford decanter. She’d always liked watching Mother prepare Father’s before-dinner drink. Once she’d turned ten, serving her father’s drink had become Courtney’s job, but he’d never noticed.
“What would you like?” Courtney asked.
“Wine, please. Marcus should have decanted a shiraz.”
The correct stemware was set on a salver. She poured two glasses to the perfect center of the bell, then moved to her mother’s chair and handed her the wine.
Courtney swirled her glass, tipped and watched the legs. Then inhaled. Taking a small sip, she let the wine linger in her mouth. Chocolate. Peppers. She frowned. “Are you catching blackberry?”
Her mother repeated the wine tasting steps. “I am. You have a great palate.”
Maybe Courtney could become a sommelier. Select wine for her friends as they dined. She shuddered. That was not going to happen. Mother needed to fix this.
Father entered the room, swiped the tumbler off the bar and brought it over to the sitting area. “Thank you, Olivia. It’s been a long day.”
“Thank your daughter. She prepared it for you.”
He nodded, not even looking at Courtney.
She started to open her mouth.
Mother shook her head.
Biding
