Chapter 3
“What are you wearing?” Callie spits the moment she sees me.
“You said to wear a little black dress.”
“You look like you’re going to a funeral, not a formal.”
“Are you going to critique me from the hall all night?”
She rolls her eyes and walks in wearing a slinky, but classy red dress that hugs her lithe body. “You have crumbs on the boobs of your sweater dress, June.”
“Crackers. They’ll shake off.” I pull at the material a few times, and they crumble to the floor. “See?”
“You’re hopeless,” she says it in a way that doesn’t make me feel bad. More like she’s here to take care of me.
I follow her to my bedroom and flop onto the bed while she digs through my closet. “This is the only black dress I own, so I’m not sure what else you think you’ll find in there.”
“This wardrobe is a time capsule, June. When was the last time you cleaned out your closet?”
“1986.”
She peeks around the corner at me. “You weren’t alive in 1986.”
“This apartment was my grandmother’s. Half that stuff was hers. I’ve never had the heart to get rid of it, and going by the Golden Girls esthetic of shoulder pads and muumuus, I’m thinking that’s the last time she cleaned it out.”
She rolls her eyes, then dives back in. “Well, your grandmother had an interesting eye for—god, that’s a lot of sequins.”
“If you’re into the sequins, then you’re out of my size. Grandma was tiny.” If I spent more time at the gym, I could probably get into her clothes. Not that I wanted to do either of those things. Fifteen-hour days are not conducive to going to the gym, and her clothes are a vintage that is not my style. It’s a pity the apartment isn’t rent controlled, though. I wouldn’t mind paying eighties rent prices. $2500 a month is steep, even for Boston.
Maybe now that I’m not dating anymore, I’ll have more time for the gym. Still not wearing Grandma’s clothes, though.
“Found it!” The squeaks of hangers announce she’s coming out from the rear of the closet and fill me with trepidation. There is nothing good that far back.
“Not sure what?—”
The bridesmaid’s dress I wore last summer dangles in her hand when she emerges. How she got all the way back there without ruining her hair, I will never know. The dress is a deep blue—not quite navy, but near enough—and has spaghetti straps with a low neckline and a slit up the thigh. Far sexier than anything I normally wear, but my cousin insisted all her bridesmaids wear the same thing.
Callie grins. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“That is hardly warm enough for this weather.”
“We are going from a limo to a mansion and back again. You’ll be chilly for a minute, tops.”
“I don’t have the shoes for it.”
She smirks at me. “I already found the pair of nude pumps you wore all of one time ever. The bottoms aren’t even scuffed. They’ll work just fine.”
My final objection sputters out. “You want me in a strapless bra for hours?”
“Or you can go braless. Whatever you like.”
I huff and grab the dress. “I’ll need your help with my hair and makeup?—”
She squeals and claps like a seal. “Yay! Okay, let’s get you ready for the party.”
My only strapless bra is nude, so I grab the matching underwear, too, and inside of thirty minutes, I’m dressed and sitting in front of my bathroom mirror with Callie doing something painful to my head. But I can’t see it yet—she promises it will look nice, but when I was watching her, I kept fidgeting, so she made me turn around. “Your frizz is no joke, June.”
“Believe me when I tell you, I know.”
“But I am a miracle worker, even with your lack of product. Take a look.”
My frizzy curls are straightened and tamed low bun with a few tendrils out to frame my face. She did my makeup, too, and it’s understated and classy—winged black eyeliner I could never do on my own, and a classic red lip. Nothing over the top, nothing garish. I look polished and elegant.
In short, I look nothing like myself.
“Wow, Callie. If you ever want to quit property law, you could do makeovers.”
She giggles, but it’s short-lived. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“No glasses tonight. Contacts only.”
“What? Why?”
Callie takes a breath, and I know I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear. “Think of any James Bond movie you have ever seen.”
“Huh?”
“Which of the femme fatales wore glasses?”
“That’s easy. Ruby Bartlett.”
She frowns. “Who?”
“From On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”
“Everyone knows the Lazenby one doesn’t count, so neither does Ruby Bartlett. Contacts. I know you have them.”
In all fairness to Callie, she had too many good points there for me to argue. So, I made the best of it and popped them in, grabbing a bottle of eye drops for the ridiculously tiny purse I have to bring. Honestly, it’s an insult to purses to call this black satiny thing a purse. More like a pocket on a thin silver chain. “And I’m no femme fatale. I’m a femme ChapStick at best.”
She giggles and practically shoves me out the door. True to her word, there’s a limo waiting for us outside. I’d kind of hoped they had driven off—my last escape plan. Instead, we sat in the rear of the luxury car and she poured us two flutes of pricy champagne. “To a wild night of high society fun.”
I clink my glass to hers and drink. The good stuff is, in fact, good. “Not sure it’ll be a wild night, Callie. I picture little old ladies with tiny purse dogs and wrinkled men with erectile dysfunction in tuxedos.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be there, too, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.”
“Always with the positivity. Even in this weather.”
She laughs. “I love this weather.”
“Easy for you to say. You have a shawl.”
She slips it off and passes it to me. “It’ll look better with your dress than mine, anyway.”
“I wasn’t saying that to get your shawl, Callie.”
“I’m aware. But honestly, it doesn’t go with my neckline and I’m not as cold as you are. Take it.”
The black fur was so soft I never wanted to take it off. “It’s faux, right?”
“I imagine so. But it was a gift from Daniel, so I never asked.”
“I can’t wear his gift?—”
“Oh, you can and you will, silly. Stay warm while I show off the goods.”
I giggle at her. “Right. Like you’re trying to attract anyone but Daniel Fisher. I have never seen you so into a guy before.”
She smiles like she’s on cloud nine. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been this into a guy before, June. He’s a little stodgy at the office, but outside of there, he’s …” she sighs. “Well, he’s honestly perfect.”
“Neglecting to point out that you’re dateless because of him tonight?—
“So he can be there for his child. I can’t fault him for that.”
I shrug. “Fair enough. Do you think he’s the one?”
She can hardly contain her glee. “I don’t know. Maybe? Feels like it’s too soon to say, but when I’m with him, it’s perfect. We get along great. We like the same things for the most part, but not enough to be boring. And the sex?—”
“I do not need to know.”
Her smile tells me more than I ever wanted to know. “It should be one of the Seven Deadly Sins, June. It’s that good.”
I sigh deeply and drink deeper. There is one thing I miss men for, and it is not their conversation skills. “I’m happy for you.”
“Then why do you look like you could claw my eyes right out?”
“I swear I am, but your whole giddy school girl vibe is reminding me just how much I miss sex. “
“Even sex with Trent?”
I almost snort-laugh my champagne out of my nose when I choke on that thought. “Uh no. Not with Trent. Maybe that’s why I don’t miss him. That man could not kiss worth a damn, and the sex … it did not qualify as one of the Seven Deadlies. In fact, it may have qualified as penance for jaywalking.”
She giggles. “Sex with Trent was the equivalent of jay walking?”
“No … come to think of it, it sex with Trent was the equivalent of pulling a mattress tag off. Not illegal. Not even a little naughty. It was something no one would even notice unless they were really, really paying attention.”
“And you were with him for how long again?”
“Two years. Remember, he broke up with me on our anniversary?—”
“When you thought he was going to propose. Right. Sorry to bring it up.”
I shrug. “that’s the weird thing about it. I should be more pissed off about that, shouldn’t I?”
“I gave up should a long time ago. Feel how you feel. If you feel numb about it?—”
“Not numb. Apathetic. Like, I hope he has a decent life, as long as it’s far away from me.”
The limo slows to a stop, and I realize I hadn’t paid any attention to where we are. But Callie grins and stares out the window. “We have arrived.”
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