laughed that laugh again. “My career keeps me busy.”
“And you’re still living at Windsor-on-Hudson?”
Duh
, Maddie thought. Even Abigail’s fans knew the answer tothat, for the kitchen and dining rooms of the familiar estate were squeezed onto the television screen every week. God, how she wished she hadn’t come.
“It seems rather foolish to stay there now that Sondra is married. But Louisa’s still with us.”
A picture of the woman frosting a cake was now in the photo albums Maddie had brought, the ones stuffed into her clumsy backpack, the dinosaur backpack now wrapped around her feet. Her eyes fell on Abigail’s neat, compact purse. “Louisa. Wow, she must a fossil by now.”
“Not quite. She’s still the same, though. It’s nice to have her around. Edmund travels so frequently.”
Edmund. Of course. Abigail still had a husband. Still had her looks, still had her wealth, and still had someone who occupied the other side of her bed.
Kris
, Maddie thought with a frown,
Hurry and save me!
Out loud she said, “Edmund. He’s … what? An art dealer?”
Before Abigail could answer, there was a flurry of commotion near the front door. They both turned their heads in time to see her strut in—lean, long-legged, bronze-skinned Kris, with her black hair cropped to within an inch of her scalp, her laughter as bewitching as ever, her body not quite covered by a chocolate suede micro skirt that barely grazed the tops of her thighs.
Maddie was unsure whether or not she’d been saved.
Kris held her head high and reminded herself that she walked good, that she talked good, that she
was
good. No matter what Abigail did or didn’t know, no matter why she had arranged this lunch, Kris was her own person. And she was strong.
She spotted the table, lifted her chin, and prepared to go on the offense. It was the only way to beat Abigail at her game, the way she’d once beat her at hopscotch and checkers and hours of playing Old Maid.
“Ladies!” Kris cried. “We are here!” Ignoring the doorperson in the uptight white linen, she strutted toward her old friends and held out her arms. If Abigail didn’t like the theatrics, she could go to hell.
Maddie leaped to her feet and dove into Kris’s hug. “You look stunning,” she hooted.
Abigail rose with the proper decorum indicative of the everlasting stick up her ass. On her face, the hint of a grin quickly confirmed that indeed she was up to something. Hopefully it wasn’t blackmail.
“Abigail,” Kris said, turning from Maddie. The hugKris received was less rigid than she’d expected. She scolded herself for being so melodramatic, for thinking that real life imitated her art.
With a laugh, she sat down. “I can’t believe we’re here. Together. Just like old times.”
“Old is the word for it,” Maddie chuckled as she and Abigail returned to their chairs. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m so glad we’re all here,” Abigail added.
A waitress arrived with a bottle of champagne. While it was being poured, Kris’s eyes darted from Maddie’s gray ones to Abigail’s green ones. They had both changed.
Aged
, she suspected, was the word. Maddie’s hair was thick with gray and her shoulders were rounded; deep lines were carved at the sides of her mouth. And the dark circles under her eyes suggested that Maddie was just plain worn out.
On the other hand, Kris noted that Abigail looked a little too good. Her skin was a little too artificially tight, and Kris bet it felt putty-like to the touch. She smiled to herself and remembered her own struggle a few years ago when she’d discovered that without makeup her trademark black eyes no longer looked huge and enticing, but rather melded into her face.
They spent the next twenty minutes sipping champagne and exchanging news. Maddie’s twins were fifteen now (
fifteen? already?
), and no, Kris hadn’t known she was divorced; Abigail’s stepdaughter was pregnant (
be grateful she’s
“And you’re still living at Windsor-on-Hudson?”
Duh
, Maddie thought. Even Abigail’s fans knew the answer tothat, for the kitchen and dining rooms of the familiar estate were squeezed onto the television screen every week. God, how she wished she hadn’t come.
“It seems rather foolish to stay there now that Sondra is married. But Louisa’s still with us.”
A picture of the woman frosting a cake was now in the photo albums Maddie had brought, the ones stuffed into her clumsy backpack, the dinosaur backpack now wrapped around her feet. Her eyes fell on Abigail’s neat, compact purse. “Louisa. Wow, she must a fossil by now.”
“Not quite. She’s still the same, though. It’s nice to have her around. Edmund travels so frequently.”
Edmund. Of course. Abigail still had a husband. Still had her looks, still had her wealth, and still had someone who occupied the other side of her bed.
Kris
, Maddie thought with a frown,
Hurry and save me!
Out loud she said, “Edmund. He’s … what? An art dealer?”
Before Abigail could answer, there was a flurry of commotion near the front door. They both turned their heads in time to see her strut in—lean, long-legged, bronze-skinned Kris, with her black hair cropped to within an inch of her scalp, her laughter as bewitching as ever, her body not quite covered by a chocolate suede micro skirt that barely grazed the tops of her thighs.
Maddie was unsure whether or not she’d been saved.
Kris held her head high and reminded herself that she walked good, that she talked good, that she
was
good. No matter what Abigail did or didn’t know, no matter why she had arranged this lunch, Kris was her own person. And she was strong.
She spotted the table, lifted her chin, and prepared to go on the offense. It was the only way to beat Abigail at her game, the way she’d once beat her at hopscotch and checkers and hours of playing Old Maid.
“Ladies!” Kris cried. “We are here!” Ignoring the doorperson in the uptight white linen, she strutted toward her old friends and held out her arms. If Abigail didn’t like the theatrics, she could go to hell.
Maddie leaped to her feet and dove into Kris’s hug. “You look stunning,” she hooted.
Abigail rose with the proper decorum indicative of the everlasting stick up her ass. On her face, the hint of a grin quickly confirmed that indeed she was up to something. Hopefully it wasn’t blackmail.
“Abigail,” Kris said, turning from Maddie. The hugKris received was less rigid than she’d expected. She scolded herself for being so melodramatic, for thinking that real life imitated her art.
With a laugh, she sat down. “I can’t believe we’re here. Together. Just like old times.”
“Old is the word for it,” Maddie chuckled as she and Abigail returned to their chairs. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m so glad we’re all here,” Abigail added.
A waitress arrived with a bottle of champagne. While it was being poured, Kris’s eyes darted from Maddie’s gray ones to Abigail’s green ones. They had both changed.
Aged
, she suspected, was the word. Maddie’s hair was thick with gray and her shoulders were rounded; deep lines were carved at the sides of her mouth. And the dark circles under her eyes suggested that Maddie was just plain worn out.
On the other hand, Kris noted that Abigail looked a little too good. Her skin was a little too artificially tight, and Kris bet it felt putty-like to the touch. She smiled to herself and remembered her own struggle a few years ago when she’d discovered that without makeup her trademark black eyes no longer looked huge and enticing, but rather melded into her face.
They spent the next twenty minutes sipping champagne and exchanging news. Maddie’s twins were fifteen now (
fifteen? already?
), and no, Kris hadn’t known she was divorced; Abigail’s stepdaughter was pregnant (
be grateful she’s
Similar Books
