Flashes me a smug look as she wriggles her fingers in the pretense of a warm greeting.
Risha huffs. “What is her problem?”
“Hell if I know.”
To my horror, the hostess leads Arlene to the far back of the shop where Risha and I are.
“Oh, God,” I mumble.
Moaning in frustration, I look to my right as Arlene is seated in the leather pedicure chair on my left.
Risha’s lips twist in disapproval.
“Hello, ladies.”
Arlene’s nasally voice has always irritated me, that and the way she walks around with her head held higher than everyone else’s, like she’s extra special.
“Hello,” Risha responds, in an exaggerated airy tone—the tone of fake affection she reserves for people she doesn’t like.
For a moment I debate simply ignoring the bitch. I mean, why pretend we’re friends when we’re not? But after a couple seconds, I paste a sugary smile on my face and turn to her—the only greeting I can find it in my soul to give her. Arlene and I were never friends, but after I saw her at my fiancé’s place in a serious lip lock with him only days after we’d broken up, I knew I could never keep up the pretense of being civil to her.
That decision was solidified when Arlene starting flaunting the rock Adam gave her shortly after our own engagement ended.
A minute passes. I pretend to be completely absorbed in the issue of Black Hair magazine I scooped up before I sat down.
“Have you heard from Adam?”
My head turns to my left so fast, it’s a surprise I don’t get whiplash. “Excuse me?”
“I hear he’s spending time in D.C.,” Arlene tells me in a tone that says she’s proud to be sharing information I likely don’t know. “He’s apparently exploring work opportunities. I figure he’ll make a permanent move there, given his political ambitions. Especially since he’s got family there he can stay with.”
“His cousin, Milton. Senate aid. Yes, I know. Adam and I were together for four years, remember?” My tone is testy, but I can’t stop myself.
“Of course.” Arlene plasters a fake smile on her face. “Look, I figured you’d want to know what he’s been up to.”
“Really? And why is that?”
The water sloshes around Arlene’s feet as she shifts her butt in her chair to fully face me. “Because we share a common bond—whether you want to accept that or not.”
This enrages me. Arlene’s gall at acting as if she and I have both suffered equally at Adam’s hands.
As Alice begins to buff my feet, I say to Arlene, “We have nothing in common.”
“He hurt both of us.”
“And you seem like you still want to him back, even though the whole world knows he’s a perverted freak. What Adam does with his life doesn’t interest me in the least. He could be starring in gay porn in D.C. for all I care.”
Arlene’s jaw flinches at my words, and I know I’ve hit the nail head-on. Tsking, she shakes her head. “So bitter.” She pauses. “Bitter enough to spew nasty lies?”
I slam the magazine down on my lap. “Tell me, Arlene—how long were you fucking my fiancé before we broke up?”
I expect shock from Arlene. Instead, her face fills with smugness. “If you’d been able to satisfy him, he wouldn’t have ended up in my bed.”
“You bitch. I more than satisfied Adam.”
Risha grips my arm. “Claudia—”
“Adam was a freak, okay?” I feel everyone’s eyes on me—Alice’s, Bree’s, the stylists’ at the other end of the salon and their patrons—but I don’t stop. “A pathetic freak who liked all kinds of disgusting sex. When I found out about that, I knew I could no longer be with him. But you—how many times have you been engaged again? Three? Four? At least I’m not desperate enough to settle for anyone.”
Arlene glances around uneasily, though her eyes flash fire. “Adam was right about you. You’re bitter because he dumped you, and you started those rumors about him to ruin our relationship.”
I laugh out loud at that. “Yeah,
Risha huffs. “What is her problem?”
“Hell if I know.”
To my horror, the hostess leads Arlene to the far back of the shop where Risha and I are.
“Oh, God,” I mumble.
Moaning in frustration, I look to my right as Arlene is seated in the leather pedicure chair on my left.
Risha’s lips twist in disapproval.
“Hello, ladies.”
Arlene’s nasally voice has always irritated me, that and the way she walks around with her head held higher than everyone else’s, like she’s extra special.
“Hello,” Risha responds, in an exaggerated airy tone—the tone of fake affection she reserves for people she doesn’t like.
For a moment I debate simply ignoring the bitch. I mean, why pretend we’re friends when we’re not? But after a couple seconds, I paste a sugary smile on my face and turn to her—the only greeting I can find it in my soul to give her. Arlene and I were never friends, but after I saw her at my fiancé’s place in a serious lip lock with him only days after we’d broken up, I knew I could never keep up the pretense of being civil to her.
That decision was solidified when Arlene starting flaunting the rock Adam gave her shortly after our own engagement ended.
A minute passes. I pretend to be completely absorbed in the issue of Black Hair magazine I scooped up before I sat down.
“Have you heard from Adam?”
My head turns to my left so fast, it’s a surprise I don’t get whiplash. “Excuse me?”
“I hear he’s spending time in D.C.,” Arlene tells me in a tone that says she’s proud to be sharing information I likely don’t know. “He’s apparently exploring work opportunities. I figure he’ll make a permanent move there, given his political ambitions. Especially since he’s got family there he can stay with.”
“His cousin, Milton. Senate aid. Yes, I know. Adam and I were together for four years, remember?” My tone is testy, but I can’t stop myself.
“Of course.” Arlene plasters a fake smile on her face. “Look, I figured you’d want to know what he’s been up to.”
“Really? And why is that?”
The water sloshes around Arlene’s feet as she shifts her butt in her chair to fully face me. “Because we share a common bond—whether you want to accept that or not.”
This enrages me. Arlene’s gall at acting as if she and I have both suffered equally at Adam’s hands.
As Alice begins to buff my feet, I say to Arlene, “We have nothing in common.”
“He hurt both of us.”
“And you seem like you still want to him back, even though the whole world knows he’s a perverted freak. What Adam does with his life doesn’t interest me in the least. He could be starring in gay porn in D.C. for all I care.”
Arlene’s jaw flinches at my words, and I know I’ve hit the nail head-on. Tsking, she shakes her head. “So bitter.” She pauses. “Bitter enough to spew nasty lies?”
I slam the magazine down on my lap. “Tell me, Arlene—how long were you fucking my fiancé before we broke up?”
I expect shock from Arlene. Instead, her face fills with smugness. “If you’d been able to satisfy him, he wouldn’t have ended up in my bed.”
“You bitch. I more than satisfied Adam.”
Risha grips my arm. “Claudia—”
“Adam was a freak, okay?” I feel everyone’s eyes on me—Alice’s, Bree’s, the stylists’ at the other end of the salon and their patrons—but I don’t stop. “A pathetic freak who liked all kinds of disgusting sex. When I found out about that, I knew I could no longer be with him. But you—how many times have you been engaged again? Three? Four? At least I’m not desperate enough to settle for anyone.”
Arlene glances around uneasily, though her eyes flash fire. “Adam was right about you. You’re bitter because he dumped you, and you started those rumors about him to ruin our relationship.”
I laugh out loud at that. “Yeah,
Similar Books
