G.T. Herren - Paige Tourneur 02 - Dead Housewives of New Orleans by G.T. Herren

businesswoman on that show— I mean, really. Had she never watched any of the other versions before? They hardly ever show those women in a positive manner, do they?”
    “No, they really don’t.” I replied absently, and then the import of what she’d just said hit me. “You don’t
watch,
do you?”
    For the first time in all the years I’d known her, Athalie Tujague actually blushed. She took an enormous drink of her Mimosa, and said, in a very small voice, “Don’t tell Ryan, please. But yes, yes I do, and I’m not proud of it.”
    “Athalie, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said, using every last bit of my will power to keep myself from laughing. She would never forgive me for laughing at her. But it
was
funny. Athalie was one of the most cultured women I’d ever known. “I watch, myself. You’d be surprised at how many people do.” I shrugged. “Just call it a guilty pleasure and stop worrying about it. Everyone watches movies or shows or reads books they’re ashamed of. It just means you’re human.” I couldn’t resist asking, though. “Which one of the shows is your favorite?”
    She grinned, and there was a devilish glint in her eyes. “Manhattan, of course. Those women are
crazy.”
    “Aren’t they?” I shook my head. “I just want to throttle that Dana sometimes.”
    “Oh, I like Dana!” Athalie insisted. “She tells it like it is. She’s not a liar, like that horrible Laura. You can’t believe a word she says.”
    We discussed the pros and cons of the Manhattan cast for a good few moments, before I reluctantly decided to change the subject. “So, if Rebecca wasn’t the favor…”
    “Margery Lautenschlaeger.” Athalie seemed relieved not to be talking about her trashy television habits any more. “She really does need your help, and not for any such nonsense as Rebecca was spouting.” Her eyebrows furrowed together. “It has to do with that woman who used to work for the paper. You know her, don’t you? Didn’t you used to work with Chloe Valence? You were at the paper at the same time. She always loves to tell me what good friends you two are.” The corner of her mouth twitched again. “Now, I’d love to know why
she
went on the show, with her gay husband and all.”
    “Friends?” I took a few deep breaths to keep from exploding. “I wouldn’t say Chloe and I are friends.” Of course Chloe would tell Athalie we were friends, the social climbing bitch. I could gladly ring her scrawny neck. I’d never really given Chloe much thought since I stopped working at the paper. If I had, I would have realized that as Mrs. Remy Valence she would come into contact with Athalie socially.
    She sniffed. “I never thought you were. I really don’t much care for that woman. Something about her just rubs me the wrong way. Remy’s mother is spinning in her grave, undoubtedly.” She made a face. “Melanie had her problems, of course— for years that relationship with Roger was a little too
Suddenly Last Summer,
if you ask me.” She shuddered delicately. “You could have knocked me down with a feather when he got married. Terrible the way some mothers try to control their children’s lives.”
    You mean like getting their son and his girl friend to cancel their plans for the weekend to do you a favor?
    I would never dare say it out loud, of course.
    “So what exactly is Margery’s problem with Chloe?”
    “Chloe’s suing her.” Athalie held up her hands. “Don’t ask me anything— she didn’t tell me and I don’t want to know. I don’t know why she wants to talk to you about it, either. She just asked me to get you in touch with her.”
    “And did she also promise to write a substantial check to the symphony?”
    Her grin widened. “Oh, yes.
Very
substantial.”

Chapter Four
    The rain seemed to be subsiding as I drove home down St. Charles Avenue.
    I got lucky, for once, too— the street I lived on was unusually empty of parked cars. There was even a spot