pointed toward the garment in question—"was not going to work on this body." This time she pointed at herself.
Her mother smiled. "Dorsey, you put that dress on, there wouldn't be any work involved, I assure you."
Dorsey ignored the comment. "It's not my style," she said simply.
"Oh, pooh. You've got an incredible figure," Carlotta told her daughter, "and cheekbones that cost other women thousands of dollars. Not to mention those amazing green eyes and that auburn hair you inherited from your father."
And it went without saying, her eyes and hair were the only things she would be inheriting from her father. But Dorsey didn't say that—it did, after all, go without saying—and neither did Carlotta. Reginald Dorsey was persona non grata around the MacGuinness household. That was because he was also in absentia . And, at least as far as Dorsey was concerned, he was non compos mentis , too. Et cetera.
"It's only your … deportment … that needs work," Carlotta added.
Dorsey laughed. My, but her mother was being uncharacteristically charitable today. "In other words, if I change everything about myself, I have a chance of what? Trapping myself a tycoon? Thanks, but I'll stick to working on my dissertation."
Her mother's normally full mouth flattened into a thin line. "Dissertations don't put food in a hungry belly, Dorsey."
"Maybe not," Dorsey agreed, "but they feed other things that need just as much nourishment."
Carlotta arched an elegant blond eyebrow in speculation. "You come to Hollis's party with me tonight in that green dress," she said, nodding toward the tiny garment on the bed, "and I guarantee you that you'll catch every male eye in the place. By evening's end, you'll be set for life."
Oh, now, that , Dorsey decided, was open to debate. Not just because her idea of set for life and her mother's idea of set for life were crashingly at odds, but also because, as much as Carlotta resisted specifics, no man had ever set her for more than a few years. And even Dorsey's father, Reginald, had kept Carlotta—and Dorsey—for less than a decade before moving on to his next female acquisition.
"Thanks, Carlotta," she said magnanimously, "but I have to work at Drake's tonight. Besides," she added before her mother had a chance to go off yet again about how Drake's was the biggest pond for fishing and how could Dorsey refuse to even sink a lure. "I don't think Hollis Barnett would be too happy about an uninvited guest showing up at her party."
"Oh, Hollis wouldn't mind a gate-crasher," Carlotta said. "That's how she met Mr. Barnett, by crashing his first wife's birthday party." She hesitated, then added thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, that's how I met Mr. Barnett, too." She shrugged the memory off quite literally and contemplated her choice of dresses once again. "But he ended up married to Hollis, didn't he?"
"Obviously," Dorsey replied obediently.
"It's just as well," her mother said with a quick wave of her bejeweled fingers. "He had terrible breath. I don't know how Hollis has managed all these years. She must have invested quite heavily in Binaca stock."
Dorsey chuckled. She was about to offer further commentary when the telephone on the nightstand purred with a delicate whir. Everything about Carlotta's room was delicate, from the rose-trellis wallpaper to the pink, poofy canopy bed, to the fringed ivory chaise longue, to the crystal lamps, to the floral, pastel rug. No one would ever accuse Carlotta MacGuinness of having anything even remotely resembling a Y chromosome, that was for sure. She was the very definition of femininity. Dorsey often wondered how they could possibly share the same strands of DNA.
Her mind still focused on the conundrum, she leaned over to answer the phone, muttering a perfunctory greeting as she pressed the receiver to her ear.
"Dorsey! Hi! It's Anita!"
Instinctively, Dorsey reacted as she always did when she heard Lauren Grable-Monroe's editor's voice coming through
Her mother smiled. "Dorsey, you put that dress on, there wouldn't be any work involved, I assure you."
Dorsey ignored the comment. "It's not my style," she said simply.
"Oh, pooh. You've got an incredible figure," Carlotta told her daughter, "and cheekbones that cost other women thousands of dollars. Not to mention those amazing green eyes and that auburn hair you inherited from your father."
And it went without saying, her eyes and hair were the only things she would be inheriting from her father. But Dorsey didn't say that—it did, after all, go without saying—and neither did Carlotta. Reginald Dorsey was persona non grata around the MacGuinness household. That was because he was also in absentia . And, at least as far as Dorsey was concerned, he was non compos mentis , too. Et cetera.
"It's only your … deportment … that needs work," Carlotta added.
Dorsey laughed. My, but her mother was being uncharacteristically charitable today. "In other words, if I change everything about myself, I have a chance of what? Trapping myself a tycoon? Thanks, but I'll stick to working on my dissertation."
Her mother's normally full mouth flattened into a thin line. "Dissertations don't put food in a hungry belly, Dorsey."
"Maybe not," Dorsey agreed, "but they feed other things that need just as much nourishment."
Carlotta arched an elegant blond eyebrow in speculation. "You come to Hollis's party with me tonight in that green dress," she said, nodding toward the tiny garment on the bed, "and I guarantee you that you'll catch every male eye in the place. By evening's end, you'll be set for life."
Oh, now, that , Dorsey decided, was open to debate. Not just because her idea of set for life and her mother's idea of set for life were crashingly at odds, but also because, as much as Carlotta resisted specifics, no man had ever set her for more than a few years. And even Dorsey's father, Reginald, had kept Carlotta—and Dorsey—for less than a decade before moving on to his next female acquisition.
"Thanks, Carlotta," she said magnanimously, "but I have to work at Drake's tonight. Besides," she added before her mother had a chance to go off yet again about how Drake's was the biggest pond for fishing and how could Dorsey refuse to even sink a lure. "I don't think Hollis Barnett would be too happy about an uninvited guest showing up at her party."
"Oh, Hollis wouldn't mind a gate-crasher," Carlotta said. "That's how she met Mr. Barnett, by crashing his first wife's birthday party." She hesitated, then added thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, that's how I met Mr. Barnett, too." She shrugged the memory off quite literally and contemplated her choice of dresses once again. "But he ended up married to Hollis, didn't he?"
"Obviously," Dorsey replied obediently.
"It's just as well," her mother said with a quick wave of her bejeweled fingers. "He had terrible breath. I don't know how Hollis has managed all these years. She must have invested quite heavily in Binaca stock."
Dorsey chuckled. She was about to offer further commentary when the telephone on the nightstand purred with a delicate whir. Everything about Carlotta's room was delicate, from the rose-trellis wallpaper to the pink, poofy canopy bed, to the fringed ivory chaise longue, to the crystal lamps, to the floral, pastel rug. No one would ever accuse Carlotta MacGuinness of having anything even remotely resembling a Y chromosome, that was for sure. She was the very definition of femininity. Dorsey often wondered how they could possibly share the same strands of DNA.
Her mind still focused on the conundrum, she leaned over to answer the phone, muttering a perfunctory greeting as she pressed the receiver to her ear.
"Dorsey! Hi! It's Anita!"
Instinctively, Dorsey reacted as she always did when she heard Lauren Grable-Monroe's editor's voice coming through
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