Private Party by Jami Alden Page B

night,” Julie said, “and neither of us intended it to go any farther. I don’t want to push it.” She wrinkled her nose at the potential for social awkwardness. “I don’t want him to think that I’m like, stalking him, or something.”
    Wendy waved off her protests. Ever the optimist, she replied, “Hey, plans change. Do you or do you not want to see him again?”
    “It would be great, but I’m in the process of getting an annulment. The last thing I need is to get involved again right away.”
    “Who said anything about getting involved? I’m talking about a week in a tropical paradise with a gorgeous guy. Why not indulge yourself a little? And by the time you come back, the annulment will be final, and the press will have moved on to the next skank of the week. Meanwhile, you’ll be smug in the knowledge that the real scandal—you sleeping with Chris—will remain top secret.” Julie fiddled with the brochure, considering.
    “You’re offering sex with no strings—no guy refuses that,” Wendy urged “And, from what I’ve read about this place, if Chris is crazy enough to refuse your offer, you’ll have no trouble finding a very suitable substitute.”
    Julie crinkled her nose at that. Chris had been right about one thing. Casual sex was not her thing, and she hadn’t thought of her night with Chris as such. It was one thing to have no-strings-attached sex with an old friend, and an entirely different one to do it with a complete stranger.
    But…“It would be nice to have some time alone on a beach to figure things out,” Julie conceded.

    PrivateParty
    Wendy saw that she was caving, and a smile spread across her face. “Let’s get you packed.” Since she had already been packed for her honeymoon, Julie figured she was pretty much ready to go.
    But Wendy had different ideas.
    “Oh my God, what is this?” Wendy pulled out Julie’s new black linen sheath dress and her khaki walking shorts. “Beach cruise with Ozzie and Harriet? And this?” She held out the offending garment, a tropical print camp shirt. “Please tell me this is not Tommy Bahama.”
    “What? Those clothes are fine.”
    “Yeah, fine if you want to fit in with the geriatric set.” Wendy sniffed scornfully at the one-piece tank suit Julie had packed.
    That afternoon, Wendy took her on a marathon shopping spree, interspersed with a full gamut of salon treatments at one of San Francisco’s most exclusive day spas.
    “Are you absolutely sure I need the Brazilian?” Julie had asked uncertainly after the aesthetician explained the procedure in graphic detail.
    Wendy stood firm. “Absolutely. Even if you did insist on a full coverage bikini,” Wendy rolled her eyes at Julie’s lingering conservativeness, “It’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s easier to relax when you’re not worrying about stray hair.”
    No worries there , Julie thought later as she winced out of the treatment room, denuded of all hair except for a tiny little patch on her mound.
    Then it was off to Nordstrom, where Wendy had worked her way through college and law school as a personal shopper. She loved nothing more than to spend other people’s money, and she had a ball breaking Julie out of her tasteful, elegant rut. By the end of the day Julie’s vacation wardrobe was so well stocked, she would have to change outfits five times a day to get through everything.
    Wendy had loaded Julie’s Louis Vuitton luggage with flirty dresses from Chloe and Narciso Rodriguez, La Perla lingerie, sexy strappy sandals from Jimmy Choo, and what had to be the world’s largest box of condoms. Earlier this morning, she’d dropped Julie off at San Francisco International with admonishments not to forget her sunscreen when she was having wild sex on the beach.
    Julie closed her eyes, feeling the tension ease from her body as the ferry traveled through the calm blue waters. The murmur of the other guests increased in volume, and Julie opened her eyes to see that