The Pretty One: A Novel About Sisters by Lucinda Rosenfeld Page B
Authors: Lucinda Rosenfeld
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Family Life, Contemporary Women, Fiction / Romance - Contemporary, Fiction / Family Life, Fiction / Contemporary Women
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After a while, Olympia got out her watercolors and worked on her portrait of her friends Rick and Carli, who were Couple #4 on her list of Matchmaking Triumphs. If there was one setup of which Olympia was most proud, it was them. Two years earlier and in the space of one month, Carli had lost her job as Sylvester Stallone’s personal art adviser and been diagnosed with lupus. Meanwhile, Olympia’s other friends had given up hope of Rick, a war photographer and famous “wild man,” ever settling down. Now Carli was three months pregnant; Rick had switched to sports photography; and the two were buying a three-story Victorian house in Ditmas Park. If the painting came out well, Olympia planned to have it framed and give it to them as their wedding present. Although Olympia struggled to be close to her family, she prided herself on being the Ultimate Friend.
But it was getting late, and she had work in the morning. Before she turned out the lights, Olympia checked her email one final time. To her astonishment, she had a new message from Dawn Calico-Cronin. It read as follows:
Hey, sexy. Hope you had a fab new year’s. Just wanted to let you know that I left Park Ave Cryo to pursue a masters in accounting. Also, since I’m no longer bound by bank policy, I thought I’d throw you a bone re #6103. Or, shall I say a boner? (Har, har.) On that note, apparently your man used to model skivvies for Sears. Bottom line: all of us at the bank had HUGE crushes on the guy—with an accent on the huge. Seriously, we used to have a joke around the office about volunteering to help him deliver his sample. LOL. Also, he had a little tattoo of a skull on his upper arm. I know because I administered his blood tests. Real name was something like Randy. From the west—maybe Vegas? At some point I believe he was enrolled in a continuing ed class in sports management at Columbia—hence, the Ivy League creds. Hope all is well with you and your chickadee. Good luck with your search! XOXO, D
Olympia felt like a beach ball that had rolled over a rusty nail. Randy the well-endowed underwear model—with the tattoo of a skull?! From Las Vegas???!!! In one email, Dawn Cronin had effectively destroyed her entire picture, however inflated, of #6103, the earnest, well-mannered Deerfield- and Yale-educated young cardiologist. What’s more, the woman had offered just enough information to tantalize Olympia’s imagination without actually providing her with any tangible leads. She rued the day she’d ever asked Dawn for help. She blamed herself for not being happy with what she had.
Nonetheless, the next day at work, in between writing and editing a press release, Olympia found herself obsessively Googling various combinations of the words, “Randy,” “model,” “Sears,” and “underwear,” and, perhaps not surprisingly, coming up with nothing.
2
T O EVERYONE’S RELIEF , Bob’s biopsy in January had come back negative for malignancy. The test indicated a relatively benign case of prostatitis. Since he continued to have difficulty urinating and his enlarged prostate appeared not to respond to medication, however, his doctors had recommended surgery to shrink the offending gland. An appointment had been made for early March. And now Perri was being asked to take time out of her already impossibly crazed schedule to drive him and Carol to and from the hospital and, on the return trip, help wheel or walk Bob out to the car. At least, that was how it had seemed to Perri when, the night before, she’d spoken on the phone to Gus and Olympia. Neither had point-blank asked Perri to retrieve their father. But both had alerted her to the near impossibility of getting out of the city until midafternoon at the earliest. After much prodding, they’d both agreed to come out after lunch.
Perri didn’t necessarily mind doing a favor for her parents. Being the Good Daughter was as important to her as being agood
After a while, Olympia got out her watercolors and worked on her portrait of her friends Rick and Carli, who were Couple #4 on her list of Matchmaking Triumphs. If there was one setup of which Olympia was most proud, it was them. Two years earlier and in the space of one month, Carli had lost her job as Sylvester Stallone’s personal art adviser and been diagnosed with lupus. Meanwhile, Olympia’s other friends had given up hope of Rick, a war photographer and famous “wild man,” ever settling down. Now Carli was three months pregnant; Rick had switched to sports photography; and the two were buying a three-story Victorian house in Ditmas Park. If the painting came out well, Olympia planned to have it framed and give it to them as their wedding present. Although Olympia struggled to be close to her family, she prided herself on being the Ultimate Friend.
But it was getting late, and she had work in the morning. Before she turned out the lights, Olympia checked her email one final time. To her astonishment, she had a new message from Dawn Calico-Cronin. It read as follows:
Hey, sexy. Hope you had a fab new year’s. Just wanted to let you know that I left Park Ave Cryo to pursue a masters in accounting. Also, since I’m no longer bound by bank policy, I thought I’d throw you a bone re #6103. Or, shall I say a boner? (Har, har.) On that note, apparently your man used to model skivvies for Sears. Bottom line: all of us at the bank had HUGE crushes on the guy—with an accent on the huge. Seriously, we used to have a joke around the office about volunteering to help him deliver his sample. LOL. Also, he had a little tattoo of a skull on his upper arm. I know because I administered his blood tests. Real name was something like Randy. From the west—maybe Vegas? At some point I believe he was enrolled in a continuing ed class in sports management at Columbia—hence, the Ivy League creds. Hope all is well with you and your chickadee. Good luck with your search! XOXO, D
Olympia felt like a beach ball that had rolled over a rusty nail. Randy the well-endowed underwear model—with the tattoo of a skull?! From Las Vegas???!!! In one email, Dawn Cronin had effectively destroyed her entire picture, however inflated, of #6103, the earnest, well-mannered Deerfield- and Yale-educated young cardiologist. What’s more, the woman had offered just enough information to tantalize Olympia’s imagination without actually providing her with any tangible leads. She rued the day she’d ever asked Dawn for help. She blamed herself for not being happy with what she had.
Nonetheless, the next day at work, in between writing and editing a press release, Olympia found herself obsessively Googling various combinations of the words, “Randy,” “model,” “Sears,” and “underwear,” and, perhaps not surprisingly, coming up with nothing.
2
T O EVERYONE’S RELIEF , Bob’s biopsy in January had come back negative for malignancy. The test indicated a relatively benign case of prostatitis. Since he continued to have difficulty urinating and his enlarged prostate appeared not to respond to medication, however, his doctors had recommended surgery to shrink the offending gland. An appointment had been made for early March. And now Perri was being asked to take time out of her already impossibly crazed schedule to drive him and Carol to and from the hospital and, on the return trip, help wheel or walk Bob out to the car. At least, that was how it had seemed to Perri when, the night before, she’d spoken on the phone to Gus and Olympia. Neither had point-blank asked Perri to retrieve their father. But both had alerted her to the near impossibility of getting out of the city until midafternoon at the earliest. After much prodding, they’d both agreed to come out after lunch.
Perri didn’t necessarily mind doing a favor for her parents. Being the Good Daughter was as important to her as being agood
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