with a hopeful expression. “See, the whole point of the alcohol is to relax, so I figured I’d get the most bang for my buck. One shot and you’re as loose as a goose.”
“That’s so clever, Shirley,” Harriet said. “I’ll have one.”
“I have to work tomorrow, so I’ll pass,” Mandy said. “Lil?”
“I think I’ll pass.” While I could enjoy the occasional glass of champagne, one shot and I wouldn’t just be sitting here, suffering in silence. No, I’d be trying on dresses with Mandy and, worse, probably liking them. “On second thought, go ahead and hit me.”
“Atta girl,” Shirley said, giving me a wink.
A few seconds later, I was sucking down a watermelon whiz and praying that Jell-O didn’t count as a solid. (See the whole vampire liquid-diet issue.)
“We can’t start yet,” Mandy told Shirley when she turned to a rack of dresses that lined a nearby wall. “We’re still waiting for Jack’s mother.”
“Um, why don’t you go ahead and show us what you have?” I motioned to Jersey.
“She’s not coming, is she?” Mandy asked once the woman had turned to rifle through one of the wall racks.
“She wanted to.” In an alternate reality where born vampires loved and respected their human brethren. “It’s just that she was feeding the piranha in the swimming pool and one of them took a hand off, so she had to go to bed early so she could rest and regrow.” Can I improvise or what? “She didn’t want to spurt blood all over the dresses, but she told me to tell you to have fun.”
“How awful.” Mrs. Dupree patted my hand. “She should try aloe vera, oatmeal, and mayonnaise. My own mother swore by it for cuts and things. Just mix it up, pack it on, oh, and cover it with a piece of raw bacon. Twenty-four hours and you’re as good as new.”
“Mom, she doesn’t need a home remedy.” Mandy lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “She’s a vampire.”
“Oh, yes.” Harriet waved a hand as if she’d just remembered. “Well, tell her we send our best and wish her a speedy recovery.”
Yes, Mrs. Dupree was privy to the family gene pool. Other than passing out and overdosing on cream puffs from the Dupree family bakery, she’d been as accepting as the next mother who’s daughter was about to hit the jackpot.
“Now this is my number-one seller,” Shirley announced when she turned, a dress overflowing her arms.
It was white.
It was beaded.
It was lacy.
It was scary.
“Number one, huh?” I asked, eyeballing the busy confection. The taste of watermelon lingered on my tongue and my head felt a little fuzzy.
“It’s great,” Mandy said, her eager eyes filled with excitement.
“Lovely,” Mrs. Dupree declared. “Positively lovely.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at an overflow of tears. “Sorry. This is just a really emotional time for me, what with my only daughter finally getting married.”
The word finally had enough emphasis to launch a small missile. Mrs. Dupree had been married since the age of seventeen and the fact that her only daughter was pushing twenty-seven was an uncomfortable situation she’d had to explain at more than one of her weekly book club meetings.
Humph. If Harriet thought twenty-seven was bad, she would surely have kicked the bucket ages ago if she’d been in my mother’s shoes. The woman had been making excuses for yours truly for four hundred and eighty years, and she was still going strong every month at her Connecticut Huntress meeting.
I had a rush of guilt, which I quickly traded in in favor of good, old-fashioned abject horror. We’re talking taffeta .
“Can we see a few more before she starts trying anything on?” I asked Jersey.
“Um, sure.” Shirley went back to the rack and I turned to Mandy.
“Just pick out the ones you like that you absolutely don’t think you can live without. We’ll decide on a few favorites and then you can try them on.”
“Oh, absolutely.” She nodded vigorously,
“That’s so clever, Shirley,” Harriet said. “I’ll have one.”
“I have to work tomorrow, so I’ll pass,” Mandy said. “Lil?”
“I think I’ll pass.” While I could enjoy the occasional glass of champagne, one shot and I wouldn’t just be sitting here, suffering in silence. No, I’d be trying on dresses with Mandy and, worse, probably liking them. “On second thought, go ahead and hit me.”
“Atta girl,” Shirley said, giving me a wink.
A few seconds later, I was sucking down a watermelon whiz and praying that Jell-O didn’t count as a solid. (See the whole vampire liquid-diet issue.)
“We can’t start yet,” Mandy told Shirley when she turned to a rack of dresses that lined a nearby wall. “We’re still waiting for Jack’s mother.”
“Um, why don’t you go ahead and show us what you have?” I motioned to Jersey.
“She’s not coming, is she?” Mandy asked once the woman had turned to rifle through one of the wall racks.
“She wanted to.” In an alternate reality where born vampires loved and respected their human brethren. “It’s just that she was feeding the piranha in the swimming pool and one of them took a hand off, so she had to go to bed early so she could rest and regrow.” Can I improvise or what? “She didn’t want to spurt blood all over the dresses, but she told me to tell you to have fun.”
“How awful.” Mrs. Dupree patted my hand. “She should try aloe vera, oatmeal, and mayonnaise. My own mother swore by it for cuts and things. Just mix it up, pack it on, oh, and cover it with a piece of raw bacon. Twenty-four hours and you’re as good as new.”
“Mom, she doesn’t need a home remedy.” Mandy lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “She’s a vampire.”
“Oh, yes.” Harriet waved a hand as if she’d just remembered. “Well, tell her we send our best and wish her a speedy recovery.”
Yes, Mrs. Dupree was privy to the family gene pool. Other than passing out and overdosing on cream puffs from the Dupree family bakery, she’d been as accepting as the next mother who’s daughter was about to hit the jackpot.
“Now this is my number-one seller,” Shirley announced when she turned, a dress overflowing her arms.
It was white.
It was beaded.
It was lacy.
It was scary.
“Number one, huh?” I asked, eyeballing the busy confection. The taste of watermelon lingered on my tongue and my head felt a little fuzzy.
“It’s great,” Mandy said, her eager eyes filled with excitement.
“Lovely,” Mrs. Dupree declared. “Positively lovely.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at an overflow of tears. “Sorry. This is just a really emotional time for me, what with my only daughter finally getting married.”
The word finally had enough emphasis to launch a small missile. Mrs. Dupree had been married since the age of seventeen and the fact that her only daughter was pushing twenty-seven was an uncomfortable situation she’d had to explain at more than one of her weekly book club meetings.
Humph. If Harriet thought twenty-seven was bad, she would surely have kicked the bucket ages ago if she’d been in my mother’s shoes. The woman had been making excuses for yours truly for four hundred and eighty years, and she was still going strong every month at her Connecticut Huntress meeting.
I had a rush of guilt, which I quickly traded in in favor of good, old-fashioned abject horror. We’re talking taffeta .
“Can we see a few more before she starts trying anything on?” I asked Jersey.
“Um, sure.” Shirley went back to the rack and I turned to Mandy.
“Just pick out the ones you like that you absolutely don’t think you can live without. We’ll decide on a few favorites and then you can try them on.”
“Oh, absolutely.” She nodded vigorously,
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