I’m In No Mood For Love by Rachel Gibson Page B

her lips. “It’s good for you to sweat out all the evil toxins in your body.”
    “No. It’s good for you. I like my evil toxins to stay right where they are.”
    Clare laughed and grabbed the bottle by the neck. “Maddie’s right. She should keep all her evil toxins buried deep and hidden from the unsuspecting world.” The three of them moved to the living room, which was stuffed with the antique furniture that had been in Clare’s family for generations. The arms of the medallion-back sofas and chairs were covered with doilies a great-grandmother or aunt had constructed with her own hands. She set the bottle on the marble-topped coffee table and took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs.
    Maddie sat across from her on the sofa. “Have you ever thought of getting those guys from the Antiques Roadshow in here?”
    “Why?” Clare asked, and picked a white thread from the left breast of her sleeveless black turtleneck.
    “To tell you what some of this stuff is.” Maddie pointed in the direction of the burgundy gout footstool and the cherub pedestal.
    “I know what it is and where it all came from.” She dropped the thread into a cloisonné dish.
    Adele studied the Staffordshire figurines on the mantel. “How do you keep all this stuff clean?”
    “It’s a lot of work.”
    “Get rid of some of it.”
    “I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “I have the Wingate illness. I think it’s in our genes. We can’t seem to part with family heirlooms, not even the horrible stuff, and believe me, my great-grandmother Foster had truly hideous taste. The problem is, we used to have a large family tree but we’ve been winnowed down to just a few branches. My mother and myself, a few cousins in South Carolina, and a mountain of family antiques.” She took a sip of champagne. “If you think my house is bad, you should see my mother’s attic. Sheesh. It’s like a museum up there.”
    Adele turned from the mantel and moved acrossthe Tulip & Lily rug to the sofa. “Did Lonny steal anything when he left? Besides your dog?”
    “No.” Lonny’s fondness for her antiques had been something they had in common. “He knew he didn’t want to make me that angry.”
    “Have you heard from him?”
    “Not since Monday. I had the locks changed yesterday, and I get my new mattress delivered tomorrow.” She looked down into her glass and swirled the light blond champagne. Less than a week ago she’d been naively happy. Now she was moving on without Lonny. New locks. New bed. New life. Too bad her heart wasn’t moving as fast as the rest of her. Not only had she lost her fiancé, she’d lost a very close friend. Lonny had lied to her about a lot of things, but she didn’t believe that their friendship had been a pretense.
    “I don’t think I’ll ever understand men,” Adele said. “They’re seriously whacked in the head.”
    “What did Dwayne do this time?” Clare asked. For two years Adele had dated Dwayne Larkin and thought he just might be Mr. Right. She’d overlooked his undesirable habits, like smelling the armpits of his shirts before he put them on, because he was buff and very handsome. She’d put up with his beer-swilling, air-guitar-playing ways, right up to the moment when he told her she was getting a “fat ass.” No one used the F word to describe herbehind; she’d kicked him out of her life. But he wouldn’t go completely. Every few weeks Adele would find one or two of the things she’d left at his house sitting on her front porch. No note. No Dwayne. Just random stuff.
    “He left a half-empty bottle of lotion and one no-skid footie on the porch.” She turned to Clare. “Remember the no-skid ladybug footies you gave me when I had my appendix out?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He only gave me the one back.”
    “Bastard.”
    “Creepy.”
    Adele shrugged. “I’m more annoyed than afraid. I just wish he’d get tired and stop.” She’d called the police about it, but an old boyfriend