Priscilla sighed. “I heard they all bore a resemblance to Maryann, Chad’s mother.”
“Ha! I told you I wasn’t the same.” Lizzie sported a pleased grin. “If you really want to talk about change, check out yourself, Ms. Ph.D.” She waved a hand at Priscilla. “You used to model to pay for college. Now you’re thirty pounds heavier and wear out-of-date hippie outfits like that big overshirt and broom skirt you’re wearing tonight. And you’ve stopped wearing makeup. You’re as pale as a ghost, except for those freckles.” Lizzie smirked and pointed at Priscilla. “They get a shade darker when you’re upset. Like now.”
“You wear too much makeup,” Priscilla fought back with the silly, childish statement. Lizzie’s makeup resembled the kind the goths wore—whitish foundation; dark, heavily lined eyes; and almost black lipstick.
“What are you hiding from?” Lizzie passed right over the makeup comment and directed her challenge to something meatier. “What are you afraid of?”
Priscilla didn’t answer. Yet she knew Lizzie was right. When she was thin she had dressed more in style. What did that get her? Dwayne. The result? He beat her, especially if any other man glanced at her. She finally gathered the right words to answer Lizzie. “I’m happy the way I am. I don’t have to worry about getting into bad relationships. That’s your department.” The last statement was for Lizzie’s benefit as much as her own. “If a man wants to date me, he does it for who I am today, not some sexy chick he wants to conquer.”
“My, my. Aren’t you Miss High and Mighty?” Lizzie sneered. “Well, get off your high horse. You’re upset with yourself and jealous of me because you’ve lost your sense of adventure and I haven’t. If you ever had one.”
“Speaking of that, does Chad know about your other adventures?” Maybe this could dissuade Lizzie from her cockamamie scheme.
Lizzie narrowed her eyes at Priscilla. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re nothing but a groupie.” Priscilla nodded as Lizzie’s eyes widened.
“What?” Lizzie crinkled her forehead and frowned. “How do you see that?”
“You follow notorious killers around like a girl following a rock star.” Priscilla began to feel better. She might be able to persuade Lizzie she had a bad and perhaps a dangerous habit.
“I still don’t get what you’re talkin’ about.” Lizzie crossed her legs and bobbed the one on top up and down. The furious motion made her whole body jump with each movement, shaking the table.
“Yes, you do.” Priscilla actually wagged a finger at Lizzie. “You even wrote to Scott Peterson. You like to live on the edge. You always have. You’re doing it again with Chad.”
“You’re wrong.” Lizzie waved her hand back and forth. “I may have done that in the past—”
“Florida? The guy you were involved with was in prison for killing a woman. His wife is a groupie like you. Too bad, though. She got to him before you did.” She shook her head. “It didn’t matter. You still became his pen pal and soon a regular visitor.” Priscilla cocked her head at Lizzie and raised one eyebrow as if to say “gotcha.”
“It’s different with Chad. He really loves me and I love him. He makes me feel important. Like I have brains not just boobs.” Lizzie pouted like a little girl. She abruptly changed her mood and bolted up as though she had had a brilliant idea. “You’re jealous. You want him to choose you, don’t you?”
“Hardly. I’ll admit he’s handsome and articulate.” Priscilla straightened. She felt less nauseous. “Although I don’t know him on a professional level, I can guarantee he’s like the other serial killers I’ve counseled. He becomes exactly what his victims want so he can manipulate them. He’ll tell you what you want to hear to make you putty in his hands.” She shook her head. “Dwayne’s gone, Lizzie. I’m no longer a victim.” Her eyes clearly
“Ha! I told you I wasn’t the same.” Lizzie sported a pleased grin. “If you really want to talk about change, check out yourself, Ms. Ph.D.” She waved a hand at Priscilla. “You used to model to pay for college. Now you’re thirty pounds heavier and wear out-of-date hippie outfits like that big overshirt and broom skirt you’re wearing tonight. And you’ve stopped wearing makeup. You’re as pale as a ghost, except for those freckles.” Lizzie smirked and pointed at Priscilla. “They get a shade darker when you’re upset. Like now.”
“You wear too much makeup,” Priscilla fought back with the silly, childish statement. Lizzie’s makeup resembled the kind the goths wore—whitish foundation; dark, heavily lined eyes; and almost black lipstick.
“What are you hiding from?” Lizzie passed right over the makeup comment and directed her challenge to something meatier. “What are you afraid of?”
Priscilla didn’t answer. Yet she knew Lizzie was right. When she was thin she had dressed more in style. What did that get her? Dwayne. The result? He beat her, especially if any other man glanced at her. She finally gathered the right words to answer Lizzie. “I’m happy the way I am. I don’t have to worry about getting into bad relationships. That’s your department.” The last statement was for Lizzie’s benefit as much as her own. “If a man wants to date me, he does it for who I am today, not some sexy chick he wants to conquer.”
“My, my. Aren’t you Miss High and Mighty?” Lizzie sneered. “Well, get off your high horse. You’re upset with yourself and jealous of me because you’ve lost your sense of adventure and I haven’t. If you ever had one.”
“Speaking of that, does Chad know about your other adventures?” Maybe this could dissuade Lizzie from her cockamamie scheme.
Lizzie narrowed her eyes at Priscilla. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re nothing but a groupie.” Priscilla nodded as Lizzie’s eyes widened.
“What?” Lizzie crinkled her forehead and frowned. “How do you see that?”
“You follow notorious killers around like a girl following a rock star.” Priscilla began to feel better. She might be able to persuade Lizzie she had a bad and perhaps a dangerous habit.
“I still don’t get what you’re talkin’ about.” Lizzie crossed her legs and bobbed the one on top up and down. The furious motion made her whole body jump with each movement, shaking the table.
“Yes, you do.” Priscilla actually wagged a finger at Lizzie. “You even wrote to Scott Peterson. You like to live on the edge. You always have. You’re doing it again with Chad.”
“You’re wrong.” Lizzie waved her hand back and forth. “I may have done that in the past—”
“Florida? The guy you were involved with was in prison for killing a woman. His wife is a groupie like you. Too bad, though. She got to him before you did.” She shook her head. “It didn’t matter. You still became his pen pal and soon a regular visitor.” Priscilla cocked her head at Lizzie and raised one eyebrow as if to say “gotcha.”
“It’s different with Chad. He really loves me and I love him. He makes me feel important. Like I have brains not just boobs.” Lizzie pouted like a little girl. She abruptly changed her mood and bolted up as though she had had a brilliant idea. “You’re jealous. You want him to choose you, don’t you?”
“Hardly. I’ll admit he’s handsome and articulate.” Priscilla straightened. She felt less nauseous. “Although I don’t know him on a professional level, I can guarantee he’s like the other serial killers I’ve counseled. He becomes exactly what his victims want so he can manipulate them. He’ll tell you what you want to hear to make you putty in his hands.” She shook her head. “Dwayne’s gone, Lizzie. I’m no longer a victim.” Her eyes clearly
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