probably harmless flirting—Dave was a producer, maybe the girl was an actress, so it went—but it seemed to be going on a little too long. And those legs. There were so many parts of the body to nip, to tuck, to lift, to augment or reduce, to peel and inject. But so far there was nothing anyone could do about Neely’s not-quite-long-enough legs.
The photographer appeared with a fresh roll of film just as the band segued into a Latin number.
“Oh, I gotta go fix my face,” Neely said. “You made me work up a sweat!”
“I apologize.”
She winked. “I kinda like it.” Everyone said he had the happiest marriage in the Senate, but you never knew. She didn’t want to let go of Dave until she had a better prospect all lined up.
“You should come visit us in Washington sometime.”
“I’d love to. I love Washington. And of course I’d love to meet your wife.”
“My wife travels a lot,” the senator said.
“If I were married to a man like you, I wouldn’t leave you alone for a minute.”
“And if I were married to a woman like you, I wouldn’t leave you alone, either.” They walked together toward the bar. “But that’s the sad thing about life, isn’t it? People like me don’t get to marry people like you.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Neely asked.
“I meant it as a compliment. You know. A beautiful woman with a past.” He signaled to the bartender. “But you must come visit us sometime.”
“Yeah, sure,” Neely said. She watched him order a very expensive glass of Cognac. She walked back to the house, her face burning. What was worse? That men like him would never think her good enough? Or that they thought it so obvious, they didn’t mind saying it?
There was Anne at the kitchen table, making checkmarks on a pink index card.
“Everything going okay?” Neely asked.
“Just peachy.”
“You’re a peach for helping out. Hey, who is that waitress with the pink lipstick?”
“I’m not sure who you mean.”
“You know. Bad dye job, black jeans a little too tight, some pretty nasty acne scars.”
“Oh. You mean Gretchen. She’s my baby-sitter, actually. She’s pinch-hitting as a favor to Curtis.”
“Yeah, well, can you assign her to another table?”
“Has she done something wrong?”
“Nope, I just want her at another table. Put her at table ten,” Neely said. That’s where she had placed all the obligation guests: her accountant and his wife, Dave’s cousins, and various unglamorous neighbors. Gretchen was not especially attractive—bad skin, large nose, and a terrible overbite that there had never been money to fix—but from the neck down she was gorgeous, and Dave had noticed, and Neely had noticed Dave noticing.
“No trouble,” Anne said. “I’ll send over one of the guys. Whatever you like.” Whatever, whatever, whatever , she thought. Earlier in the evening, nervous about whom she might run into, Annehad taken some Xanax. The pill had kicked in just as the first guest was arriving. It was the loveliest feeling, like falling back into a soft, deep featherbed. She had brought another, just in case, but so far no one had come into the kitchen except Neely and Dave.
Upstairs, Neely applied more powder and another coat of lipstick. One of her sandals felt a little wobbly; she saw that the heel was beginning to separate from the sole. She went to the big walk-in closet at the far end of the master bedroom to find another pair of sandals. What went with silver? White? Black patent leather? She switched on the closet light and heard the pop of the light bulb giving out. She sat on the floor of the closet, feeling her way along the rows of shoes, trying to figure out, from the curve of a heel or the width of a strap, which pair was which.
Someone came into the bedroom.
“I just love seeing these big old East Hampton houses,” a woman was saying. “You have the most fabulous artwork.”
“My ex picked out most of it,” Dave said.
Neely caught
The photographer appeared with a fresh roll of film just as the band segued into a Latin number.
“Oh, I gotta go fix my face,” Neely said. “You made me work up a sweat!”
“I apologize.”
She winked. “I kinda like it.” Everyone said he had the happiest marriage in the Senate, but you never knew. She didn’t want to let go of Dave until she had a better prospect all lined up.
“You should come visit us in Washington sometime.”
“I’d love to. I love Washington. And of course I’d love to meet your wife.”
“My wife travels a lot,” the senator said.
“If I were married to a man like you, I wouldn’t leave you alone for a minute.”
“And if I were married to a woman like you, I wouldn’t leave you alone, either.” They walked together toward the bar. “But that’s the sad thing about life, isn’t it? People like me don’t get to marry people like you.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Neely asked.
“I meant it as a compliment. You know. A beautiful woman with a past.” He signaled to the bartender. “But you must come visit us sometime.”
“Yeah, sure,” Neely said. She watched him order a very expensive glass of Cognac. She walked back to the house, her face burning. What was worse? That men like him would never think her good enough? Or that they thought it so obvious, they didn’t mind saying it?
There was Anne at the kitchen table, making checkmarks on a pink index card.
“Everything going okay?” Neely asked.
“Just peachy.”
“You’re a peach for helping out. Hey, who is that waitress with the pink lipstick?”
“I’m not sure who you mean.”
“You know. Bad dye job, black jeans a little too tight, some pretty nasty acne scars.”
“Oh. You mean Gretchen. She’s my baby-sitter, actually. She’s pinch-hitting as a favor to Curtis.”
“Yeah, well, can you assign her to another table?”
“Has she done something wrong?”
“Nope, I just want her at another table. Put her at table ten,” Neely said. That’s where she had placed all the obligation guests: her accountant and his wife, Dave’s cousins, and various unglamorous neighbors. Gretchen was not especially attractive—bad skin, large nose, and a terrible overbite that there had never been money to fix—but from the neck down she was gorgeous, and Dave had noticed, and Neely had noticed Dave noticing.
“No trouble,” Anne said. “I’ll send over one of the guys. Whatever you like.” Whatever, whatever, whatever , she thought. Earlier in the evening, nervous about whom she might run into, Annehad taken some Xanax. The pill had kicked in just as the first guest was arriving. It was the loveliest feeling, like falling back into a soft, deep featherbed. She had brought another, just in case, but so far no one had come into the kitchen except Neely and Dave.
Upstairs, Neely applied more powder and another coat of lipstick. One of her sandals felt a little wobbly; she saw that the heel was beginning to separate from the sole. She went to the big walk-in closet at the far end of the master bedroom to find another pair of sandals. What went with silver? White? Black patent leather? She switched on the closet light and heard the pop of the light bulb giving out. She sat on the floor of the closet, feeling her way along the rows of shoes, trying to figure out, from the curve of a heel or the width of a strap, which pair was which.
Someone came into the bedroom.
“I just love seeing these big old East Hampton houses,” a woman was saying. “You have the most fabulous artwork.”
“My ex picked out most of it,” Dave said.
Neely caught
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