his wife, Lucy, popped up beside the prayer table and sang their favorite song.” The woman’s lips pinched. “Sixty-Minute Man.”
“Filthy,” they all agreed.
“Shocking.”
“Inappropriate.”
“I’m going to pray for her.”
After another fifteen minutes of gossip and grief, Vivien excused herself to use the bathroom. She pressed a cool washcloth to her face and wondered if anyone would notice if she escaped to the carriage house for a nap. Of course sneaking away wasn’t a choice, and she reapplied her red lipstick, preparing for the long day ahead of her. When she returned, well-wishers had scattered about the room, and she moved to the bar once more and the plate of food. Someone had added a piece of Louisa Deering’s Twinkie loaf, bless her heart. She poured a glass of Pinot Grigio because the day had been long and was going to get longer. She raised the glass to her lips and glanced through the original-glass windows. Henry and Nonnie stood in the backyard under the wisteria arbor. The late-afternoon sunlight bounced off the lenses of Henry’s sunglasses and the single button of his black suit jacket. He raised his hand to the top of his head and the bottom of his jacket rose up his hips. Nonnie shook her head and he dropped his hands to her slim shoulders. Nonnie put a hand to her lips and Henry pulled her into his arms and patted her back. He looked more the parent than child, and Vivien would not have believed it if she hadn’t see them with her own eyes.
“Vivien?”
She turned toward the sound of her name and it took her several moments to recognize the cute round face framed by light blonde hair. “Lottie Bingham?”
“It’s Davidson now.” Her old friend grinned and pulled her into a tight hug. “Lordy, there’s nothing to you anymore.”
Weight was one of Vivien’s least favorite topics. Throughout her life, people had either called her fat or skinny. They’d either tried to restrict her fattening food or yelled at her to eat a cheeseburger. She pulled back and looked up into Lottie’s big blue eyes. “How have you been?”
“Real good.” Lottie dropped her arms and took a step back.
“Rowley and I heard about your momma as soon as we got back from Dollywood. I’m so sorry, Viv.”
Dollywood. Too funny. “Thank you.”
“You look like your movies. Well, except for the one where you were a hooker.”
Vivien laughed. “
The Stroll
.” She’d chosen the role as her
Pretty Woman
to break herself out of the sci-fi mold. It had worked, sort of. The R-rated movie had been universally panned by critics and nominated for a Razzie. She didn’t think the movie was as “bad as a cheap hooker.” After multiple script changes, “a turkey of a film stuffed with filler,” was somewhat accurate. “What have you been up to since high school?”
“I went to the University of South Carolina and met my husband, Rowley.” She paused and pointed to a redheaded man talking to Spence on the veranda. “We have two girls, Franny Joe and Belinda,” she added.
A lot of Southern women were married and on their third child by the time they reached thirty. If she’d stayed in Charleston, she was sure she’d have a husband and a kid or two by now. Just one more reason why she was glad she’d left town at the age of nineteen. Vivien wasn’t opposed to marriage, but she’d been raised by a single mother in the backyard of a single woman. She didn’t know a lot about marriage, but she liked the idea of falling in love and sharing her life. Of finding a man who had her back and wasn’t intimidated by her success. She’d like to give it a try someday, but there were a couple of problems blocking that path.
First, Vivien didn’t trust men.
As a kid, she’d watched men use and lie to her mother, and her own love life wasn’t much better by comparison. In the past, she’d dated bums and users who’d sold stories about her to the tabloids. Horrible stories that made her wary and
“Filthy,” they all agreed.
“Shocking.”
“Inappropriate.”
“I’m going to pray for her.”
After another fifteen minutes of gossip and grief, Vivien excused herself to use the bathroom. She pressed a cool washcloth to her face and wondered if anyone would notice if she escaped to the carriage house for a nap. Of course sneaking away wasn’t a choice, and she reapplied her red lipstick, preparing for the long day ahead of her. When she returned, well-wishers had scattered about the room, and she moved to the bar once more and the plate of food. Someone had added a piece of Louisa Deering’s Twinkie loaf, bless her heart. She poured a glass of Pinot Grigio because the day had been long and was going to get longer. She raised the glass to her lips and glanced through the original-glass windows. Henry and Nonnie stood in the backyard under the wisteria arbor. The late-afternoon sunlight bounced off the lenses of Henry’s sunglasses and the single button of his black suit jacket. He raised his hand to the top of his head and the bottom of his jacket rose up his hips. Nonnie shook her head and he dropped his hands to her slim shoulders. Nonnie put a hand to her lips and Henry pulled her into his arms and patted her back. He looked more the parent than child, and Vivien would not have believed it if she hadn’t see them with her own eyes.
“Vivien?”
She turned toward the sound of her name and it took her several moments to recognize the cute round face framed by light blonde hair. “Lottie Bingham?”
“It’s Davidson now.” Her old friend grinned and pulled her into a tight hug. “Lordy, there’s nothing to you anymore.”
Weight was one of Vivien’s least favorite topics. Throughout her life, people had either called her fat or skinny. They’d either tried to restrict her fattening food or yelled at her to eat a cheeseburger. She pulled back and looked up into Lottie’s big blue eyes. “How have you been?”
“Real good.” Lottie dropped her arms and took a step back.
“Rowley and I heard about your momma as soon as we got back from Dollywood. I’m so sorry, Viv.”
Dollywood. Too funny. “Thank you.”
“You look like your movies. Well, except for the one where you were a hooker.”
Vivien laughed. “
The Stroll
.” She’d chosen the role as her
Pretty Woman
to break herself out of the sci-fi mold. It had worked, sort of. The R-rated movie had been universally panned by critics and nominated for a Razzie. She didn’t think the movie was as “bad as a cheap hooker.” After multiple script changes, “a turkey of a film stuffed with filler,” was somewhat accurate. “What have you been up to since high school?”
“I went to the University of South Carolina and met my husband, Rowley.” She paused and pointed to a redheaded man talking to Spence on the veranda. “We have two girls, Franny Joe and Belinda,” she added.
A lot of Southern women were married and on their third child by the time they reached thirty. If she’d stayed in Charleston, she was sure she’d have a husband and a kid or two by now. Just one more reason why she was glad she’d left town at the age of nineteen. Vivien wasn’t opposed to marriage, but she’d been raised by a single mother in the backyard of a single woman. She didn’t know a lot about marriage, but she liked the idea of falling in love and sharing her life. Of finding a man who had her back and wasn’t intimidated by her success. She’d like to give it a try someday, but there were a couple of problems blocking that path.
First, Vivien didn’t trust men.
As a kid, she’d watched men use and lie to her mother, and her own love life wasn’t much better by comparison. In the past, she’d dated bums and users who’d sold stories about her to the tabloids. Horrible stories that made her wary and
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