Nice Girls Don't Live Forever by Molly Harper Page A

so instant classic.”
    I peered down at my own happy-face pajama pants and a baggy T-shirt advertising the annual 4-H Hog Call. “I hate you. What’d you bring?” I examined the stack of videos. “ Steel Magnolias and Beaches ? Are you trying to comfort me or get me to commit suicide?”
    Jolene shrugged. “When I want an excuse to cry, I watch Steel Magnolias .”
    “What about this one?” I held up a copy of 9 to 5 .
    “I think Jolene got confused about the theme,” Andrea said. “But still, female empowerment, dosing your boss with rat poison. It could work.”
    “I’m your boss,” I reminded her.
    “That does pose a problem,” Andrea agreed as my eyes narrowed.
    “Zeb said we should bring over the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but Andrea thought you’d get all depressed,” Jolene told me.
    “Yeah, because what’s the point of watching Buffy if you’re not watching the second-season episodes with Spike in them?” I asked, uncorking the bottle of wine. Andrea poured me a large glass. “Hmmm. I wonder if it would be unethical for me to turn James Marsters? And then force him to fake the Cockney accent? And then make him my love monkey?”
    “Yes, the Council would probably notice that.” Andrea snorted.
    “Frankly, I’m surprised some crazy, recently turned fan girl hasn’t already thought of it,” I muttered into my wine.
    Andrea pulled a DVD case with a blank cover out of her purse. “I also brought this. It’s an unrated version of the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, the Colin Firth version. Dick got it from one of his … sources. There’s a rumor that during the bath scene, you get an accidental peek at Mr. Darcy’s bum.”
    “Oh, Lord, she’s crying again,” Jolene groaned as I gave her neck another moist hug.
    I blubbered, “I’m just so happy!”
    We indulged in buttoned-up Austenian dramedy for a few hours, consuming more calories than should be allowed by law. I painted my toes a bold eggplant, which Gabriel had always disliked. He said it made my feet look hypothermic. Thanks to her accelerated pregnancy, Jolene’s brief flirtation with crippling morning sickness was over. She polished off the Mint Chocolate Cookie and the Cherry Garcia but not the Chunky Monkey, which Andrea specifically chose because Jolene hated banana. I became concerned about Andrea’s wine-to-ice-cream consumption ratio and what sort of color she might turn my carpet if she got sick. But then I had a few glasses myself and just didn’t care. Fitz couldn’t decide whom he’d rather spurn me for, Andrea or Jolene, both of whom he adored. But since he had a better chance of Andrea sharing food with him, he snuggled up with Andrea.
    “Do you consider yourselves Colin Firth girls or Colin Farrell girls?” Jolene asked, munching on her thousandth or so mini-Snickers as Mr. Darcy informed Elizabeth that he most ardently admired and loved her.
    “Can’t I have both?” Andrea asked with a dreamy sort of leer. “One of them could run the video camera.”
    “That answer, by its very nature, makes you a Colin Farrell girl.” I snickered.
    “I’m just saying what you’re both think—” Andrea let out a shriek and dropped her half-melted tub of ice cream on my floor.
    At least it wasn’t vomit.
    “What?” I squinted at her whitened face in the flickering light of the TV.
    “There’s somebody out there!” she cried. “I saw them! They were looking in the window.”
    “Who was it?”
    “I don’t know!” she cried. “It was all blurry.”
    “I can’t imagine why,” I drawled, looking pointedly at the two empty wine bottles at her feet.
    “Jane, I’m serious, there was someone standing there, watching us through the window!” Andrea insisted.
    I shook my head. “But I haven’t picked up on anything.”
    I looked to Jolene, who shrugged. “I usually have to be pretty focused to sense something watching me.”
    Jolene and I went to the window and saw nothing