The Botox Diaries by Janice Kaplan, Lynn Schnurnberger Page A

giggles.
    “Go unpack your stuff and we’ll grab breakfast,” I say as she dashes off loaded down with her bags. “Wait, you forgot your pillow,” I call after her, but she doesn’t come back and I have to smile. What self-respecting “Princess” would carry her own?
    With Jen gone, I get out of bed and slip into the silk robe. Good thing Jen didn’t notice it lying in a heap on the floor—I’m not sure she would have believed I was wearing it to impress Jay Leno. I pick up my own pillow and hug it tightly to my body. It seems impossible that just a few hours ago Jacques was lying here beside me. Maybe I dreamt it. I look around for signs, but there’s no telltale forgotten sock. I breathe deeply and get the merest hint of Jacques’ cologne. How could last night have been so amazing?
    And this morning—when he told me he still loved me. I throw the pillow back on the bed. Oh, god, what did I answer? Something about how wonderful he is. Why couldn’t I just say, “I love you, too?” Now that would be simple. The man I’d loved so passionately, so long ago, comes back into my life. After all this time apart, we finally get the fairytale ending. Just like a romance novel. And as Jacques and I fell asleep last night, wrapped in each other’s arms, I was sure I did love him.
    But now?
    I pace around my bed fussing with the books on my nightstand and bend down to straighten the fringe on the throw rug. I walk into the bathroom to get a glass of water and stare into the mirror. Do we really have a future? What was it he said at the door as he was saying good-bye?
It’s settled
. I feel that familiar clench in my stomach. Whatever else has changed about Jacques, he hasn’t lost that old habit of assuming he can decide things for both of us.
    I wander back toward the bed. No, this time, I’m going to have to make my own decision. I put the pillow back against the headboard and get another whiff of his cologne. Maybe I won’t change the sheets just yet. And maybe I have to give the man another chance. That is, of course, unless I fall for Boulder.
    For the next three days I keep waiting for Lucy to ask me about my date with Jacques, but she never does. And I can’t bring it up because Hunter’s in town and he’s already demanding every moment of her attention. By day four, Lucy’s bursting because I have to, absolutely
have to
, meet her
boyfriend
. She’s forty-one and married—you’d think she could come up with a better word.
    “You’re going to love him,” she says breathlessly when she calls me with the invitation. “I mean, I’m sure you’re going to love him. But I really need to know what you think.”
    Since Lucy insists that introductions be made over something more exotic than a simple latte or even green apple martinis, she’s come up with a plan. Hunter’s been invited to a star-studded party for Willie Nelson and we’re both going to tag along. We’ll even get to go to the concert. Works for me. If I’m chief advisor on my best friend’s Hollywood affair, at the very least I should get some perks out of it.
    Lucy calls me twice more to ask what I’m wearing, clearly more worried about my making a good impression on Hunter than the other way around. Since I don’t own a pair of alligator boots, Lucy agrees that I can wear my fake pleather skirt and she’ll lend me her third-favorite pair of Jimmy Choos. Two days later she panics about the pleather and drops off her own real leather skirt—from Ralph Lauren, no less—along with the Choos.
    That night, I’m standing on the corner of Thirty-fourth Street feeling like a hooker in my four-inch stilettos when Lucy and Hunter walk by without even noticing me. They have their heads huddled close together, sharing some secret that has them both grinning.
    “Lucy?” I call out.
    “Oh, Jess!” She rushes over and gives me a quick hug. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She tosses back her hair and then adds,