Читать книгу Trouble Down The Road - Bettye Griffin - Страница 13

Flo watched as Ernie danced with a friend of Suzanne’s, a petite brown-skinned woman with a Caribbean accent and a weird name whom she remembered from an earlier party. He really shouldn’t be making those suggestive gyrations with his pelvis, she thought. That would be out of place at such an elegant party, even if he was dancing with her, his wife, instead of a woman he barely knew.

The party was lovely, but not as much fun as she thought it would be. She noticed people staring at her dress and felt she’d made a terrible mistake in choosing an outfit. Most of the women wore fabrics like chiffon or silk. She remembered shaking her head at a woman at a Valentine’s dance she and Ernie had gone to. The woman clearly thought she was the cutest thing in shoe leather as she strutted her stuff on the dance floor in a red halter dress that made her stomach look like she was expecting a baby—unlikely, given that she was well into middle age. As someone remarked, there was one of them at every affair. Now she was the one being gawked at for a fashion faux pas, and she hated the way it made her feel. She would have gone home and changed clothes, but that would be admitting that she’d made a mistake. That would probably cause more attention than her dress.

Ernie was no help. Why did he always act like such a flirt whenever he was around the Betancourts’ friends? She suspected he was making a pest of himself.

Until just a few minutes ago she’d been having a nice conversation with a well-dressed, cultured woman about a decade her senior who said her name was Jean Nelson. Jean seemed to sense Flo’s discomfort and made a point out of trying to put her at ease, something Flo appreciated. Things had been going quite well, but then one of the other women asked if Flo had heard about a mutual acquaintance, some doctor who’d apparently run off with a lab technician much younger than his wife. A funny look crossed Jean’s face, and she quickly excused herself and disappeared. Flo figured the people being gossiped about were friends of Jean’s and she didn’t want to play a role in spreading any further rumors. So now she was alone again.

Flo tightened her knit shawl around her shoulders. It wasn’t really cool on this May evening, but if her torso was covered, maybe her dress wouldn’t stand out so much.

Flo knew she wasn’t beautiful. Truth be told, she wasn’t even pretty. Her eyes drooped at the outer corners and her nose was too long. She’d learned to play up her good feature, her skin. Smooth and dark, it had a natural glow that required no foundation to cover imperfections, just a touch of rouge for extra color in her cheeks. People complimented her about it all the time. Ernie had even tried to get her featured on a commercial, but Flo doubted that would happen because her face wouldn’t look attractive enough in ads.

She had other problems, too. Her legs were more clunky than shapely, and she usually wore Capri pants rather than shorts, and longer skirts than minis, to hide them. Her hair had always been thin and was starting to get thinner. As soon as Ernie got hired to run the hospital’s human resources department, she made an appointment to get a weave, not so much for length, but for fullness. Her bob bounced when she walked, and she’d deliberately had it styled so that it was easy for strands in front to fall into her face. Flo wanted people to focus on her skin and hair rather than her nose and eyes. She liked the idea of hiding behind her hair. If it really got in the way, she just casually brushed it away with her hand, a gesture that made her feel beautiful.

The one thing that would truly make her feel beautiful would be to have her husband at her side. Flo knew Ernie could come on a bit strong at times, but she loved him tremendously. She was forty-six years old and had been married to Ernie for nearly twenty-five years, more than half her life. He was the man of her dreams, and together they had built a wonderful life, in spite of the hard times of recent years.

Flo broke out into a broad grin as Gregory approached her. Her son was such a good boy, and handsome, too. She and Ernie weren’t exactly beautiful people, but Mother Nature had been especially kind to Gregory. He’d just graduated from the University of North Florida, majoring in chemical engineering. Gregory would do well in life, much better than she and Ernie. Not that they’d done badly. They were the first in either of the families to own a home. Originally from Boston, they settled here in Jacksonville after Ernie got out of the Navy because they liked the setting and mild climate.

Flo had been a little upset with her son when he started seeing Paige Betancourt a few weeks ago. Paige was Suzanne’s stepdaughter, and Flo knew that Suzanne hated the living reminder of her husband’s earlier marriage. It looked like history was going to repeat itself, for just as Lisa, Paige’s mother, was better educated and more worldly than Suzanne, Paige had just completed her junior year at the University of North Florida while Kenya was merely a high school graduate, working as a cashier at Winn-Dixie. Of course Paige would be a better choice for Gregory, being a doctor’s daughter and all, but Lisa Canfield had never invited Flo and Ernie to her home and barely showed them any civility. Flo sensed that even if Gregory married Paige, nothing would change.

Of course, it was way too early to think about marriage. Gregory was only twenty-two and had just graduated from college a few weeks before. The company he’d interned for last summer had hired him as a junior engineer at an excellent salary, quite a coup in this tough economic time. Even if Kenya’s mother, Arlene, only worked for the post office and was a heavy drinker, Kenya claimed a leading radiologist in the area as her brother-in-law, and of course Brad was Paige’s father, so no matter which girl Gregory chose, Flo would have a connection to Brad and Suzanne. Forget about Arlene, and forget about Lisa, too. Brad probably had more money and social connections than Lisa and her stockbroker husband combined. Besides, Flo and Suzanne Betancourt had once been good friends. Maybe they could be again….

“Hi, Mama,” Gregory said, bending to kiss her cheek.

“Oh, is this your son?” the woman sitting next to Flo said.

“Yes. Isn’t he handsome?” she replied proudly.

“Mama,” Gregory protested.

The woman laughed before turning her attentions to the person on her other side.

“Are you having a good time?” Gregory asked.

“Oh, yes,” she lied. “Suzanne and Brad give such nice parties.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Oh, he’s circulating,” she said lightly. “You know how your father enjoys being the social butterfly.”

“Well, since he’s flitting around, how about dancing with your son?”

“I’d love to.”

After Flo enjoyed her dance with Gregory, he walked her over to Ernie, who was fixing himself a plate at the beautifully arranged buffet table. “Hey, Daddy, you didn’t forget about Mama, did you? She’s sitting all by herself.”

“Of course not,” Ernie said defensively. “I just wanted to fix a plate, to help coat my stomach. You should always eat when you’re drinking alcohol.”

“Well, I’d better get back to Paige.”

His mother suddenly appeared behind him. “Thanks for the dance, my son,” Flo said warmly, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

“Anytime, Mama.” Gregory raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Uh…Mama, you could probably do with less rings. One on every finger is a bit much, I think.”

She laughed. “My son, the fashion expert. Run along, now, and don’t worry about me. I know how to accessorize. I’ve been doing it since before you were born.”

“Flo, you’ve got to taste this,” Ernie said after Gregory went to rejoin Paige. His words were barely intelligible, what with his mouthful of crabmeat-stuffed mushroom. “I don’t know which one I like better, these or the ones inside that pastry.”

“They’re both delicious. I took the caterer’s card, even though I’m sure we can’t afford her.” Flo spoke softly so that no one would overhear her admission.

“Didn’t you want to give an anniversary party in September?”

“Yes, but Ernie, this must have cost thousands. I was going to make the food for our party myself.”

“You can’t do that, not after we’ve been here and seen all of this. You want to invite Brad and Suzanne, don’t you?” At her nod, he said, “Well, how’s that gonna look, us serving homemade food when they had their party catered?”

“But we can’t afford it, Ernie,” she hissed.

“That’s why they make credit cards. Don’t worry, we can pay it off quickly, in three months or so, four at the most.”

“Now, Ernie, you know we promised we’d never get in over our heads again. We’re already in enough trouble with the house. Besides, I’m sure there are other caterers.”

“The house will recover its value. It might take a while, but we’re not going anywhere. As far as the caterer, we have to use Discriminating Taste. I mean, look who’s here. The Gillespies, the Princes. They’ll be coming to our party as well. We have to measure up.”

Flo considered this. She recalled how shocked she’d been when she casually mentioned to Kim Gillespie, her next-door neighbor in the subdivision around the corner, that she and Ernie had been invited to tonight’s party. Her mouth had dropped when Kim matter-of-factly replied that she and Michael had been invited as well. If that wasn’t bad enough, Flo got another jolt of surprise when Ben and Stacy Prince showed up as here well. She didn’t understand it. Had they joined Suzanne and Brad’s inner circle while she and Ernie had been outcasts, invited only because of Gregory’s relationship with Paige?

Social connections aside, what mattered most was their personal finances. Spending money to try and outdo everyone was what had gotten them into trouble in the first place. They couldn’t continue doing that. They’d worked hard and made many sacrifices to recapture their security, but next time they might not be as fortunate. She had to make him understand. “Ernie, I want us to look good as much as you do, but we got into trouble trying to keep up with the Betancourts before. The fact is that Brad is a doctor.”

“So what? You and I have two incomes, and Suzanne doesn’t work.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Our two incomes combined probably come to a whole lot less than what Brad makes by himself. I read somewhere that radiologists are among the top-earning fields of medicine, up there with cardiologists and neurosurgeons. He and Suzanne do things that even Lisa and Darrell Canfield probably can’t afford. Not that the two of them are doing so badly,” she added, “but you don’t see their twins going to the Country Day School, and they don’t have a second home like Brad and Suzanne do.”

“Well, I say that if we can’t have a party catered by Discriminating Taste, we shouldn’t have one at all.”

“Oh, Ernie.” He was behaving like a petulant child. How could they let an important occasion like their silver anniversary pass without fanfare? She supposed they could always take a trip somewhere in lieu of a party, but wouldn’t a party cost as much as a vacation? A vacation might even cost more. She was tired of going to the Bahamas. Besides, she suspected that Kim and Stacy snickered about her and Ernie always going to the same place. Stacy and Ben were going to Jamaica for a week, and last year Kim and Michael went to Europe. Maybe Ernie was right. If they wanted to reclaim their position, they couldn’t skimp.

Discriminating Taste would cater their anniversary party.

This time Micheline hadn’t been able to get away fast enough to escape that oaf she’d been avoiding all evening. Part of her suspected he’d been trailing her, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on her like a dog on a bone. She figured she’d dance with him once and that would be it. She politely thanked him when the band played the last chord, but he swiftly grabbed her around her waist and pulled her close as the band slowed down the tempo. She squirmed uneasily. This man was the biggest lout she’d ever seen. How on earth did he get in?

She looked up and saw Brad watching them, his handsome features slightly distorted by a frown. She quickly moved to make the most of the perfect timing, stiffening her posture and giving her dance partner a look so stern she was certain Brad could see it from a dozen yards away. “Look, mister, you don’t even know me. The close dancing should be reserved for your wife, don’t you think? So how about it, huh? Behave.”

“It’s just that it’s not very often I get to dance with such a pretty lady.”

“Your wife is pretty,” Micheline lied. His wife, from what she could see, was on the plain side. And someone needed to tell her how to dress. Stevie Wonder could have picked out a more appropriate outfit.

“Well, yes, of course. But we’ve been married almost twenty-five years. You know how it is.”

She felt his fingers probing her bare back and immediately stiffened. “Listen. I warned you once. I don’t want to have to make a scene, but if you insist on pawing me, I’ll have no choice but to walk off and leave you standing here.”

“Oh, all right. I was just being friendly.”

Micheline didn’t bother to reply, and when the song mercifully ended, she broke away from him as fast as she could. She didn’t dare peek at Brad to see if he was watching, but fervently hoped he was.

She headed for the bar. “Chardonnay, please,” she told the bartender.

“Micheline?”

She recognized Brad’s voice and carefully concealed her elation. She began to wring her left hand with her right, repeating the action in alternating fashion as she waited for the bartender to wash out a glass and pour the wine. “Hi!” she said, as if it surprised her to see Brad standing beside her.

“Great party.”

“Thanks. I really can’t take credit for it, though. Suzanne put it together.”

Uh-oh. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. If she could, she’d take back the compliment.

“I saw you dancing with Ernie,” he said. At her quizzical look he explained, “He’s one of our neighbors from the subdivision around the corner. It looked like he might have been giving you a hard time. Was he?”

She shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“You seem upset.” He focused on her hands, which she continued to wring.

At that point she looked down, feigned surprise at what she was doing, and stopped. “I guess I did find it a teensy bit disturbing. I didn’t expect to encounter a…well, a masher at a classy function like this.” She tried not to wince at her choice of words. Masher? Who the hell used that term in the last sixty years? But it was the first thing that came into her head. She must have been watching too many old movies while cleaning and cooking at home.

“I’m sorry, Micheline. I didn’t want to invite him, but Suzanne has a soft spot for them.”

I should have known.

“Besides,” Brad continued, “Suzanne invited some other couples from Villa St. John, friends of friends, and she felt it would be insulting to them if they weren’t included. She was right, of course.”

Once more anger coursed through Micheline at Brad’s defense of his wife’s behavior. “Maybe, but at what cost?” She lowered her voice and spoke in a near whisper. “I was practically assaulted on the dance floor.”

He nodded. “I’m afraid you’re not the only one. I’ve noticed him acting inappropriately with a number of our female guests. I’ll have to pull him aside and talk to him.”

She placed a hand on his forearm in a show of concern. With a note of urgency she said, “I don’t want to make any trouble, Brad.”

“I know you don’t. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hi!”

Damn, Micheline thought. Weren’t there enough people here to keep Suzanne occupied? She was the hostess, after all. When she attempted to join them a little while ago, Micheline spotted her coming out of the corner of her eye and promptly asked Brad to dance with her to keep her away. This time she could do nothing.

“I was just asking Micheline about Ernie,” Brad explained.

“He’s been acting like a real leech, practically trying to feel her up on the dance floor. I won’t have him harassing our guests, Suzanne.”

Suzanne took a moment to absorb the situation. She didn’t like the idea of Brad playing hero to Micheline’s damsel in distress. Micheline’s husband was here. Why didn’t she complain about Ernie’s behavior to Errol and leave Brad out of it?

“Calvin already complained to me about Ernie being all over Liloutie,” Brad continued. “I’ve had my eye on him ever since.”

That made Suzanne feel better. Brad wasn’t merely defending Micheline, but their friend Liloutie Braxton as well. But she was his wife, and she’d better get herself on the list of females he was defending. She knew one word from her would automatically put her at the top of the list. “Well, he held me closer than he should have when he danced with me,” she remarked. “I had to squirm to get out of his grasp.”

“That rips it.” Brad walked off in search of Ernie.

“Brad, wait!” He’d already started for the outdoor portion of the party area, taking long, purposeful strides, and Suzanne followed, glad to move away from Micheline. “I know he’s behaved badly,” she said quietly when she caught up to him, “but remember, he’s still a guest in our home. You don’t want to make a scene. I’d hate for Flo to be embarrassed.”

“Is that his wife?”

Suzanne knew the voice belonged to Micheline before she turned and saw her standing there. Damn it, why was she following them? Couldn’t she have five seconds for a few words with her own husband without Micheline planting herself in the middle of them? With superhuman effort, she refrained from scowling at her. “Yes, it is.”

“Poor thing. When I told him he has a wife to snuggle up to on the dance floor, he said they’ve been married a long time, intimating he’s tired of her.”

“Oh, my.” Suzanne looked to Brad.

“That’s just the type of no-count thing I’d expect him to say.” His face softened, and he placed a palm on Suzanne’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Suzie Q. I’m not going to make a scene. But Ernie and I are going to have a nice chat about the way he’s been acting.” He removed his hand and walked away.

“I’m sure everything will work out fine, Suzanne,” Micheline said. “Try not to worry.”

Suzanne ignored the reassurance and instead said, “Tell me something, Micheline. Did you complain to Brad about Ernie?”

“Not a word,” Micheline replied. “He came to me. Remember he said how he’d been keeping an eye on Ernie? He said he’d seen us dancing. I had to push him back and warn him a couple of times about his hands roaming all over my back.”

Now Suzanne remembered Brad saying he’d gone on alert after Calvin complained about Ernie, and while it made her feel better to know he wasn’t looking out for Micheline personally, she couldn’t help having a nasty thought. If you’d covered up a little, maybe Ernie wouldn’t have felt your back was open for exploration.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Kenya coming out of the powder room. “Excuse me, Micheline,” she said, glad to have an excuse to leave.

She rushed to her sister. “Kenya, are you all right? You look a little down.”

Kenya looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. “Gregory is seeing Paige. Now I know why he dumped me.”

“I’m so sorry, Kenya. I think it sucks that she brought him here.”

She sniffled. “I want to go home, Suzanne. Can you ask Derrick to drive me?”

“Sure. You go into the guest room, and I’ll get him. Don’t worry about Gregory, Kenya. He’s not the only man in Jacksonville.”

Kenya nodded, but she looked like she was about to burst into tears again.

“Go on, now. I’ll get Derrick.” Suzanne gave her sister a little push. She didn’t want anyone seeing Kenya look so defeated, especially Paige and Lisa. Surely Derrick’s date could spare him long enough to take his sister home. The rental house was so close he could be back within fifteen minutes.

Even as Paula posed for pictures with Devon, her practiced eye took in each action of her staff. Everyone seemed to be on their toes, even that lackadaisical maid who was substituting for the efficient Teresita. No wonder Suzanne was at her wit’s end with her. And she really should have told her to lose the gum, the way she chomped on it looked so unprofessional. But at least she was doing her job, clearing the drop stations of dirty plates and making sure that plenty of clean ones were available. A heavyset build and shuffling gait made her appear matronly, but Paula took a closer look and could see she was probably in her upper thirties or early forties at the most, not much younger than herself. There but for the grace of God go I, Paula thought. That could have been her, wearing a maid’s uniform and serving at a party instead of catering it and mingling with the guests. It was true that she’d worked hard, but she’d also been fortunate.

“Paula, smile already,” Lisa said with exasperation.

“Oops. Sorry.” Paula stopped watching the maid and did a quick survey. The buffet table looked tidy, nothing needed refilling, and a stack of clean white square stoneware plates and folded white cloth napkins awaited anyone wanting to fix a snack. She smiled for the camera, her arm around her daughter.

Paula was so proud of Devon. She’d blossomed into a lovely young woman, as kind and generous as she was beautiful. In Paula’s opinion, Devon was much more grounded than her stepsister, the somewhat spoiled Paige. The two girls grew up together, Lisa and Darrell having met when they were preschoolers, but while Darrell was careful not to overindulge Devon, Brad Betancourt had imposed no such restrictions when it came to Paige and had given her just about everything.

They changed places, and Paula tried to ignore the pain in her heart as she focused the camera on Lisa and Darrell flanking Devon and Paige. With Paige looking like Lisa and Devon resembling Darrell, anyone looking at them posing would assume Lisa had given birth to fraternal twin daughters.

Paula knew that Lisa deserved as much credit as Darrell for the fine way Devon had turned out. When she accepted a marketing position in Dallas, all parties involved, including Devon herself, agreed it would be best if Devon continued to live with Darrell, Lisa, and her half brothers. The plan had been for Devon to visit Paula frequently, but then Paula fell in love with Andre Haines, a man seven years her junior. Andre’s parents were anxious to have grandchildren, and she allowed him to talk her into telling them and everyone else that she was ten years younger than her actual age to quell any doubts his parents might have about her ability to conceive. Paula went along, and that marked the beginning of the estrangement between Paula and Devon, for Paula, who’d been twenty-two when she had Devon, could not present Devon, then sixteen, as her daughter after claiming to be twenty-eight. Devon resented her mother’s denial, and although mother and daughter managed a tentative reconciliation after the situation exploded along with the marriage, Paula’s place in Devon’s heart had been lost to Lisa, whom she now called “Mom.” She doubted she would ever get it back.

Paula had accepted the effect her regrettable behavior had on her relationship with her only child, although it still hurt and always would. She knew she had no one to blame but herself for agreeing to Andre’s crazy scheme. Not only did she miscarry her second child, but her second marriage failed. She publicly stated that she was through with marriage, but her secret wish—one that she’d never shared with anyone—was to have a third chance at marriage and a second chance to raise a child.

Fat chance of that happening. After her miscarriage, her doctor informed her it would be difficult for her to carry another child to term, and now she was forty-three.

Darrell wandered off, and the girls flanked Lisa while Paula captured the moment on film.

“I’d be happy to snap a picture so that you can get in it,” a deep voice offered.

She turned to see a tall man who appeared younger than most of the ones in attendance, standing beside her. She recognized him as the escort of the woman in the daring white dress, herself young. “That’s very kind of you. I think I’ll take you up on it.” She handed him the camera.

“It only seems right for you to be in the picture with your sisters and…aunt, maybe?”

She chuckled. Lisa would certainly not be happy to learn that this man thought they were aunt and niece. “The one on the right is actually my daughter.”

“You don’t say!”

She nodded, and still smiling, went to stand on Devon’s right as Lisa and Paige shifted so that Lisa was on the outside.

Suzanne quickly found Derrick, who agreed to take Kenya home “as soon as I finish my plate.” She rolled her eyes. Every time she’d seen her brother this evening he had a plate in his hand. Anyone would think he’d never seen food before.

She next looked for her mother, but found her dancing with an older gentleman, the father of Brad’s friend Calvin Braxton, who was visiting his son from somewhere up north.

She’d just have to fill her mother in on what was happening later. In the meantime, she wanted to know how things went between Brad and Ernie. Her eyes scanned the area, first recognizing that Flo danced with Darrell Canfield, then saw Brad talking with Lisa.

Suzanne’s jealousy meter soared. She knew Brad and Lisa retained no romantic feelings for each other, but nevertheless, it annoyed her to see them talking alone. It still stung that Brad seemed to know about Paige and Gregory but had said nothing to her. This latest development only compounded the ever-present feelings of inadequacy Suzanne felt because Lisa was a degreed professional while she’d barely passed high school. Much of the time she found comfort in the fact that she and Brad had a nicer home and more money than Lisa and Darrell, but tonight she experienced no such solace. Being surrounded by Lisa, a pharmacist; Micheline, a multilingual paralegal; and other professional women like Liloutie Braxton, a corporate recruiter, made her feel like nothing more than a girl from the proverbial wrong side of the tracks who through her connection to Paula Haines had metamorphosed into an excellent hostess.

Paula came up beside her and gently tapped her upper arm. “It’s ten after twelve. How do you feel about rolling out the cake now?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“I hope Brad’s lungs are in good shape. I can’t believe you had fifty candles put in it.”

Suzanne shrugged. “Well, it’s a sheet cake.” They shared a laugh. “I’ll go over to Brad now and try to hold him in the same spot.”

“Perfect. I’ll go help light the candles. It’ll probably take three of us to get it done quickly.”

Suzanne walked over to where Brad stood with his first wife. “Did everything go all right with Ernie?” she asked.

“Yeah, perfectly. I talked to him around the side of the house. He’s sulking at the bar.” He grunted. “Of course, anyone with any sense would just leave.”

Suzanne looked at Lisa, so pretty and elegant. “Did Ernie act inappropriately with you, Lisa?”

“He didn’t get a chance to. Every time I saw him coming I moved.”

“Smart girl,” Brad commented.

Suzanne kept a smile plastered on her face. She hated to be reminded about how smart Lisa was.

Darrell returned, playfully dancing around Lisa, bumping her butt with his. “Dance with me, baby.”

They headed toward the center area where people were dancing. Suzanne stayed with Brad and chuckled at Darrell’s antics on the dance floor. He’d clearly had enough alcohol to be a little tipsy, and at one point Lisa stopped dancing and merely stared at him incredulously, her hands on her hips and her chin lowered to her chest.

At that moment the music suddenly stopped, and the male lead singer picked up the microphone. “We interrupt the music for an important announcement.” He raised his left hand behind him, obviously signaling the band. They began to play the Happy Birthday song as one of the waiters wheeled the large sheet cake, its top flaming with candles inserted around the edges, outside, bringing the cart to a stop in front of Brad. The guests joined the band in singing birthday wishes to Brad, and people immediately began laughing and buzzing about the large number of candles on it.

“At times like this I’m glad I don’t smoke,” Brad quipped. He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew out the candles, not in one breath, but he only needed two.

Suzanne applauded with the others. She spotted Paula looking hungrily at a brawny young waiter. She knew Paula preferred younger men, but this was pushing it, even for her. This young man looked like he was still in his twenties.

Brad impulsively gathered her in a hug, first kissing her lightly on the mouth, then holding her for a prolonged moment. When they finally parted Suzanne couldn’t help the way her eyes automatically sought out Micheline, wanting to make sure she’d witnessed the exchange of affection. Standing next to Errol, her hands applauding, it was a cinch she had. She might appear outwardly as happy as everyone else, but Suzanne didn’t believe it for a second.

She noticed with dismay that all the men standing within a few yards of Micheline were discreetly checking out her backside, and Suzanne’s stomach did a little leap. She’d always been the one the male guests stole glances at when they thought their wives weren’t looking.

Her looks and sex appeal made up a large portion of what attracted Brad to her in the first place, and what kept him satisfied, but she was getting older. What would happen if she lost them? Would she lose Brad, too?

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Flo looked confused. “I don’t get it. What’s going on, Ernie? The party is nowhere near over. They’re just about to cut the cake.”

“They’re a bunch of snobs here. I just don’t feel like being bothered.”

Flo hesitated. It was true that she wasn’t enjoying the party as much as she would have liked, and she knew she’d chosen the wrong dress. But Ernie certainly seemed to be having a good time. She didn’t understand why he wanted to leave all of a sudden. Didn’t he realize this was their chance to get back in with Suzanne and Brad?

“Are you coming?” he asked impatiently, his words punctuated by the smell of alcohol on his breath.

“You want to just leave without saying good night to Suzanne? She’s our hostess, Ernie? And what about Gregory?”

“It’ll be better if we just slip out. Gregory will just assume we couldn’t find him to say good-bye.”

“What’s this all about, Ernie?”

He sighed. “I’m trying to spare your feelings here, Flo, but if you insist on knowing…I overheard a couple of people cracking on your dress. Under the circumstances, I really think it’s best we leave, while I’m still able to control my temper. If I hear somebody make another nasty crack, I might forget myself and knock them out.”

Flo gasped. It stung to know that people were making fun of her, but it would be even worse if Ernie got into a shouting match or, worse, came to blows at the home of their hosts. She’d made a terrible mistake in her choice of wardrobe, and the impression had been set in stone. “All right,” she said dejectedly. “Let’s go.”