Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly oblige the arbiter of style and self-consciously pirouette. The skirt sways around my legs with the movement.
“Love it!” Lexie exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. “The dress is fabulous on you, Dee. Very Marilyn Monroe.”
“Please,” I say with another eye roll, even as I feel a rush of pleasure at her flattery.
“I’m serious. You look glamorous and tastefully provocative.”
That sounds like a stretch, but even if I don’t look all that bad, I still can’t. The dress is completely out of character for me. Then I check the price: $499!
At my gasp, Elle says, “The fit is perfect on you. I’d be happy to take off 20 percent.”
I do a quick calculation. Still pricey. And still out of my league. But urged on by my grinning friends with their thumbs jutted up in support, I cave. “All right. I’ll take it.” For now. I figure I can return it later, when I come to my senses and buyer’s remorse sets in.
Four hours later and $700 poorer, I’ve had enough and so has Jordyn. Lexie gives shop-’til-you-drop a whole new meaning. Loaded with our parcels—mine containing the new dress, a silk wrap, strappy sandals, and a sequined evening bag—we stop in at the Thai Village for dinner.
Over spicy basil chicken and a bottle of nicely chilled Pinot Gris, Lexie regales us with tales of her imperious mother. The latest is Miranda Townsen attempting to turn what was supposed to be a lighthearted birthday celebration into a who’s who event.
“It’s bad enough that she’s treating my thirty-first as though it were my coming-out party, but when I saw the guest list of more than a hundred people, many of whom I hardly know, I put my foot down and limited her to fifty. Richard backed me up, which I’m sure is the only reason my mother relented.”
“Well at least Dr. Snooze came in handy for something,” Jordyn says, balancing a piece of chicken on her chopsticks before spearing it into her mouth.
“Be nice,” Lexie chides her for the not-so-affectionate name she has bestowed on orthopedic surgeon Dr. Richard Schnauss. “Richard’s a lovely man.”
“Richard is dull and uptight,” Jordyn corrects her. “But he’s rich and well bred. That’s why your mother has wet dreams about you marrying him.”
“Ssh! My God, Jordyn, don’t you have any filter?” Lexie says, shooting a nervous look at our fellow patrons. “I’ve known Richard and his family for years. He’s kind and comfortable.”
“Who wants comfortable? There are two types of men,” Jordyn lectures her, as if she were the authority on the male species. “There’s the gentle surf.” She opens her mouth for an exaggerated yawn. “That’s Richard. Predictable andbor-ing. Then there’s the tidal wave,” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “Now he’s a wild ride you won’t soon forget. So why stick with boring when you deserve thrilling?”
“I’m not like you, Jord. To me, sex isn’t some kind of wild adventure.”
“Oh, honey.” She looks at Lexie with sympathetic hazel eyes. “That’s just sad. Let me introduce you to Eduardo. Give him an hour and you’ll be a changed woman.”
“I’m not interested in any of your hand-me-downs,” Lexie balks. “I like Richard.”
“Of course you do. You like everybody. But,” she asks, pointing her chopsticks at Lexie, “are youinlike with him?”
Lexie hesitates and then answers, “Yes.”
“Okay,” Jordyn says, throwing down the gauntlet. “Then tell me this. Does he do it for you in bed? Does he leave you so wrung out you can hardly move?”
Lexie chokes on her bite of food, and tiny beads of sweat break out on her brow. “Relationships can’t survive on good sex alone,” she answers after dabbing her forehead with a napkin. “The fact that you don’t stay with a man more than a few steamy nights should tell you that.”
Unfazed, Jordyn says, “I like variety. Why tie myself to one guy when there are thousands out there!”
“So your goal is to become the female Wilt Chamberlain?” Lexie asks wryly.
“Better that than the doctor’s dissatisfied wife.”
After a year and a half, I’m used to their verbal sparring. The mismatched pair met as college roommates. Lexie, rebelling against her parents for the first time, had chosen to live in residence with the regular folks rather than join her mother’s sorority and live in “the house.” Although the two are as different as stilettos and flip-flops, somehow they work.
I love them both and admire Jordyn’s free-spirited nature, but I’m more like Lexie. I lean toward caution, mainly because of my hang-ups. So I understand why Lexie finds Richard a safe choice. He’s steady, reliable…tame. He’s not the kind of man that’s going to curl your toes with a kiss or make your body zing from a simple touch. He won’t take your reason or common sense away. He won’t make you forget yourself or yearn for things you can never have.
By the time the server clears our plates, their banter has fizzled and their attention shifts over to me.
“Spill it,” Jordyn says. “You’ve been distracted all afternoon, and judging by the look on your face when you arrived, I’ll hazard a guess that the visit didn’t go well.”
“Try disastrous,” I admit, toying with my paper napkin. Because my friends aren’t associated with the case, and because I trust their discretion, I tell them about the weird dynamics between the Franklins, Dwayde’s hostility toward them, and my suspicion that he’s hiding something.
