He pauses, holding his glasses the way another man might hold a pipe. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Why don’t we both try pulling on one side? We want the same results. Shouldn’t we be on the same team?”
Now I’m the one reaching for the safety of my sunglasses.
“See you at the station,” I say.
FIFTEEN
Tania Marie
Word of the day:Crapulous:Marked by intemperance in eating or drinking; sick from excessive consumption of liquor
Late that afternoon she met Princess Gabby, whose driver was going to take them to the television studio. This day sucked, and the dicey stuff hadn’t even started yet. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Good: it couldn’t get much worse. Maybe the reporters had alreadysatiatedthemselves. Bad: this might have just “hopped them up,” as Marshall used to say. She hoped the son of a bitch fried in hell for all of his lying. She hoped every time he walked into a bar or turned on Bravo or popped in a CD, he’d hear that John Prine song—their song—“All the Way With You.”
Shit, she hoped he’d call her.
She’d bought her outfit, like everything but her frigging jewelry, from either Chico’s or Bloomies, online. No way would she trust someone in a shop to fit her and not mention her size to someone who would mention it to someone in the media. At least this outfit worked. Princess Gabby’s sweet little sheath worked better, but anyone else, yours truly included, would look like a washerwoman with that sixties bandanna framed by all that stringy hair.
At least God was fair in one regard. No one had more fabulous hair than she, certainly not gorgeous Gabby.
The princess had everything else, though, looks and money, just for starters, not to mention a handsome ex, who’d probably do anything to get her back. She even smelled like frigging wealth, a hushed, understated scent. Tania Marie wanted to ask her what it was. Wouldn’t that sound too crass?
Crass. Ass. That’s what she was, what the media created, what she tried to live up to.
“I like your perfume,” she said.
Gabby nodded in the direction of her very bald, very gay, very solicitous driver. “Christopher bought it for me. Banana Republic, I believe.”
“It smells clean. Classy.”
What kind of driver buys perfume for his client? She shifted in the seat, trying to get a better look at Christopher through the rearview mirror.
As if reading her mind, the driver shot off the freeway. In a moment, they were in Burbank. Everything was okay, but Tania Marie still had butterflies. “You sure he’s a good driver?”
“Only the best.”
“Guess I’m just nervous.”
“Relax,” Princess Gabby said. “As my grandmother used to tell me, they might can you, but they can’t eat you.”
Her words, her soft yet certain voice, forced Tania Marie to listen. What kind of life would it take, how wonderful would your luck have to be, to get one bit of advice, true or false, from anyone?
“I can’t imagine you with a grandmother who’d use that kind of language.”
“Oh, she did, and she chewed snuff, too. Never touched alcohol, though, never wore lipstick, and I doubt if she ever told a lie.” She turned to Tania Marie, her wispy curls starting to wiltbeneath the bandanna; only that hair kept her from perfection. “You might try not to curse tonight.”
Tania Marie felt as if her face had been slapped. “What’s wrong with shoveling back a little of what’s shoveled at you?”
Princess Gabby sat a little higher in the seat, distancing her from their momentary closeness. “Ladies don’t do it.”
“But they screw around on their husbands?”
Damn her mouth. The minute she said it, she wanted to gush out an apology.
“I guess I deserved that.” Princess Gabby’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Tania Marie could swear she saw tears in them.
