Charleigh
Now
Charleigh twists her diamond studs from her ears, plunks them down on her vanity, then studies herself in the mirror.Not too shabby, she thinks, flipping a curled sheet of hair over her shoulder, the reflection of her ice-blue eyes made even more startling by the thick black liner she applied before the party.
The house is now quiet, empty, the last guests gone, though she can still hear the clapping of car doors in her long drive.
Nellie is sleeping, as far as Charleigh can tell; she’s not about to creep down the hall to check.
Alexander is still at men’s poker night—they play the same night as Bunco—but their evenings stretch out longer, past midnight, at a local club called the Pig Trail Inn. It’s all men bullshitting over cigars dwindling in the ashtray and endless glasses of Jack and Coke.
By 1:00 a.m., Charleigh will be awakened by Alexander’s hands stirring over her belly, sliding down the front of herpanties. He will take her then, Charleigh suspended between the dream state and this one.
She loves it, their lovemaking, which has remained as intact and incendiary as when they first met. She was in her fifthsemester of community college—her half-hearted attempt athigher education while waitressing. Alexander, though, was a senior at SMU, ready to graduate, and also a brother at the coveted Gamma Phi fraternity. But he wasn’t like other frat boys she’d slept with, all drunken fumblers pawing at her. For one, Alexander had his own place, a carriage house his parents had purchased so he could have his own space during senior year.His own lair, she thought, after she learned just how good he was in the sack. She’ll never forget their first time, how he bent her over the side of his neatly made bed, fingers expertly working her over until she was in such a frenzy that by the time he entered her, she came instantly.
There’s no way he hadn’t been with several girls before her—he knewexactlywhat he was doing, and he was so criminally hot—but since then, he’s been all hers, doesn’t have eyes for anyone else.
Charleigh is criminally hot herself.
And tonight, she knows she won’t even be sleeping when he gets home.
She’s too riled.
Fucking Monica and Kathleen. Well, Monica anyway. Kathleen is too dumb to be that mean, that manipulative, but her chiming in didn’t help matters.
After the third round of Bunco, they took their usual break. Lettie trotted out the tray of grasshoppers, frothy green liquid wobbling in crystal glasses.
“So,” Charleigh ventured, her voice slurry with booze, “anyone know anything about the new family in town? The Swifts, or whatever they call themselves?”
She was standing while everyone else was seated, scattered around on the plush sectionals. Charleigh’s elbow was hitched on the mantel, drawing all eyes her way; she knew full well how her new Bill Blass jeans flattered her, the way they hugged her ass.I got Bill Blass on my ass, she joked earlier to Jackson when she called him right before the party.
“Uh, yeah. You seen the husband? He’ssodishy,” Peggy Beckworth piped up, her pitch-black hair swooped to one side as she took a stinging drag off her Virgina Slim. “Saw the whole family at the farmers market last weekend. They look poor, but he’s rich in the looks department.” Her red-stained lips curved into a grin.
“He’s totally smokin’.” The sound of Monica’s throaty voice weighing in made Charleigh’s stomach clench. “I was getting the car filled yesterday, and he pulled into the gas station. Knewit was him becauseSwift Custom—guess it’s his business—was painted on the side of his truck.”
“Okaaaay,” Charleigh drawled. “So, the husband’s hot?” She tossed up her hand to say,So what?
“And Blair likes the daughter. Jane or something.” Monica’s eyes gripped Charleigh’s with her own, clearly seeking a reaction. Monica knows that Nellie having no friends and being all but shut out by Blair years ago is Charleigh’s Achilles’ heel.
Like mother, like daughter.
Monica Chambers, the queen bee of Longview. Always has been. And even though Charleigh and Alexander’s wealth unseated the Chambers years ago as one of the town’s richest families, Monica is still in charge. Of everything. And everyone. They all think she’s some kind of goddess, but Charleigh doesn’t even find her particularly attractive. One might describe her as a classic beauty—all fine bones and refined angles, a frosty blond with just enough hairspray to lock in her hot-rollered hair—but the rich-bitch look makes Charleigh’s skin crawl.
Anger made Charleigh’s throat close up; she shot Monica a tight smile.
“Said she’s going out with Jane tomorrow night. Picking her up. And Charleigh,” she said, her voice tinged with haughtiness, going in for the kill, “they live out on some farm, out by whereyougrew up.” She crinkled her nose at the mention of Charleigh’s childhood home.
Monica never passes up an opportunity to bring upCharleigh’s impoverished past, reminding her that she’s not one of them, not really. No matter how much money she has, she never will be.
Charleigh lifted her drink, then swirled the mint-green cocktail around in the glass before downing the rest. Damn it was good, tasted like candy. But more than that, drinking it gave her mouth something to do other than respond to Monica’s taunts.
From across the room, Kathleen sat perched on an ottoman, her slender figure encased in a flattering, flowing red silk gown.
“I didn’t want to tell anyone,” Kathleen started, her eyes roving around the room conspiratorially, “but I went out to their place and bought one of her potions. And…it’s working?”
“Whosepotions? What are you talking about?” Charleigh’s words streamed out of her, high and reedy, desperate; she wished she could vacuum them back up.
“The wife. Name’s Abigail. She’s kinda pretty but in a down-home way?”
