“Perhaps another day, two at best. I’m cataloguing their entire swimwear collection for women. No matter what, I’ll be home in time for Harry’s reception, though.” Gwenyth smiled into the phone, her excitement radiating over the connection. “I’m hoping if I do a good job they’ll ask me back next month to do the same for the men’s swimwear line!”
“I’m sure they will, sugar. You’re more talented than even me,” Verlene admitted with a touch of pride.
Gwenyth blushed. “You go too far, Grandmama. No one is that good.”
Verlene chuckled. “You are, honey. By the way, did I mention that Sam Tremont will be here the day after tomorrow?”
Gwenyth’s heart rate accelerated. A fact that annoyed her mightily. “So soon?” She cleared her throat, aware of the fact that her tone had risen a few shrill notches. “So soon? I thought he was coming into town only for the night of Harry’s reception?”
Verlene sounded amused. “Said something on the phone about seeing you in the paper.” She clucked her tongue. “The boy was awfully concerned about the skirmish you had with Webster Carr. Claims he’s gonna kill the man.”
Gwenyth was disgusted with herself for being so elated by Verlene’s proclamation. She ruthlessly squelched the traitorous feeling of pleasure that arose from the knowledge that Sam still cared about her. Besides, he’d always thought of her as a—gag—little sister. He’d never viewed her in the same amorous light she’d seen him in. Gwenyth sighed. Sam’s anger was no doubt a manifestation of his continued, brotherly feelings of affection toward her. Well, she thought morosely, he could keep them.
“Uh huh. So like I was saying, Grandmama, Isabelle Vantry has already been dropping me a bunch of not so subtle hints that she still needs a photographer for the men’s wear shoot next month.” Gwenyth squirmed restlessly in the hotel room’s chair. Whether it was from worrying that Verlene had failed to pick up the cue and drop the subject of Sam Tremont altogether or from the fact that her underwear was wedging up her butt in the worst way, she couldn’t say. “Do you think she might ask me back?”
Verlene made an unladylike snort reminiscent of the exasperated sound Elvis would have made if asked by a reporter whether peanut butter really did go well with bananas in a sandwich. “Of course she and Tom Vantry will ask you back, sugar. How can you doubt it?”
Gwenyth shrugged her shoulders, though Verlene couldn’t see that over the telephone connection. “I guess I’m just nervous, Grandmama. This is my first really big account as a solo artist for Jones & Jones. Most of the big names want you to do the majority of the work.”
“That’s only because they aren’t aware of your talents until they see for themselves how voluptuous you can make all their gangly, rail-thin models look.” Verlene chuckled. “You even made that AAA cup model Vendetta look like Jane Mansfield for the ‘Kiss Me’ lingerie line last fall.”
Gwenyth grimaced at the memory. That task had been no small feat. Like most fashion models, Vendetta had been shaped like a twelve-year-old boy, not like the thirty-something year old women the “Kiss Me” line had been hawking their underwear to. But somehow Gwenyth had given Vendetta breasts. And hips. And curves. Hell, the ads were so good she’d even bought a few pairs of the tacky scraps of silk and lace for her own use. Remembering as much, she shifted on the chair again, angling her butt in such a way that made it easier to pull the wedgie out from between her rear bumper cheeks. “Well Grandmama, perhaps you’re right.”
“Of course I am, sugar.”
Gwenyth’s name was finally starting to get noticed. She was at long last jumping out from behind Verlene Jones’ formidable shadow and casting one of her own. Some assignments, like the “Kiss Me” line were real tough, but sometimes they weren’t too bad. Such was the case in her current assignment. Luckily, Epiphany—the model she was working the most with for the Vantry’s new line—was slightly better endowed than Vendetta. Epiphany was a full A cup. And if she sat just so, she even had a curve or two.
“I appreciate your confidence in me.” Gwenyth glanced at her watch and sighed. “But I better go. I’m supposed to meet up with Candy at Sherry’s Place in an hour.”
“What’s Candy doing in Los Angeles?”
Gwenyth groaned. “Don’t ask. Let’s just say that her stint as a journalist ended the day after it began. She claims it’s too dangerous.” Gwenyth chuckled. The affection she harbored for her closest friend was an apparent one. “Candy’s decided to write again—for now. But in the meantime, she’s auditioning for a part in that new soap opera,Nights of Ecstasy.”
“An actress now, eh?”
“Something like that.”
Gwenyth’s reflecting over the telephone conversation she’d had with Verlene came to an abrupt halt when she spied Candy enthusiastically waving at her through the plain, undecorated windows of Sherry’s Place. Gwenyth smiled back. Good, she thought. No more standing in line. Her best friend had already acquired them a table.
A few minutes later, after assuring Candy repeatedly that her eye looked a lot worse than it felt, Gwenyth accepted her drink from the waiter, then proceeded to gulp down a huge portion of her iced tea. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty until Jon had set the glass in front of her. She absently noted that Liz wasn’t working today, but said nothing of it. The staff here tended toward the melodramatic. If she asked Jon about Liz, he’d only assume that she found his service somehow faulty.
“Slow down already, Gwen, or you’ll have to pee before our burgers get here.” Candy blew out a bubble as she watched Gwenyth chug down her drink. She smiled bemusedly as she continued to crack away at the gum. “I can’t say for certain, but I really think I did a good job at the reading today.”
Gwenyth set her glass down and grinned back at Candy. “Yeah? That’s so cool, Can. I hope you get it.”
Candy let out a dramatic breath of air as she ran her fingers tersely through her shiny black hair. “I just don’t know if I want it,” she mumbled.
Gwenyth raised a brow, but said nothing. Candy sighed again, then gave her the best explanation she could come up with. “I mean acting is fun and all, but it doesn’t call to me the way writing does.” She shrugged absently, a thoughtful look permeating her features. “I suppose I’ll stick with the romance novels until something comes along that calls to me more.”
Gwenyth shook her head. She wasn’t certain if she should be irritated or amused by her best friend’s lack of direction. “Candy, when are you going to realize that writing romantic novelsisyour calling?” She sipped from her glass of tea as she studied her friend. “I never see you get as worked up over anything as you do over one of your books.”
Candy grimaced. “It’s the truth. I know it.”
“Then what the problem?”
She considered that question as she blew another bubble. The echo of the popping sound when it broke was scarcely heard over the plethora of conversations going on around them. “I’ve written twenty books in the past eight years. In those books I have come up with like, I don’t know, maybe a hundred different ways of fucking.” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Quite frankly, I’m running out of ideas.”
Candy uncrossed her arms and implored Gwenyth with her eyes. “I’m in the middle of writing this totally hot script, okay. It’s about a nun who falls in love with an escaped convict.”
