Claire picked up one of Amanda’s bags and effortlessly slung it over her shoulder. “Must make it a bit of a challenge to find anyone taller than you. Or does height matter in someone you’re dating?”
“No, it really doesn’t matter to me.” Funny how people assumed, probably because of her youth or her looks, that she dated a lot when in truth she was as celibate these days as Mother Teresa.
“Good. Me either. Sorry, I’m rambling a bit. Must be this desert air. It seems to loosen people up or something. Your aunt asked me to pick you up. I rented a car for the week so I could get the hell out of this place if I need to.”
Amanda strode alongside Claire, rolling her bag behind her. “That sounds amazing. I swear I’ll go nuts if I have to stay on the Strip for the entire week, and I haven’t even seen it yet. Just the idea of it is already making me crazy.”
“Well, I’m with you kid. Take my car anytime you want.”
“Thank you, Claire. It was very nice of you to pick me up.”
“I think Shannon just wanted a friendly face here to greet you. Besides, it gave me an excuse to get out of the hotel and make myself useful.”
“You can use me as an excuse anytime.” Thank God there was a kindred soul in this group, Amanda thought with relief. She didn’t want to spend the week in bars or gambling or shopping. The week was supposed to be a bonding experience for the wedding party and the brides, but not if it meant constant crowds and nonstop drinking and foolishness and spending money she didn’t have. Amanda felt far older than her years, always had. She was happiest with a book in her hand, or strolling through a museum or art gallery, or chatting with people about her passion—nineteenth- and early twentieth-century architecture. She didn’t even know how one went about going a little crazy and sowing wild oats, or whatever people in their twenties were supposed to do. She was beyond caring what people thought. Well, almost . . .
“So,” Claire said as she opened the trunk of a black Ford Fusion and deposited Amanda’s bags into it. “The last time I saw you, you were heading off to college. Stanford was it?”
“Yes. God, that was eight years ago. I remember you now. Shannon threw a big going-away party for me. I absolutely hated being the center of all that attention. I felt like some kind of debutante going off to school or something.”
Claire walked around and opened the passenger door, the little chivalrous ritual surprising Amanda. Wow. Chivalry in butches still exists. She smiled to herself. Coming from anyone but Claire, the gesture would have seemed contrived and silly. But Claire had such a modest, polite and efficient purpose about her, it seemed perfectly natural that she should open a door for her. Amanda had no trouble imagining her as a doctor. Competent and caring, totally unpretentious.
“I remember you as a very shy teenager. But Shannon says you’ve thrived at college and turned into a very confident, strong woman.” She gave Amanda an appraising look that was thorough but purely academic. “I can see she was right. You’re nothing like the kid I remember.”
It was true. She had grown into a confident, capable woman, but she’d had some difficult times where she’d felt anything but. Jennifer had sucked away some of that fire and confidence. She’d been making great gains over the past eighteen months in getting back to herself. Getting strong again. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve been in school forever, but I’m in the home stretch now.”
Claire started the car and carefully backed out of the parking spot. “You’re doing your PhD at the U. of C., right?”
“Yes. I finished my masters at Stanford, took a year off to try and earn some money. Came back to Chicago last fall to start my doctorate in art history.”
“Art history. Wow. That sounds fascinating!”
“Really?” Amanda chuckled cynically. “When people find out my major, that’s usually when they start snoring.”
“Not at all. I think it’s wonderful. What’s your specialty?”
“Architecture.”
Claire gave her a sidelong, appreciative glance, and Amanda’s mood instantly brightened. It was rare to receive such genuine interest in a subject she absolutely adored.
“It’s the architecture that made me settle in Chicago after medical school.”
“You’re not from Chicago?”
“Detroit. Well, Bloomfield Hills to be exact, but I went to school at Northwestern and stayed. I love it in Chicago.”
“I know what you mean. I sure missed it when I was in California. Once you get the Great Lakes in your blood, it stays with you, you know? It’s just such a unique area of our country, all that fresh water and fertile land. And we’ve had some of the best and brightest urban architects in the entire world call Chicago home. Daniel Burnham, William Holabird, Bruce Graham.”
“I wouldn’t think of living anywhere else.”
Amanda said after a moment, “I don’t think I ever will again either. I guess California seems like the place to be when you’re young, but it just doesn’t have the same bones as Chicago. It doesn’t have the same permanence and the deep roots, you know?”
“I do know what you mean.” Claire chuckled lightly. “Sorry, it’s the way you said California appeals to young people. You’re still awfully young. Doesn’t it appeal to you?”
It wasn’t unusual for people to underestimate Amanda because of her age, or to hold it against her. She was used to it in her line of study, but it still rankled. “The appeal was never really there for me. I like old things, things with character and history and permanence. You don’t have to be older to be wise, or to know what you like and don’t like. I know what I like.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. There are many wines meant to be drunk young.”
Amanda smiled. She wasn’t upset with Claire. She’d just wanted to make a point. “Okay, being compared to wine is a first, but I like it.”
“Good, because I don’t mean to insult you. I’m a bit of a connoisseur. In fact, I think wine is one of the world’s great inventions.”
“I agree totally. But I guess you could say I’m the opposite of a Bordeaux.”
Claire licked her lips. “Let’s see. You’re a Napa Merlot. Or maybe a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.”
“Crisp and fresh. Bold, young flavors. I’ll take it!”
They both laughed like they were old friends. For the briefest instant, Amanda almost wished this older, intelligent, accomplished woman were hitting on her—accepting her as a peer, as worthy of being a potential lover. She didn’t want Claire to dismiss her as a lightweight, a youngster.
It might as well have been noon as midnight for the traffic in town. Amanda’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as they neared the Strip with all its dazzling bright lights and heavy traffic. Blinking and flashing and dancing in crazy patterns, the lights were blinding. People packed the sidewalks, cars cruised along slowly so the drivers could gawk or be gawked at in their Beemers and Ferraris. It was a veritable human zoo come alive in a video game. “Oh, my God, this place is unbelievable.”
“Does give you new appreciation for what we have back home, doesn’t it?”
“Everything is so transient here. I can’t believe they tear down these hotels every thirty or forty years and build new ones like they’re disposable or something. There’s no history, just a generation or maybe two. God, I feel like I’m on a Disney movie set or something.”
“I know. Incredible, isn’t it? Nothing’s real.” Claire reached over and patted Amanda’s arm, and it was a comforting, companionable gesture that sent a tiny, sizzling jolt through Amanda. “I have a feeling we’re the odd women out in this group, but tell you what. Let’s help each other try to make the best of it, okay?”
“Deal. And if one of us falters, the other has to pick her up and drag her along!”
Claire laughed, shaking her head lightly. “Do we need to develop signals or code words?”
“Yeah. Help! Will that work?”
“Yeah, that’ll work just fine.”
C
hapter Six
Dani
Dani’s silence over brunch was deliberate. She was grateful Shannon and Jordan were monopolizing the conversation. She didn’t feel much like talking, or much like being in the moment, and so she was present but absent, immersed in feeling sorry for herself. The headhunter working on her behalf to find another job had made no progress so far, which meant she wouldn’t be able to keep them above water much longer. The thought of having to confess her failure to Shannon tied her stomach in knots. What the hell was she going to do? She had to find a job, borrow money, do something, because she couldn’t fathom losing everything they’d built together so far, everything they’d planned for the future. Would Shannon even stick with a loser like her? Was she finally about to fulfill her parents’ prediction that a girl from a working poor family in Nebraska would never amount to anything? She wanted to throw up. She would not—could not—let her family be right. She showed them before that she was a success and she’d simply have to find a way to do it again.
“Honey, you’re hardly eating,” Shannon whispered, full of concern. “Is your stomach bothering you again?”
Shannon had noticed her habit lately of rubbing her stomach. It was her way of trying to calm the churning within. “I’m fine, darling. Really.” With concealed effort, Dani began shoveling the omelet into her mouth. Oh yes, she was good at putting on façades, like stuffing her face when she didn’t feel like eating, continuing to spend money she didn’t have. She could be an actor, and she would do whatever it took to get through this week intact, to keep Shannon’s love, to have one more good week at least before the seams of her world split wide open.
It was Sunday, their first full day in Vegas, and talk had turned to how they were all going to spend it.
Across the table, Jordan shot Dani one of those mischievous glances she knew so well—the kind that pleaded for some fun. Fun with Jordan these days was pretty tame. Domestic bliss had clipped Dani’s wings, and just as well, too. Jordan was tough to keep up with, carrying on sometimes like she was still twenty-five years old. It didn’t bother Dani that Jordan liked women and parties and maybe a drink or two too many. She’d seen Jordan smoke the odd joint too, had even joined her in it a few times before she got involved with Shannon. Jordan sometimes joked about their B.S. days—Before Shannon—and Dani simply retorted that the B.S. really just stood for bullshit. They were bullshit days that she had no desire to return to. Being grown up and sharing her life with Shannon was way better than any drug or booze high, and certainly better than one-night sex with strangers. Dani gave Jordan a secret smile. There was nothing hotter than sex with her Shannon as a matter of fact, and nothing more satisfying than knowing they would spend the rest of their lives together. Jordan could have her life.
In sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer. Dani grew sick inside as the vow she would be saying in a few days repeated in her mind. She’d never given much thought to the words before because they were just words to her. Words to be taken for granted, that had no real meaning. Now the words hammered hard at her. Now they meant something. Now they were a test, because it was easy when life was going your way.
“Well?” Jordan prompted.
“Well, what? What plans are you brewing in that oversexed, alcohol-infused brain of yours?” Dani asked slyly.
Jordan smirked. “Nothing that requires sex or alcohol, believe it or not.”
Shannon gave Dani a sidelong warning glance in jest, and Dani squeezed her lover’s thigh reassuringly.
“Really? God, are we going to sit around and read a book or something?”
“Very funny, Berringer. I was going to suggest a little blackjack. If you’re up to the challenge, that is.”
Cards always sent a little surge of adrenaline through Dani. She’d come to Vegas a couple of times with Jordan and they’d spent countless hours gambling. “Oh, I’m up to that little challenge, my friend!” She nudged Shannon. “What about you, honey?”
“I want to spend some time at the pool catching up with my lovely niece.” Shannon winked across the table at Amanda. “Even though she just lives on the other side of the city, I hardly ever see her.”
Amanda blushed a little before flicking a meaningful glance at Claire. “The pool sounds wonderful, but Claire, please say you’ll join us.”
Claire shrugged and set her fork down. “If the options are lounging by the pool or playing blackjack, I’ll take the pool, thank you.”
“It’s settled, then,” Dani announced. “Us degenerates will hit the tables while you ladies hit the pool. Shall we meet for a drink before dinner?”
Shannon rose and kissed Dani on the lips. “Sounds good, sugar. And don’t lose your shirt, unless we’re up in the room and I can enjoy the view.”
In the casino, Dani grabbed Jordan’s arm to halt her from taking a seat at a fifty-dollar table.
Jordan scrutinized her, puzzlement written all over her face. “We always play at the fifty-dollar tables. What’s up?”
Dani hedged. She was too ashamed to tell Jordan the truth about her job. Friends for over a dozen years, back from the days when neither had much money, Jordan had come out clearly ahead in the wealth department. Not that it was a race, but Jordan was undoubtedly working on her second million by now and maybe even her third. They didn’t talk about money; that’d be below them. It was expected and accepted that they were both more than comfortable, and anything less would be shocking and shameful. “I’m not feeling especially lucky today,” Dani lied. “Let’s try the twenty-five dollar tables.”
“All right. Whatever.” Jordan nabbed two seats at the cheaper table nearby.
Without preamble, Dani said, “You seem to be back to your old self today.” She’d noticed Jordan’s sullenness at the airport but had been too consumed by her own problems to address it at the time.
Jordan placed two twenty-five dollar chips in the betting circle to Dani’s one. “I was a little out of sorts yesterday, but I think I’ve got my mojo back. I’ve even decided to stay here with you guys for the week instead of at my condo.”
“Great. What made you change your mind?”
Jordan shrugged one shoulder, signaled the dealer with her other hand that she would sit on her seventeen. “I just don’t feel like being by myself.”
Dani laughed cynically. “Since when are you ever by yourself anyway? You always have some hot little number on your arm when you’re not busy with work.” She signaled the dealer for a hit on her fourteen and promptly busted with a ten. “Shit.”
“True, but hey, I’m trying to ease up a little on that stuff. You know, have some down time once in a while.”
“Yeah, I know exactly what kind of down time you’re talking about. More like, going down on some little Pop Tart, isn’t that what you mean?”
Jordan slugged Dani’s arm and whispered, “Christ, I’m not that much of a slut!”
“If you say so.”
“I’m serious, Dani. Time for me to switch things up a little, that’s all I’m saying. After this week, this tiger is losing her stripes.”
Dani had never heard her friend talk like this before. And if she wasn’t kidding, then something must have prompted this sudden transformation. She couldn’t remember a time when Jordan wasn’t dating or on the prowl, and always for a younger woman. “What happened? Some cute young thing ask you what it was like before the Internet existed? Or worse, computers?”
Jordan gave her a look that could melt a glacier. “Very funny. I’m serious. I feel like I’m starting to get a little old for certain things these days. I don’t know. Like maybe it’s time I behaved myself and went out with people my own age.”
A cocktail waitress tapped them on the shoulder. She was young, red-haired and doe-eyed. Her skimpy costume thrust her ample breasts in their direction, and both Dani’s and Jordan’s eyes dropped reflexively. “Would you ladies care for a drink?”
“Sure!” Jordan enthused, her eyes riveted on the young woma
n’s breasts. Fresh color rose to her cheeks, and Dani simply couldn’t imagine a chaste version of her friend. It was unfathomable. “I’d love a mimosa.”
“Make that two,” Dani added before turning her attention back to Jordan. “Christ, maybe she’s got a used car she could sell you too.”
“Aren’t you just full of the one-liners today, Berringer. For your information, there is nothing she could offer me that I would want. Other than a drink.”
Dani placed another chip on the table. “Get outta here. You’re toying with me.”
“Nope. It’s true.” Jordan placed her bet and watched the cards being dealt. Another winning hand for her, another losing one for Dani.
“Crap,” Dani grumbled.
“Since when do you care about losing a couple of hands? Jeez, you’ve only lost fifty bucks. It’s not the end of the world.”
Christ, it might as well be. A couple of months ago, fifty bucks was coffee change. But that was when she was a senior manager at one of Chicago’s most successful marketing companies, pulling in a couple of hundred grand a year, plus bonuses. Now she was just another jobless sap who’d been chewed up and spit out by the shitty economy.
She deliberately ignored Jordan’s comment, not wanting to tip her off that something was wrong. She gamely put another chip in the circle. “Anyway, what’s with this new look-but-don’t-touch policy of yours? Are you seriously ending your cougar days?”
“Seriously thinking about it, anyway. Or maybe not even dating at all for a while. I don’t know yet.”
“Wow! I don’t know what to say. I’m having trouble imagining it.”
Dani had never understood the appeal of Jordan’s lifestyle. On the face of it, it seemed exciting—always a hot-looking young woman on her arm, jetting off for weekends somewhere and eating at the most expensive restaurants. Jordan’s money, intelligence and her exotic looks insured she had no shortage of lady friends. She knew how to pour on the charm too. But didn’t she ever want good conversation? Companionship? A partnership with someone? Didn’t she ever want to settle down like everyone else? They’d never talked about it before, but now that Jordan had opened up the subject, Dani was dying to know more.
The Wedding Party Page 4