The Way U Look Tonight

by Dianne Castell

  Georgette blinked a few times to make sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her, that her sister was indeed in O’Fallon’s Landing. That alone was astounding. That Rachel—in pristine white blouse, pressed khakis and matching mules and purse—was in a bar in Tennessee was incredible. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  Rachel huffed. “Mother sent me, of course. Why else would I be in this dive? She’s busy with the wedding and wrestling with the florist over my orchids. It’s so awful. We distinctly ordered peach, and the ones they showed us are much too pink. I’m too emotional to handle this catastrophe with only a month to the wedding, so I was sent to deal with you instead.”

  “Deal?” Ob, goodie, Georgette thought as Rachel tossed her shimmering auburn hair in a way Georgette would never master, no matter how many makeovers she had. Rachel glared at Mike. “Excuse us, we have private family matters to discuss.” She pulled Georgette off the stool onto her stilettos. “And you and I need to talk right now.”

  Teetering, Georgette stumbled across the room as Rachel hauled her toward a table in the corner where only one man, dressed in a blue polo shirt, sat sipping a beer. Rachel took a napkin, dusted the chair, gave a quick disapproving glance that only the rich and ultraperfect can do, then sat and pulled Georgette down with her. “So,” she started in. “When are you coming home and putting an end to this insane nonsense of running all over after Keefe O’Fallon like some besotted teenager with half a brain? When Mother called you last night and demanded to know where you were she nearly fainted when she found out.”

  Georgette massaged her left foot and said, “I think I broke an ankle.”

  “It’ll heal. This place is disgusting. Mother would be horrified. I’m horrified. Why are you wearing spandex? Spandex is so . . . tawdry. And lime green? Your chest looks like mounded Jell-O. And green’s a disastrous color on you. You need taupe and cream, maybe a splash of persimmon.”

  “Like I told Mother last night, I’m not coming home.”

  Rachel leaned across the table a little farther, her mouth pulled into a perfect tight crimson bow—from lipstick or anger it was hard to tell—her eyes shrunk to the size of frozen peas. “Georgette, you’re embarrassing yourself and me and Mother and Father and Rex—for God’s sake think of Rex—with this foul behavior of yours.”

  “So tell me, how is the faultless soon-to-be addition to our family?”

  Rachel sat back and tsked. “He’s wonderful, of course. His father just made him partner in the law firm, and there’s talk of running for state representative that will lead to running for a senate seat in the future. We’ll live in Washington.”

  Rex was a slimy pig. He hit on Georgette when she was in her big girl state, which meant he must have hit on every female in Georgia. When Georgette told Rachel she’d brushed it aside, saying it was Georgette’s overactive imagination because of her lack of understanding of men. “God help the state of Georgia,” slipped from her mouth.

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

  “God bless the great state of Georgia. I’m sure Rex will be a fine senator.”

  “And I will be the perfect senator’s wife, of course. This is all so exciting.” For a moment Rachel actually grinned, then sophistication and proper behavior resurfaced, shutting down the full smile to a thin-lipped smirk. “Your bridesmaid dress needs a final fitting; I think you’ve lost more weight. There are two more showers at the country club for me that Mother’s friends insisted on, though etiquette dictates the timing is completely unacceptable. Then there’s a luncheon and a dinner and—”

  “All of which you can handle fine without me. I’ll be in the way. You have a maid of honor. You’re having yellow chiffon and tiaras and ten other bridesmaids. I won’t be missed.”

  Rachel folded her hands together on the tabletop. “You’re my sister, for crying out loud. How will that look? What will people think? What will the Montgomerys think?”

  “Me being in your wedding was not what you wanted but felt obligated to do. We both know that.”

  “Perhaps, but then you were so . . . large. But now you’re not offensive, so all’s well. You look pretty good, in fact, except for your ears; they’re still too big. Why didn’t you have the doctors fix your ears?”

  Georgette resisted the urge to feel her ears. Were they really too big? That was the one part of her she thought was okay. “Rachel, I intend on staying here for a while.”

  Her sister’s face pinched in a tight frown, and she drummed her fingers on the table. “Why do you insist on torturing me like this?”

  Georgette eyed the drumming fingers. How could they be so alike in some ways and totally different in others? Same genes, same upbringing, same schools.

  Rachel continued, “It’s still that Lex Zandor thing, isn’t it? You’re obsessed, you know that? You’ve lost the dim-witted competition, and it’s time to forget about it.”

  Georgette’s stomach cramped, and her shoulders drooped as she felt herself sink into the chair like she always did when Rachel and Mother were around and harping on her about her looks, her friends, her grades, her ideas that never seemed to mesh with theirs. “I didn’t have all this work done on me for nothing. I’m going to get Keefe O’Fallon to pay attention to me, and people will notice. For once I want my day in the sun. I want to see what it feels like.”

  “Lex Zandor is a character on a soap opera. He’s a fantasy that didn’t work out. Come home, make Mother happy.”

  “You getting married to Rex-the-wonder-boy is what’s making her happy.”

  Rachel patted her hair and assumed an air of importance, even more important than usual. “She’s beyond happy over this engagement to one of the finest families in Georgia. It’s her dream come true, what she’s groomed us for. I imagine you’ll meet someone at the wedding and get married someday, too, and be content.”

  “I don’t want to be just content.”

  “That’s painfully obvious. You have no sense of what’s important in life.” Rachel checked her watch. “I have a cab waiting out front to get back to the airport. I so hope Mother has this orchid situation straightened out. I’ll tell her to expect you in two days. We have a list of things that need to be done, and with your accounting ability you’re good at accomplishing tasks. I still can’t believe you quit your job for the likes of this.” She swept her hand over the room like a reigning queen.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s just a sisterly observation. And for heaven sake sit up straight. You always did have a unique knack for looking . . . ordinary.” She stood. “I’ll have an airplane ticket waiting for you at the terminal. Be sure you’re on that plane in two days or I’ll never forgive you, you hear me, Georgette, never and neither will Mother.” Without looking back Rachel pranced out the door.

  Feeling as if a tornado had swept through the place, Georgette sat back in her chair and pulled in a deep breath. What just happened? The same thing that had happened for the last twenty-nine years of her life, Rachel and Mother. They ruled everything they touched, and that included her, Dad and Ralph. Course, Ralph got to run away from time to time until the dog warden found him and dragged him home, tail between his legs.

  All that waited for Georgette back home was unemployment, Rachel saying “I told you so” and the wedding from hell. Gone were Georgette’s dreams of making everyone sit up and take notice and being someone important. She wanted a big chocolate sundae with double whipped cream to drown her misery, but that would so mess up her liquid diet and put on two pounds just by looking at it. What the hell was she going to do?

  “Hello,” said the tall man from the next table as he put a glass of white wine in front of Georgette. He took a seat across the table. “My name is—”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “I’m sure you’re very nice, but I’m not in the mood for male companionship right now. Go away. My life is in the toilet.”

  “Maybe I can help you fish it out.” He smiled, his black mustache
barely moving. The rest of him didn’t budge either, and he made himself comfortable as he parked across from her. He smoothed back his hair. “I’m not here to hit on you but to help and not just by buying you a glass of wine. I overheard your conversation with your sister, and I can see why you really wanted to get that weekend with Keefe O’Fallon. She’s obviously the shining star in your family, has been your whole life, and you’d like to try it once, am I right?”

  “Oversimplified but close enough. But since I lost that contest what does it matter? Unless I come up with a loophole where no one ever has to pay income taxes again my days of notoriety are history.”

  He leaned across the paint-chipped table and kept his voice under the din to some bluesy song humming through the saloon. “I work for a magazine, and they sent me here to get a story on Keefe O’Fallon, but he’s not cooperating. If you can get close to him, find out what he’s really like, you can write the story for me. Your name will be all over as the woman who exposed the man behind the star. I’ll pay you, get you interviewed on Entertainment Today and radio shows and the like. The only thing is I get to publish the story in my magazine first.”

  “What is your magazine?”

  “Uh, TV Unplugged.” He grinned. “We’re new. Anyway, this story will launch our publication. Great exposure for us and for you. You’re a pretty fresh face, a new voice, and this is a new story.”

  “If I do something like that my family will go completely ballistic.”

  “A little revenge for making your life miserable?” He arched his brow. “Least they’ll notice they have two daughters and not just one for a change.”

  As much as that stung it was the truth. Everything was Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. No matter what she did it was always perfect. “And how would I get close to him? I’ve even threatened to go to the papers and say that stupid contest was rigged, but I’m getting nowhere fast. I’m not his favorite person at the moment.”

  “There are other ways to get what you want.” The man nodded at the table where the local-yokel had sat earlier. “The guy in the captain’s hat who was there couldn’t take his eyes off you, and from what I saw he’s a good friend of Keefe’s. Getting close to Keefe O’Fallon’s friends is a great way to get close to the man himself. It’s a perfect in. Keefe will trust you by association, especially if you apologize and make nice to him and his family. That’ll get you into his house, and you can talk to him, his family, see what’s going on and what makes the man tick. You should have won that contest. You’re incredibly lovely, you know. I personally think the whole Fantasy Weekend thing was rigged just like you said, so you have a right to the fame you were robbed of.”

  Georgette fluffed her hair like she’d seen Rachel do, but it felt awkward. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

  “Incredible, and this is your chance to get even with Keefe and Sins and Secrets and to get on your parents’ radar as the daughter who takes control of her life and makes things happen. They might be embarrassed, but they’ll know you have moxie and are someone to be reckoned with and not just summoned home when a situation arises.”

  He took a cell phone from his pocket. “This has a digital recorder device built in; it records up to five hundred hours. Your purse has an open top. Just click on the recorder. The play and record buttons are on the side so you don’t get confused with making a call. When you’re in the O’Fallon house you can record everything, and no one will suspect.”

  “I just do it when Keefe’s around.”

  “And his dad. He’s a pretty interesting character, and I bet he has lots of information about Keefe and the family that would make for an interesting story. Record everything they say in case you want to use it later. You never know what little tidbits of information can grow into something more. Better safe than regret not getting something right.”

  “This is kind of underhanded.”

  “It could land you a whole new career in TV. New stars are born like this. Someone sees you on an interview or reads your stuff, and bam, you got yourself a nice spot on a national network. The best revenge is living well.”

  Georgette eyed the recorder.

  “You’ll never get this chance again, Georgette. TV Today is just what you need.”

  “Thought you said the magazine was called TV Unplugged. “

  “Yeah, right. The column you’d be writing for is, uh, TV Today. We’re better than all the other TV magazines out there. If you do a good job, the column could be yours on a permanent basis. Just think of the limelight, dressing up in pretty clothes, going to all the best places, chauffeurs, meeting important people, your pretty face everywhere. And you do have a lovely face.”

  He sat back and shrugged. “If you don’t do it, I’ll just find someone else around here and give them the chance. You deserve a break. The gold ring is yours for the taking, Georgette. Grab it.”

  Using his index finger, he pushed the recorder across the table toward her and looked her in the eyes. His were gray, blank, unreadable. “I’m Bob Smith. You can call me every night and play the recording for me so I know what’s going on. I really need the information now so I can put this all together and make it work.”

  “I’m going to need two weeks to write my article. I’d rather meet up with you then.”

  His eyes went from soft to steel, not that anyone else would notice, but telling people they owed the IRS money had let her witness that look a lot. His mustache twitched. “Ten days. But call me every night and let me know how it’s going. Tell me what you find out. My number’s on the phone. I guess that’ll do, but ten days is the limit.”

  He relaxed a little, though it looked more forced than for real. “So, tell me, what do you do when you’re not sitting here being a beauty queen?”

  “Taxes.”

  He laughed deep in his throat, and her skin prickled. It wasn’t a nice laugh but more of a gotcha kind of laugh. “Well, this is your big chance to do more than other people’s taxes, Georgette.”

  Except something felt off, as if Bob was taking a deduction he wasn’t entitled to. Then again, she was probably overreacting, and Bob was a fine person who just wanted a story and was willing to get a little pushy to get it. Her experiences with men were nil before her great fix-up, paint-up and beautification project—unless she counted that time in Larry Bender’s dorm room when she lost her virginity and decided sex was not all that it was cracked up to be.

  “Okay,” she said. This was her chance, her time to do something different. If her family didn’t like it, too bad. She didn’t like them a lot of times either. It was their turn to see what it felt like. “People report on celebrities all the time, so it’s not that devious. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get that guy in the captain’s hat to go out with me.”

  Bob took her hand and smiled. “Georgette, with your looks that won’t be a problem.”

  Then why did she suddenly have this queasy feeling as if her problems were just beginning and she should run like the devil and get the heck out of here? She took her hand away. “Maybe I shouldn’t—”

  “And live in Rachel’s shadow for the rest of your life? This is your chance, right?”

  Georgette took the recorder and put it in her purse. She couldn’t go back to her old life without trying something new. She couldn’t let all her efforts and resolutions about changing count for nothing. “Be back here in ten days and I’ll have all that you need.”

  He stood and grinned. “I’m counting on it, Georgette.”

  Chapter 5

  Keefe followed Mrs. Stanley around a small wooden sign in front of the gym that said Actors rehearsing. Stay out. He opened the white doors with Go Rockets painted in the school colors of green and gold and let Stanley hobble into the gym. The place smelled of musty wax just as it had fifteen years ago when he was there practicing for one play or another. He followed Stanley, the thump of her crutches on the hardwood echoing off the concrete block walls as they made their way toward the elevated stage at
the front. He recognized everyone standing there. He’d known them all his life.

  “Well, here he is,” Stanley said to the eight actors. “Told you I’d get him to come. Now I got to run. I’ll see you all in two weeks or so.” She turned to Keefe. “If you have any questions, just do what you think best. I trust you. I’ll be visiting my . . . uh, sister for a week or so, something to do while I’m hobbling about. I sure can’t be jumping on and off the stage to direct.”

  She flashed a toothy grin, then scurried toward the side door. He’d never seen someone move so fast on crutches, and hadn’t she been favoring her left foot before and not her right?

  The door closed with a bang behind her, and Keefe eyed the cast. They were older than he remembered, probably sixty-five or so now. There was Joe from the hardware store, who had given him his first after-school job, Nellie, who had run the newspaper and given his acting great reviews, Nick, the retired sheriff who had let him off with more warnings than he deserved, and Betty, who had taught second grade for probably all her life. Hell, she’d taught him how to read. Blanche used to wait tables at Slim’s and always served him extra ribs, and Frank had pumped gas by day and played a mean guitar at Slim’s at night; more than likely he still did. Roberta and Ty had been tellers at the bank and had taught him how to balance his checkbook.

  “How’s the play coming?”

  “How you been?” Joe asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Okay, and how have you all been?” They all nodded and mumbled they were fine but didn’t look him in the eye. “Are you all really putting on a play about dresses? You don’t look like the dress type.”

  Nellie shrugged, fiddled with a silver-gray curl by her left ear and looked up at Nick. “Not really.”

  Joe straightened Betty’s collar. “We got to level with you, Keefe, because we know you so well and all and you seem to have gotten yourself into this trying to do the right thing for the community. There isn’t any play, not a single line. Stanley lets us in the gym, then goes off and does whatever. We all talk for a while and . . . and that’s the end of it. She just thinks there’s a play.”