Pretty Guilty Women

by Gina LaManna

  “Well, don’t expect judgment from me,” Lulu said. “As long as you’re two consenting adults, I don’t see anything wrong with having a little fun on vacation.”

  “We all have our secrets, I suppose.” Emily lifted her glass to her lips and raised an eyebrow, offering Lulu a half smile. “I’ve told you mine.”

  Lulu mused for a moment, unsure how to feel about offering up her greatest fears on a platter. It felt a little like standing naked in front of a room full of staring strangers. Then again, there was something tempting about it, something freeing.

  For so long, Lulu had held her cards close to her chest. When she’d married her first husband, she’d been so young, and so in love. Joe hadn’t been rich, but that hadn’t stopped Lulu from understanding a woman’s place—and power—in society. After her relationship with Joe ended, she’d set her sights toward upward mobility and secured Anderson, a true catch in all senses of the word.

  From then on, Lulu had access to money, and that allowed her to slip easily behind a charade of furs and gowns, sparkling accessories, and high-end makeup products. She’d learned to smile a certain way, to tilt her head at a certain angle when listening to men. She’d accumulated invitations to the most prestigious of events and learned how to survive among the elite.

  There was a specific walk Lulu now used when entering a room, and a particular laugh she knew captivated men and women around her. Lulu’s friends claimed she was polished, but Lulu saw it more as a form of camouflage. Her mother had always said Lulu wouldn’t amount to much, but Lulu had known differently. She’d been convinced of it. And look at her now.

  The thought startled Lulu. Look at me now. Was she really as happy as she claimed to be? She had the furs and the home, the husband…but did she really have him? Lulu cast a glance at Emily, who ran an unpolished finger around the lip of her champagne flute. Maybe it would feel good to bare everything. Or at least something.

  “I really don’t think—”

  “A minute ago, I told you I had sex with a stranger on an airplane,” Emily interrupted. “If you think what you’ve got to say is bad, trust me—I’ve got worse.”

  Lulu struggled to put this woman’s dark confidence in context with the bubbly college student she’d seen in photos. And Lulu made a decision to trust her, at least for the night.

  “I think my husband might be planning to leave me.”

  “Well, shit,” Emily said. “That’s not good.”

  “No,” Lulu said, feeling the tremble of frustration burn to a boil in her chest. It might have stemmed from hurt, but it had spilled over into a helpless, desperate anger. “No, it’s not good at all.”

  * * *

  Detective Ramone: Ms. Franc, are you aware that a man was killed this evening at Serenity Spa & Resort?

  Lulu Franc: We’ve already gone over this, Detective. I’m well aware a man is dead, seeing as I killed him. I swung a wine bottle at his head and cracked it wide open. There was a lot of blood.

  Detective Ramone: Was it an accident?

  Lulu Franc: Does it sound like that was an accident?

  Detective Ramone: Was anyone else involved?

  Lulu Franc: No. It was only me out on the patio.

  Detective Ramone: Were there other people with you at the time of the incident? Even if not directly involved?

  Lulu Franc: I’ve already told you this, so if you didn’t hear me the first time, listen back to the recording. But since we don’t have time for that, I’ll tell you again that the answer is no. It was just the two of us. And then I killed him.

  * * *

  Detective Ramone: Ms. DeBleu, thank you for taking time out of your wedding weekend to speak with me. I assume you know what this is about?

  Whitney DeBleu: The man who died, I imagine. But I don’t understand what I have to do with it. I mean, I was in the middle of my rehearsal dinner when it happened—ask anyone.

  Detective Ramone: You’re not under any suspicion, Ms. DeBleu. But I would like to talk to you about several of your wedding guests, specifically Lulu Franc, Ginger Adler, Emily Brown, and Kate Cross. You invited these women, yes?

  Whitney DeBleu: Well, Lulu was a family invite. I’ve met her once or twice in passing. She’s married to my fiancé’s uncle, but I can’t tell you much more than that about her. The others, yes—I invited them. I lived with Ginger, Emily, and Kate during college.

  Detective Ramone: Can you please describe the nature of the relationship between the four of you?

  Whitney DeBleu: I don’t understand the question. I already told you, we were friends in college. We don’t keep in contact much anymore, but I thought it would be fun to get together after all this time.

  Detective Ramone: How often do you keep in touch with these women?

  Whitney DeBleu: Kate and I exchange a few texts a year, maybe. But gosh—I haven’t seen her in person in probably five years. As for Ginger, we do the Christmas card thing now and again. I did end up calling her before she left for the trip to let her know Emily would be attending the ceremony also. I don’t keep in touch much with Emily, but it would have been rude not to invite her if I invited the other two. We were a foursome back in our day.

  Detective Ramone: Why would Ginger care if Emily was in attendance at the wedding?

  Whitney DeBleu: There was a little tiff between those two back in college, and I wanted to make sure they were over it.

  Detective Ramone: And was Ginger over this little tiff?

  Whitney DeBleu: I don’t know, Detective. Would you be over it if you caught your best friend wrapped around the person you loved?

  * * *

  Lulu watched the bartender as she dropped off a glass of water in front of Emily and gave both women a fleeting, polite smile before she was called over by another customer. Lulu studied the young woman as she flitted between patrons, wondering if she herself might have accepted a job as a bartender had she not married a series of rich husbands. After all, it wasn’t as if Lulu had many marketable skills in the workforce.

  But Lulu wasn’t sure her feet could’ve handled the long shifts standing behind the counter, nor would she have stood for the disenchanting hourly rate that came with the demands of such labor. Though she probably could have scored great tips thirty years ago, Lulu just hadn’t been all that interested in working.

  “Cheers.” Emily raised her champagne glass, looking eager to have a sip. “To new friends.”

  Lulu tapped her glass to Emily’s, wondering when the last time was that she’d made a friend. A real friend. Mavis and Edna went back fifty years in their friendships with Lulu, but the rest of Lulu’s acquaintances were exactly that. Acquaintances.

  “Will you look at that?” Lulu gave a faux-appalled shake of her head as she nodded toward the front doors to the resort. “That’s the third ice sculpture that’s been wheeled in here this evening. Rumor is that Whitney hired Miranda Rosales to plan the ceremony. I’ve heard it costs two grand to get her on the phone.”

  “I suppose that’s fitting for Whitney.”

  “How do you mean?” Lulu asked. At Emily’s curious expression, she continued. “I’m recently married into the family—I’ve only met the bride once or twice. My husband, Pierce Banks, is an uncle to the groom.”

  “Ah, well, Whitney’s always been interested in…” Emily studied the mahogany bar in thought. “I’m trying to figure out how to say this nicely.”

  “I think we’ve passed the point of being polite,” Lulu coaxed easily. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “The only thing I’ll say is that Whitney has always been interested in things she qualifies as better than her,” Emily said in a rush. “I’m not saying it’s true, but Kate and Whitney—you saw them in the photos—had a strange sort of friendship throughout college. Almost parasitic, if you know what I mean. Kate came from wealthy parents and always had mo
ney for things that Whitney didn’t. Plus, have you met Kate yet?”

  Lulu shook her head.

  “Well, you’ll know her when you see her.” Emily paused, looking lost in thought. “She’s got a certain presence about her. Polished, classy, always gets her way. You’ll know what I mean soon enough. Anyway, it always seemed to me there was a bit of competition between the two girls—one that Whitney could never quite win.”

  “I suppose we all need each other in some way,” Lulu said, thinking of her own friends back in South Carolina. “Friendships are strange; they come in all shapes and sizes.”

  The more Lulu considered it, Edna and Mavis—Lulu’s closest female companions—had latched onto Lulu because she was their eyes and ears into the social circuit. She brought spice to their lives, breaking up the monotony of the last few decades in which the sisters had spent their time raising a porch full of dead plants and one blind cat.

  In turn, Lulu adored regaling them with her (often exaggerated) tales of parties and vacations and gossip from the hair salon. They gasped and applauded in all the right places, and because they were both nearing their eighties, Lulu still felt like the spring chicken among her friends. It was a win-win for all.

  “That’s true,” Emily agreed. “All I meant is that this wedding… Well, it feels a bit like Whitney is trying to… Oh, I don’t know. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “You feel like all of this”—Lulu spoke softly, pausing to gesture at the dimly lit sanctuary—“is Whitney’s way of showing Kate and the rest of us that she’s made it in the world.”

  “More or less,” Emily admitted. “I mean, I’m happy for her—really, I am. And I think she and Kate genuinely care about each other, or at least they did.”

  “Well, there’s no better way to marry into money than to snag a Banks.” Lulu gave a tinkling laugh. “I should know.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Oh, now you’ve opened a can of worms,” Lulu said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Pierce was nowhere to be seen. “It’ll be five years this weekend with Pierce. Though as I mentioned, I’ve been married several times before.”

  Lulu didn’t like to talk about her past relationships in front of Pierce. It felt so classless compared to his impeccable history: a thrilling career as a trial lawyer, a gorgeous house and fat retirement account, no annoying failed marriages following him around. His only baggage was the fact that he’d lasted the better part of seventy years as a single man.

  When Edna and Mavis had heard the news of Lulu’s engagement, however, they’d warned her about him. A man single for that long is too good to be true, they’d said. There’s no such thing as the perfect husband.

  Lulu wondered if they were right.

  “Did you ever have a wedding like this one?”

  “No, see, I don’t particularly love the fanfare,” Lulu said. “I love love. Romance and passion and desire. Weddings are an entirely different matter. Have you been married before?”

  “It’s complicated,” Emily said. “Are things complicated with your ex-husbands?”

  “Not with two of them. They’re dead. And I’ve tried things twice with Anderson. Third time would not be a charm, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said, not appearing sorry in the slightest. “How’d they die?”

  “Ah—”

  “Sorry,” Emily said. “You can tell me to fuck off whenever you like.”

  “It’s complicated,” Lulu finally said. “Shall we have another drink?”

  “Let’s.”

  After requesting a bottle of champagne from the bartender, along with a side order of chili cheese fries—was it really girl talk without a generous helping of junk food?—Lulu and Emily gave another toast to new friends, then launched into a professional form of people watching that only two women of a certain age could manage with success.

  “Look at them. Sickening, isn’t it?” Emily pointed out a young, twentysomething couple as they strode toward the front desk in itsy-bitsy swimsuits, wrapped around each other as they giggled to the front desk clerk. “They’re so in love now, but just wait. It never lasts.”

  Lulu fell silent at Emily’s observation.

  Emily recoiled. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry—I didn’t think. Is your husband…”

  “I don’t know if he’s truly leaving me,” Lulu said. “But I think he might be interested in another woman.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Not exactly, but we’ll call it women’s intuition.” Lulu reached for her glass, surprised she’d opened up once again to this stranger. Not that what she’d told Emily was entirely true; Lulu did have some proof, but it wasn’t enough. The appointments, the meetings, the mysterious S. After a fortifying sip of champagne, she sighed. “I do hope that if he’s planning to leave me, he does it quickly. It’s embarrassing to be hanging on by a thread.”

  Lulu was normally the one encouraging others to share, sympathizing with breakups and heartaches and losses with a bit of savory relish on the side, as if Lulu herself would never be affected by such tragedies. Why this Emily character had drawn out her only real fear, she had no clue.

  “Why don’t you go ask him?” Emily asked, and then winced as a child’s cry pierced the thrum of soft lounge music pulsing through the bar area. “What is that awful sound?”

  “The baby?” Lulu turned her attention to the wails, which had resumed after a brief respite. Still intent to try on her soothing words for size, Lulu smiled at Emily. “Precious, don’t you think?”

  “Not really,” Emily snapped in a way that had Lulu sighing in relief. “It’s cracking my skull in half. I can’t breathe. Can someone shut that baby up?”

  Lulu’s breath came out in a startled, giggly gulp. Even she didn’t feel that strongly about children one way or another. Emily, on the other hand… “You don’t have any children?” Lulu asked.

  There was a stony silence that followed, and Lulu wondered if she’d misread the situation. But the woman had already confided in Lulu about having sex with a stranger. Lulu couldn’t understand how a simple question about children could be the imaginary line in the sand.

  “No,” Emily said finally. “I don’t.”

  “Me neither.” Lulu gave a hearty nod. “I never wanted them. Always thought something was wrong with me. What about you?”

  Emily cleared her throat and downed her glass of champagne. “I don’t want them anymore.”

  Lulu realized she was dancing too close to the veil Emily kept pulled tightly across her features. She made a mental note, then treaded lightly away from the subject of children and resumed watching as guests entered the lobby and checked in at the front desk. There was now a red carpet being rolled out through the entryway, and piles upon piles of white roses being carried in and placed in bundles on either side of the hall to create a living, breathing, flowery canopy.

  Emily only pinched her head in response. “I’m sorry to cut things short, but I think it’s time I retire to my room. I have a splitting headache.”

  Lulu glanced over her shoulder. “That crying baby probably isn’t helping.”

  Emily gave a wan smile. “It’s not the most relaxing sound I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well, get some rest. I should head out too,” Lulu said, albeit reluctantly. She wanted to find Pierce and curl against him in bed. She wanted to read a trashy magazine while he pondered World War II or some other infinitely impossible-to-grasp subject, and she wanted to drift off to sleep together.

  “Actually, do you mind waiting here for a minute?” Lulu asked. “I’d like to check on my husband, but if he comes back before I return, I don’t want him to think I’ve left. My phone’s upstairs, so…”

  “No problem.” Emily waved her off halfway through. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Can I get you another drin
k for the trouble?” Lulu eyed the almost-empty champagne bottle. Lulu hadn’t had more than two sips of her glass. “I’ll have my husband catch the tab when he comes down. That’s the benefit of marrying an old wealthy man who has manners that date back to the Great Depression.”

  “No, I think I’m good for the night,” Emily said in that slightly dreary tone. “You go on, and I’ll wait here.”

  Lulu made her way to the elevator and hit the button for her floor. As the doors closed, she watched while Emily gestured to the bartender for another round.

  Secrets, secrets, Lulu thought. Secrets are no fun…

  Speaking of secrets, Lulu wondered where her husband had gotten to while she befriended the curious Emily. Had he come up to make a phone call to the ever-mysterious S? Lulu hated having such paranoid thoughts about her husband—it weighed on her, made her feel guilty for harboring suspicions of Pierce when she hadn’t scrounged up the confidence to broach the subject head-on with him.

  Sure, she’d dropped hints that she knew he hadn’t been at the office when he’d claimed to have been, and she’d tiptoed around the fact that she wished Pierce would confide in her about those appointments he couldn’t miss. But he hadn’t offered additional information, and she hadn’t pressed further.

  Until Lulu demanded the answers from Pierce’s mouth, she preferred to hold out hope that maybe there was a logical explanation for everything. Including the money that had been transferred out of their account in large sums over the past few months. Lulu wasn’t stupid. And she was nothing if not honest. That was exactly why she’d been divorced four times; she refused to pretend things were just fine, thank you very much, when they were not. And things were not fine.

  As she reached her floor, she sidestepped out of the elevator and made her way down the hall, practicing what she’d say if she found Pierce in some sort of compromising position in her room. Would she beg him to stay? Demand a divorce and storm out? Emily would be downstairs ready to have a drink with her and wallow, if need be. If nothing else, that was a small comfort to Lulu.