Hostile Makeover

by Wendy Wax

  Well-dressed movers and shakers stood three deep at the buffet tables and cocktail bars, while others discussed the tire art and wrote in their bids for the silent auction.

  Tonight in Atlanta, “round” was in, and success was spelled with a T for “TIRE.”

  “Pinch me,” Judy said, “I can’t believe this turnout.”

  Shelley smiled prettily for a passing photographer and continued their conversation without actually moving her lips. “Forget the pinching. Your arm is already black-and-blue.” She sent a small beauty-queen-type wave to a reporter from Southern Living. “It’s real. And when these photos hit the design magazines, you’ll be THE hottest event planner in the southeast. Get ready to write your own ticket.”

  Judy shivered with excitement. “There’s Craig and the boys.” She smoothed the bodice of her dress. “Do I look OK?”

  “You look mah-ve-lous.” Shelley laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “But we have a small problem. Isn’t that Brett O’Connor at three o’clock?”

  Judy’s gaze followed Shelley’s. “Oh, God, they’re both headed this way. What do I do now?”

  Shelley took a step forward. “You stay here and talk to Craig. I’ll nab Brett.”

  “OK.” Judy licked her lips, nervous. “And try to rescue Wiley Haynes on your way. Ellen Farnesworth has him cornered again.”

  They peered toward the buffet table, where Wiley Haynes was knee-deep in women. The orchestra guild chairwoman was fending the others off with the occasional sharp elbow, but it looked like things might get ugly. There was evidently something unexpectedly alluring about Haynes’s bucktoothed smile and redneck ways. He was calling them “little lady” right and left and no one had taken a swing at him yet.

  Giving Judy’s hand a squeeze, Shelley strode forward to intercept her sister’s old flame. “Hi, Brett,” she said, linking her arm through his, “thanks so much for coming.” She smiled up at him and fluttered her eyelashes a little for good measure, then led him toward Wiley Haynes and his harem. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ross Morgan leaning against a tire display. He was talking to a dark-haired woman but his eyes were on Shelley. She stumbled slightly under his regard. Recovering, she clung tighter to Brett’s arm and batted her eyelashes at him again, determined not to let Ross Morgan know how he affected her.

  “Wiley,” she said as she and Brett drew nearer, “I want you to meet Brett O’Connor.” She shoved Ross Morgan out of her mind and focused on the two men she was introducing. “Brett knows Atlanta real estate.” The two men shook hands while the harem looked on admiringly. “Didn’t you tell me you were looking at several other locations?”

  She got the two talking, then extracted Ellen Farnesworth. “Ellen,” Shelley said as she led the woman toward the designer, “have you met Jacques yet? I overheard him saying how much he’d like to work on next year’s Dream Home.” She stayed with them a few minutes to help break the ice, then left them chatting amiably. When the throng of women moved in on Brett, she drew in a relieved breath. Despite her determination NOT to think about Ross Morgan, she did a quick scan for him all the same.

  The garage door opened and a stream of people poured in. Shelley tensed when she spotted her parents. She and her father had barely spoken since that day in Ross’s office, and she didn’t know what to say to him now. She was still mulling it over when Fadah Awadallah planted himself in front of her, his face covered in smiles.

  “Ees a wonderful party, Shelley. We are thanking you so much for including our falafels in your buffet.”

  “Including them?” Shelley motioned to a group of guests happily digging into their falafels, which someone had labeled “veggie balls.” “We’ve replenished the falafel tray twice already. They’re a total hit.”

  Awadallah beamed at her. “We are so happy with what you do for us.” His smile faded. “But my son tells me you are leaving this agency.”

  “Um, yes, I am.” She looked up and saw her father approach Ross. Ross bent his head to listen, but his gaze remained on her.

  “You are going to other agency?” Awadallah asked hopefully.

  “I, um . . .” She turned slightly so that she didn’t have to watch Ross watching her. For all she knew, the man could read lips. “I’m not sure where I’ll be.”

  “Well, please to let me know. I bring falafel account to you.”

  “Oh.” She tuned in completely then. Fadah Awadallah wanted to be her client. “Thank you, I’ll do that.”

  He bowed and turned. Careful not to look back at Ross, she moved in the opposite direction, which pointed her toward the ladies’ room. The line still snaked out the door.

  “Don’t even think about cutting in,” a familiar female voice said.

  Shelley looked up to see Miranda Smith from Custom Cleavage standing in line beside a tall, good-looking man. “This is Blake Summers,” Miranda said. “He’s only going as far as the door.”

  The man smiled one of those blinding flashes of white teeth. “Another hope dashed. Here I thought I was finally going to see the inside of a ladies’ room.”

  “Not in this lifetime.” Miranda leaned closer to talk to Shelley. “Selena asked me to come and check out the grand opening. She was very impressed by you.”

  “I think she was just grateful I didn’t kill her on the court.”

  Miranda grinned. “Well, that, too.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “We heard you’re leaving the agency. We still want you to pitch.”

  “But—”

  “Wherever you end up. I hope you’re taking Luke Skyler with you.”

  The other woman’s gaze slid beyond her. Shelley felt a prickle of awareness run up her spine, and knew without being told that Ross was headed their way. Straightening, Shelley fought the urge to flee. This was her night, hers and Judy’s. She didn’t have to run just because he was coming. But she didn’t have to stay and talk to him, either.

  Telling herself she was simply feeling too good about the evening to let him spoil it, she smiled at Miranda and Blake and prepared to bail. “Thanks so much,” she said, already beginning to move. “Tell her I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Moving as quickly as she could without appearing to be in a hurry, Shelley looked for Judy. She caught a glimpse of her and Craig, their heads bent in conversation. This, she thought, was good. Or at least it would be if Brett O’Connor, who had apparently freed himself from the throng of women around Wiley Haynes, wasn’t headed directly their way.

  chapter 30

  Judy Blumfeld looked into her husband’s eyes. And he looked into hers. He was still dressed in a business suit, and his tie was slightly rumpled. It sounded corny, but it was as if someone pressed the mute button and carved out a slice of quiet around them. She felt the rest of the room recede.

  His face was both achingly familiar and horribly unreadable.

  “You’ve created quite an event,” he said.

  She searched his eyes, unable to tell from his tone of voice whether he’d meant it as a compliment. “Thank you. I think.”

  “I didn’t realize the magnitude of what you were doing.” He paused. “I didn’t understand at all.”

  Once again, she was unsure of his intent. She felt him treading with care, as if she were some unknown client he didn’t want to offend, but wasn’t quite sure how to handle. His uncertainty gave her hope.

  “I wasn’t sure when I started that I could make this”—she motioned to include the space filled with people—“happen. But I did it. I created this.”

  He nodded. “It’s very impressive.”

  There was another silence; one she wanted to fill with questions. But something told her to go slow.

  “How’ve you been?” she asked.

  She was expecting an automatic “fine,” but he surprised her with honesty. “Hurt,” he said quietly. “Angry.” He paused. “Confused.”

  She smiled sadly. “Me, too.”

  They contemplated each ot
her for a few long moments. She had what she’d been wanting: his complete and undivided attention. This was not the time or the place she would have chosen, but it might be the only one she’d get.

  “We need to sit down and talk,” he said.

  These were the words she’d been waiting for, but suddenly they seemed ominous, unwelcome. What if what he wanted to say wasn’t at all what she was beginning to realize she wanted to hear?

  “Craig, I—”

  “There you are!” Brett O’Connor’s voice sliced into the quiet surrounding them and ripped it to shreds. Music and conversation poured in as Brett stepped up next to her. Shelley was with him.

  “Hi, Craig.” Shelley clung to Brett’s arm, but whether she was trying to make it look as if they were together or attempting to haul him out of there, Judy didn’t know.

  “What’s he doing here?” Craig asked.

  “He who?” Shelley began. “You mean—”

  Judy cut her off. “I invited him.”

  Judy looked away from her husband to study the other man. Brett was taller and broader, and everything about him was bright and shiny. He might have stepped out of the pages of GQ, or arrived on a white horse. He was the great unknown, and therefore exciting and mysterious.

  But he hadn’t contributed to her children’s DNA. Or held her hand through two hard labors and a miscarriage. Nor had he sat up all night with her in a hospital waiting room while her father underwent bypass surgery. Or listened to her complaints about her mother while knowing not to chime in himself. He hadn’t seen her in the morning without makeup. Or lived through twenty years of redecorating.

  What in the world had she been thinking?

  “Well, uninvite him.” Craig’s voice was firm, the one he normally reserved for the courtroom.

  “Who’s he?” Brett O’Connor sounded confused, as well he might. And slightly belligerent.

  “He’s my husband,” she said. “And those two boys over there”—she pointed out Jason and Sammy, who were stationed at the dessert table—“those are my sons.”

  Craig gave Judy a look she’d never seen before. “Get rid of him, Judy. Get rid of him now. Before I forget myself and take a swing at him.”

  “Hey!” Brett shook off Shelley’s arm.

  “And if you want to talk about us—our family—our life—I’ll be at home tomorrow between two and five.” He gave Brett a withering glance and then turned back to Judy. “I’m going to assume you remember how to get there.”

  Craig stormed off to find Jason and Sammy. Shelley stayed with Judy while she stammered out an explanation and an apology to Brett O’Connor. Together, they watched him leave.

  “Well,” Judy managed. “That was fun.” Her voice shook and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  “Yeah, a total barrel of laughs.”

  Judy offered a lopsided smile and drew in a shaky breath. “OK, I’m going to go close out the silent bids. And then we need to end this sucker.”

  “I’m with you.” Shelley gave Judy’s shoulder a squeeze. She wanted to offer more but had no idea what. Craig had placed the ball squarely in his wife’s court. “Just let me know what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shelley watched her sister move through the crowd, small yet mighty. She, too, was ready to call it a night; all of the personal drama had left her oddly keyed up.

  She was still watching Judy when she felt a presence materialize beside her. When she heard Ross’s voice, she realized she’d been both avoiding and waiting for this moment.

  “You left early today.”

  Shelley turned slowly and looked up into his blue eyes. Her heart was racing, but he didn’t need to know that. “Gee, if I hadn’t already quit you could fire me. For breach of manners. Or, I don’t know, maybe for acting like a child?”

  He looked at her as if she were, in fact, some silly little girl. Which made her want to stamp her foot and carry on a bit. Even under the best of circumstances, he had that effect on her.

  He shrugged and smiled. “If the Prada fits . . .”

  “Good grief.” She didn’t actually stamp her foot, but it was a close thing. “Do you really still believe that’s all I am?”

  His eyes twinkled briefly then grew serious again. “No, I don’t. I think you’re a hell of a lot more than you let on.”

  She relaxed slightly, which was the most she could manage when he was standing this close.

  “And I’ll tell you something else.” He spoke softly, just for her. “This thing between us? It’s not over.”

  “Oh, yes, it is,” she said. “Because I’m not interested. Not even a little bit.”

  He leaned closer so that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She was a complete sucker for warm breath, especially his.

  “Liar.” He said it so softly she had to lean closer to hear him, which allowed that warm breath to tickle the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck.

  The pure male force of him held her there; the tickle of his breath welded her feet to the floor as surely as a fly caught in the sticky weavings of a spider’s web. This was how one ended up in a supply closet or the wrong room at the Four Seasons.

  The screech of a microphone, followed by the sound of Judy’s amplified voice announcing the winner of the first piece of tire art, released her. The wave of applause reminded her of where she was. And with whom. Shelley took a step back. “The only thing I’m planning between us is distance,” she said.

  And possibly some competition. She had three potential clients right here in this room. Atlanta was a big city, full of potential clients. “Excuse me. I need to go help Judy.”

  She walked away from him feeling virtuous and, she assured herself, not the least bit regretful. She was NOT thinking about what might have been.

  Like the carriage reverting to a pumpkin in Cinderella, Tire World turned back into a tire store at midnight. The auctioned art had been taken, the sound system removed, and the buffet tables and bars broken down and carted off. Only the Schwartzes and Wiley Haynes remained.

  With Harvey and Miriam looking on, Shelley and Judy said good night to their ecstatic client.

  “Ya’ll did an outstanding job, that’s for sure,” he said. “I never would have guessed you little ladies had all that in you, but it was bang-up.”

  Shelley gritted her teeth at the “little ladies” and saw Judy do the same. Smiling their thanks, they walked out of the tire store side by side, bracketed between their parents just as they had so often been as children. The symbolism was not lost on Shelley. But she was thirty-three, too old to be so defined by her family; too old to be craving approval she couldn’t seem to earn.

  In the now-silent parking lot their footsteps crunched loudly on the pavement. They stopped under a streetlight; her parents’ and Shelley’s cars were the only two left in the lot.

  “Mr. Haynes is right,” her mother said, “the evening was a great success.” She looked pointedly at their father.

  He cleared his throat and Shelley tensed anew. Materially, Harvey Schwartz was generous to a fault, but he could be a tightwad with his praise. Two weeks ago he’d found her so wanting he’d decided to sell his company. This was the closest to alone she’d been with him since then. She was very much afraid of what might—or might not—be said.

  When her father didn’t speak, her mother shot him another look. Then she turned to Judy. “Why don’t I give you a ride home?” she asked. “I have a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”

  Panic crossed Judy’s face and she turned a beseeching look toward Shelley. Then her mother said, “Shelley can drop Daddy at the house,” and Shelley and Harvey Schwartz’s features sprang into matching mirrors of panic.

  A desperate scan of the deserted parking lot confirmed that there was no way out. It had been two weeks and Shelley had failed to produce measurable results; it seemed Miriam Schwartz was already taking over.

  “All right,” Shelley blustered, “but I’ll have my c
ell phone on if you need me, Jude.”

  “Right,” Judy said, though all four of them knew Judy would never get the chance to call for reinforcements.

  In her BMW, Shelley and her father passed the first few blocks in silence. Her father stared out the window at the darkness while she attempted to brace for whatever was going to come.

  As she slowed for the first red light, he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I, um, I believe I owe you an apology.”

  Floored, Shelley stared straight ahead at the light, which was a very bright red and seemed to last forever.

  “Your mother has pointed out to me that my expectations of you may have been too, er, low for too long.”

  The light turned green, but she couldn’t seem to lift her foot off the brake pedal.

  “And,” he cleared his throat again, “then, when you were finally trying to stand on your own, I, um, judged you too quickly.”

  Headlights came up behind them and Shelley was forced to find the gas pedal. Her mind was fully occupied with her father’s words. She drove in silence, trying to process them.

  “Actually, you were right,” he continued. “I did impose a double standard. I didn’t give you a fair shake.”

  She remained silent, letting him speak. His words flowed over her—stilted, yet soothing at the same time. They began to fill in the empty spot inside her that she’d been trying to plug with all the wrong things.

  “I, um, used your involvement with Ross as an excuse to sell the company.” He continued to look at the passing scenery, but his words picked up speed, became more heartfelt. “You’ve proven yourself, Shelley. I saw the rough cut of the Furniture Forum commercials today—they’re first-rate. And tonight was a huge success, huge. You have what it takes to make it in this business. You finally got it together and I forced you to quit.”

  He looked at her then. She could feel his gaze on her in the darkness. Pressing lightly on the brake, she slowed for the turn into her parents’ neighborhood and actually held her breath.