Not that that was so unusual. Georgia wasn’t a crier. She never had been.
She hadn’t cried the first day of school when someone had called her a “freak” for living at the commune. And she most certainly hadn’t cried when she arrived at Stanford with a mere thirty dollars in her bank account only to find that her student financial aid had been delayed for two weeks. She’d lived on ramen noodles and instant macaroni and cheese and she’d done just fine, hadn’t she?
The only time she remembered crying was when her mother had died. Corrine Meyer had been a free spirit. She’d taught Georgia the importance of self-sufficiency. But just because she loved her mother didn’t mean she wanted to live her mother’s life. Her mother had always encouraged her to find her own path. It just so happened that Georgia’s path was meant to include the finer things in life. She’d worked hard for them. And she deserved them. There wasn’t anything wrong with wanting the nice big house on the hill. A conventional marriage. A country club membership. A couple of kids.
And she’d almost had it. She’d come so close she could taste it.
So why wasn’t she crying?
Why wasn’t she starving herself and throwing things or being catatonic or any of the other things most women (or at least the ones she’d heard about) did when they had their hearts broken and their dreams smashed?
It must be the movie. How could she expect to get choked up watching Transformers?
She should have rented Casablanca.
That would have gotten the tears flowing.
Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, Georgia.
She frowned. Why had she thought of that?
What she needed was more popcorn. The buttery, sticky-fingered kind. She had just placed a bag in the microwave when she heard the commotion downstairs. It sounded like a herd of wildebeests had invaded the Bistro.
But it wasn’t a pack of wild animals.
It was the Babes. All twelve of them by the looks of it. Dressed in their glittery cocktail attire and armed with bags of all sizes.
“What’s going on?” Georgia asked.
“We’re here to get you ready for the party,” said Kitty.
“And don’t try to stop us,” said Frida. She held a black plastic garment bag in her hands. Georgia held her breath. It couldn’t be. The blue haze Herve Leger cocktail dress now belonged to Bettina. Minus one-eighth of an inch of fabric on either side.
Pilar dumped a large bag onto the coffee table and tossed out the contents. Lorraine and Mimi did the same thing. There were hot irons, rollers, hairspray, lipsticks, and more cosmetics than you could find behind the scenes at a Miss America Pageant.
“We weren’t sure what sort of tools you had, so we brought an assortment,” said Shea. She studied Georgia’s hair and face, then turned to the Babes. “C’mon, girls, we have our work cut out for us.”
Georgia found her voice. “This is really sweet of you guys, but I’m not going,” she said firmly.
“You have to,” Frida said. “Otherwise, when are you going to wear this?” She opened the garment bag to reveal the Herve Leger dress.
“How . . . how did you get this?” Georgia reached out to reverently touch a sequin. It wasn’t a dream.
“We took the store credit you gave me and bought it back,” said Frida.
“But Bettina Bailey bought this dress! She was even having it altered.”
“She must have changed her mind,” Kitty said.
The Babes gave each other a look.
“Say you’ll go,” said Pilar. “We went to a lot of trouble to pull this all together. We even got you shoes.” She held up a pair of strappy silver sandals with a gorgeous four-inch stiletto heel. “Size eight. Right?”
Georgia nodded, a little dazed. “Right,” she squeaked. “Okay, I’ll go.”
How could she not?
Within seconds, they’d grabbed her and tossed her into the bathroom.
“You have five minutes to shower and wash your hair,” Shea yelled from the other side of the door.
Georgia emerged exactly five minutes later in her bath-robe with her hair dripping wet. She didn’t dare take a second longer. These Babes meant business.
Mimi pushed her into a chair. She had a blow-dryer in one hand and a flat iron in the other. “I get her first.”
“We’ll have to do her all at once,” said Shea. “It’s the only way we’ll her done in time.”
“I don’t look that bad, do I?” Georgia asked.
They ignored her.
Her feet were plunked into a large bowl of warm soapy water. Kitty grabbed one hand and Tina grabbed the other.
“What color should we do her nails?” mused Tina.
“I’m kind of partial to neutral colors,” began Georgia.
“We didn’t ask you,” Kitty said.
“The dress is silvery blue. Maybe a French manicure?” Mimi suggested.
“Too boring,” Tina said.
“Her nails should be black. It’s very in right now,” said Shea, who was sitting on a stool exfoliating one of the heels on Georgia’s feet.
Black? Georgia was about to protest, then clamped her mouth shut. Did it matter what color they painted her nails? Or what they did with her hair? The fact was she felt like Cinderella. Only her fairy godmother was in the form of twelve Bunco Babes.
They hadn’t known her long. Only a week. And they were probably only doing it for Frida’s sake. Which went to show how much these women thought of her sister.
But still . . .
No. It didn’t matter what she ended up looking like.
Despite the fact that her heart was breaking and her dreams were shattered, this was shaping up to be one of the best nights of her life.
20
If she was Cinderella, then this was definitely the ball. Geor gia hadn’t stepped foot in the senior center since four days ago when she’d come running over to make sure Dave hadn’t knocked down the kitchen wall. But in that short amount of time the place had been transformed.
The main room sparkled with thousands of tiny white lights. There were tables set up for playing Bunco. The sliding glass doors opened into an adjoining tent where the sounds of an orchestra playing soft jazz filled the air. Black and white balloons filled with helium covered every square inch of the ceiling. Waiters with trays of appetizers and glasses of champagne zigzagged through the crush of women in cocktail dresses and men in black tuxedos.
It was all beautiful.
Georgia felt beautiful too.
The dress fit her perfectly. Mimi had blow-dried and flat ironed her hair until it lay sleek and shiny around her shoulders. They’d given her a manicure and a pedicure and had even done her makeup.
The Babes had truly outdone themselves. There was no way Georgia could ever reciprocate.
After they’d finished her makeover, the Babes had jumped back in their cars to meet their spouses and do their own last-minute touch-ups.
They were all here. Shea and Pilar and Kitty and the rest of them. They took turns introducing Georgia to their husbands. Georgia already knew Moose. He gave her a friendly bear hug. Steve was there with Kitty. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Georgia was aware of a moment of supreme nervousness as she glanced around searching for Dave in the group. But she didn’t see him.
She met Pilar’s husband, Nick, who seemed as quiet as Pilar was animated. Brett Navarone hadn’t been what Georgia had imagined either. But then she’d never met a compulsive gambler before. He was medium height and appeared mild-mannered in his wire-rimmed glasses.
Everyone looked wonderful.
Even Ed looked polished in his black tux. He’d gotten a haircut so his usual out-of-control curly blond hair was tamed down. Frida had on a white linen sheath. Her hair was pulled up with a faux diamond clip that Georgia recognized as belonging to their mother, and she’d even worn lipstick for the occasion.
Shea placed a flute of champagne in Georgia’s hand. “It looks great, doesn’t it?�
�� she said, her blue eyes misting with tears. “All that hard work has paid off.”
“How much money do you think you’ve raised?” Georgia asked. She took a sip of the cold champagne. It was delicious.
“At least fifty thousand,” Shea said proudly. “Most of which came from corporate sponsorships. It might not sound like a ton of money, but an event like this not only helps raise capital for the project, it helps get the whole community involved, which then leads to hopefully more donations. Plus, we’ll raise money tonight with Bunco. In order to play, you have to pay,” she said, winking. Georgia followed her gaze to a large acrylic tumbler displayed on a table in the center of the room. Brenda appeared to be manning the table, directing people on how to play and handing out dice. The party had just started and the tumbler was already half-filled with bills, most of which looked like twenties and fifties from what Georgia could make out.
“We’re charging people to play Bunco?” Mimi asked.
Zeke, her husband, who looked exceptionally yummy in his tux, shook his head. “I’m not seeing that,” he said, his slight southern twang sounding more pronounced tonight. “As chief of police I have to remind you that gambling is against Whispering Bay ordinances.”
Shea yanked on Zeke’s tie in a playful gesture. “We’re not gambling, Zeke. We’re charging people to play. It’s all for a good cause.”
Zeke mumbled something and went off to follow a waiter with a tray of shrimp.
“There’s a reporter from the Whispering Bay Gazette coming tonight. He’s going to take pictures and do a big write-up,” continued Shea. “Hopefully, it’ll make the bigger papers in Destin and Panama City and generate more publicity for our cause.”
A waiter refilled Georgia’s champagne flute. She raised the flute to her lips to take a sip.
From across the room she locked eyes with Dave.
Her breath snagged in her throat. The expression “Mr. Hunky” didn’t do him justice.
He had on the same black tux that every other man in the place wore. But he didn’t look like any other man there. He’d gotten a haircut and was smooth shaven, except for that soul patch Georgia was warming up to. His broad shoulders filled more than just his tux. They seemed to fill the room. He looked dangerous and sexy and definitely interested.
In her.
Georgia could feel her face go warm.
She stood there, her feet frozen to the floor, aware that Shea and Pilar were talking but not listening to a word they said. How could she pay attention to anything when Dave was staring at her like that?
After what seemed like a long time, his gaze broke. She noticed he was looking around her, like he was trying to spot someone.
He was looking for Spencer. She was sure of it.
He didn’t know Spencer wouldn’t be here tonight. That she and Spencer weren’t together anymore. At least not in Georgia’s mind.
If you’re interested in that or anything else, let me know.
It wasn’t like she would be cheating on Spencer anymore. His blatant lie gave her a free pass.
Only it didn’t. Not really.
It would still be cheating. At least in her mind. Until she confronted Spencer and made a clean break she wasn’t a free woman.
But it couldn’t hurt to go over and say hi to Dave.
She worked her way through the crowd and ran smack into Earl Handy. He had to grab on to his cane to keep from falling.
“Watch where you’re going, missy!” Earl complained.
“I’m sorry,” Georgia said, helping Earl right himself. She looked around for DeeDee. “Is your friend here?”
Earl’s forehead scrunched up. “Who?”
“The lady who was with you at the bank the other day.”
“DeeDee ain’t my friend. She’s my keeper.”
Georgia laughed. Earl was a character, all right. But he was also sharp as a tack. She knew from Frida that Earl had been born wealthy but he’d graduated from the University of Florida and had gone on to do post graduate work at Duke University. He might have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth but he hadn’t been a slacker. He’d owned several successful businesses in Whispering Bay, all of which he’d sold off at a profit when he’d retired.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her shrewdly. “I’ve been meaning to stop by that place of yours and make you a proposition.”
Georgia sighed. He thought she was Frida. She should be used to it by now.
“Really, Mr. Handy, I’m not that type of girl,” she said playfully.
Earl’s eyes twinkled. “Your loss,” he said.
Georgia giggled.
“It’s about them bran muffins you make. I’ll give you five big ones for the recipe.”
Georgia stilled. “Five thousand dollars?”
“Hell no! Five dollars.” He leaned on his cane and dug in his tux jacket to produce a wallet. “Cash.”
“Mr. Handy, I don’t think my sister is willing to sell her bran muffin recipe for a measly five dollars.”
“You’re the other one?” He scowled. “What’s wrong with five dollars? I can probably get the recipe off the internet, you know. I have a password and everything. Then I don’t have to pay her nothing.”
“Go ahead,” Georgia said. “But it won’t be the same. Frida’s bran muffins are the best.”
He shoved his wallet back in his jacket. “Why do you think I’m willing to pay for it? Those things keep me regular. And they taste a hell of a lot better than milk of magnesia, that’s for certain.”
“I’m sure Frida would be happy to make you up a big batch. You can freeze them.”
He winked at her. “I like ’em fresh. Like my women.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to make a trip into the Bistro every day.”
Earl playfully wagged a finger at her. “I’ll get that recipe, missy. You’ll see. You haven’t heard the last from ol’ Earl.”
Viola came up and looped her arm through Earl’s. “He’s not causing trouble, is he?” she asked Georgia.
“We’re doing business here, Viola,” Earl told her.
“Really? Well, it just so happens I have some Gray Flamingo business I need to discuss with you.” She smiled apologetically at Georgia. “You don’t mind if I steal him away, do you?”
“Steal away,” Georgia said, taking a sip of her champagne. She scanned the room, looking for Dave, but he was nowhere in sight.
Maybe he was out in the tent.
Georgia started for the sliding doors when someone grabbed her by the elbow and whirled her around.
“That’s my dress!” Bettina Bailey whispered between clenched teeth.
“Obviously, it’s not your dress,” Georgia said, plucking her arm from Bettina’s grasp. She had on the tangerine cocktail dress Georgia had seen her trying on at the boutique.
Bettina’s eyes narrowed into catlike slits. “I was told my dress had been misplaced.”
“That’s—” Georgia snapped her mouth shut. Had the Babes gotten her dress under less-than-honest circumstances? She thought about how wild Carrie had been to be added to the Babes’ sub list.
“I’m sorry,” Georgia said, which was only partially true. She was sorry Bettina had been lied to, but she wasn’t sorry the Babes had gotten her dress back. “It was probably a misunderstanding. But you know, I did have this dress first and I only returned it because I thought I wouldn’t be here tonight.”
“You all think you’re so great, don’t you?” she sneered. “Well, I have news for you. After tonight, the rest of this town is going to know exactly what you Babes are made of.” Bettina grabbed a glass of champagne from a wandering waiter and downed it in one gulp, then stomped off.
Georgia’s throat went dry. What had Bettina meant by that last statement? Maybe she should warn Frida.
She went into the tent. The dance floor was full of couples. She spotted Dave dancing with Kitty. She wanted to cut in. But something held her back. So ins
tead, she found her sister and Shea and told them about Bettina’s outburst.
“You bribed Carrie, didn’t you?” Georgia asked.
“It was your dress,” said Frida. “Bettina only wanted it to spite you.”
“Frida! Now she’s after blood.”
“So what?” said Shea. “You were right, Georgia. We’ve been letting Bettina Bailey boss us around for years. We’re tired of always tiptoeing around that ego of hers. Besides, Carrie was more than happy to help us. She’ll fit in with the Babes perfectly.” Shea waved to someone in the buffet line. Georgia saw that it was Carrie. Carrie’s face split into a grin and she waved back.
Georgia took a deep breath. “I think what you guys did tonight was awesome. Getting my dress back and making me over. But I don’t want it to come back and bite you in the ass.”
Frida put her arm around Georgia. “Don’t worry about it. Like Shea said, we’re not afraid of Bettina. She’s nothing but a big bag of wind. And we have you to thank for helping us see that. She’s not going to push us around anymore.” She shoved a plate in Georgia’s hands and steered her over to a table. “Now eat. This is the best blackened grouper you’re ever going to taste. And don’t forget dessert,” she added, “there’s cheesecake and key lime tarts to sample.”
Georgia grudgingly took a bite of the fish. Frida was right. The blackened grouper was delicious. Moose sat next to her and regaled her with stories from his football playing days at Florida State. The husbands took turns asking her to dance. More than likely at their wives’ nudging.
She even danced with Ted Ferguson.
“That’s some dress,” he said, holding her a little too close while they danced to “You and I.” It was one of Georgia’s favorite songs. She’d always envisioned dancing to it at her wedding. If anything should make her cry, that would be it. She shut her eyes and tried to squeeze out a tear.
Nothing happened.
“Are you all right?” Ted asked.
“I was just thinking of Spencer. He’s at the football game, you know.” She waited to see if Ted confirmed what she already knew deep in her heart.
“You can’t compete with the Crimson Tide, Georgia. Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches,” Ted said, chuckling at his own witticism.
Maria Geraci Page 14
