Cocktail Hour by Tara McTiernan Page B

source of second sensation: many pairs of eyes gazed sideways or openly stared in their direction. She blinked, gave her head a little shake, and turned toward the source of this phenomenon.
    "Hi Bianca! Oh, I'm so psyched you could come out tonight!" Chelsea said, bouncing again, the red liquid in her glass dangerously close to spilling. "Oh, this is Sharon? From work? She's so cool! You're going to love her!"
    In spite of this excitable reception, Bianca remained unruffled. Her large dark heavy-lidded eyes remained at half-mast. Her full lips spread into an amused smile. "Chelsea, you are a sweetheart. Hugs," Bianca said, reaching out one arm. Chelsea giggled, switched her drink to her other hand so that she could reach out her corresponding arm, and half-hugged her friend.
    Looking at them side by side, Sharon was surprised at how different Chelsea looked when juxtaposed against Bianca. Chelsea had always seemed very glamorous and model-beautiful to Sharon, but now she looked cheap, chubby, and somewhat plain-looking, the makeup she wore cartoonish war-paint designed to give the illusion of beauty.
    Released from their brief one-armed embrace, Bianca turned her gaze on Sharon. "Sharon, how wonderful to meet you at last. So glad you could join us. Though, I understand from Chelsea you're not one for the club-scene." Her lips twisted with humor at the last, a glint of merriment sparkling in her eye. Bianca's look said more than her words - it said: I understand completely. And agree.
    Sharon hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she burst out with a little laugh seeing that look, simpatico and warm. It was odd, but she felt almost...attracted to this woman. "You can say that again. Not my scene. Chelsea talked me into it tonight and I've already had reason to regret it."
    "What? What!" Chelsea begged. She turned to Bianca. "Something happened before I got here and she won't tell me what."
    "Maybe she'd rather forget," Bianca said and shot Sharon a wise look.
    "Yes. Let's," Sharon agreed, grateful for Bianca's backup and liking her more and more by the minute.
    "Oh!" Chelsea said, making a tsking sound. 
    Just then the first pair of male strivers, of whom there were to be many that evening, made their approach. "Hello, ladies. How are you doing tonight?"
    Bianca received their attentions like a queen while Chelsea alternated between acting bubbly and nonchalant. Sharon, knowing the strivers weren't there to talk to her, rolled her eyes and looked around, taking in the scene. Her head turning toward the bar, she felt someone staring at her, and, assuming it was another gaze trained on Bianca, she looked back at the man.
    It was Dean. He shook his head and mouthed, "I'm sorry."
    Sharon quickly turned her head away and lifted her glass to her lips before realizing it was empty. She lowered it, feeling the anger bubbling up again. He was sorry, huh? She’d see about that. Tonight when the screaming started she wouldn’t roll over and cover her head with a pillow. Tonight she wouldn’t hesitate for a minute.
    He’d be sorry all right. When the police showed up. She hadn’t unleashed that battle cry; Dean had thrown down the gauntlet himself. And she wasn’t going to just let it lie there.
     

 
     
    Chardonnay
     
    Lucie’s mind was so caught up in her Erin-problem as she hobbled toward the restaurant where Chelsea and her friend were waiting, she forgot to be nervous. She’d heard that Ibiza was the hottest new bar in Stamford: the place to see and be seen. Just exactly Chelsea’s type of place - and exactly the kind of place that exhausted Lucie. But she'd agreed to meet there because of the large pile of freshly printed business cards currently residing in her wallet, just waiting for the kind of clientele that frequented hotspots like Ibiza.
    When choosing a venue for pure leisure, Lucie preferred quiet restaurants and quaint tea rooms. Savoring and lingering over a meal with friends was one of her