being held hostage by a dozen yards of baby-pig-pink polyester organza and a gazillion pins, in a room with five twenty-two-year-old women with perky breasts and perky fannies and even perkier high-pitched voices, four of whom were swathed in bilious lavender clones of Sarahâs dress.
Sarah had flatly refused to wear lavender. If she had to spend an afternoon looking like a butch Little Bo-Peep, so be it. But filial devotion only went so far. So Jennifer agreed, reluctantly,that Sarah could wear pink, her sisterâs second favorite color. All Sarah could say was, at least it wasnât lavender.
Now, if she could just talk Jen out of the hat.
âSarah Louise?â
Oh, joy. That would be Melanie, Jenniferâs best friend. Blond curls, violet eyes, pink cheeks. Shirley Temple with boobs. On her, lavender made sense.
Sarah tried to smile. âYes?â
âJennifer says Lanceâs brotherâs back. And that heâs real cute.â
Just the person she wanted to talk about. She shrugged. âHeâs okay, I guess. If you like that type.â
Melanie giggled, curls and bosoms bouncing in sync. The girl was nothing if not talented. âHeâs gorgeous, heâs got a good business going, and heâs male. With a capital M, if even half of what I hear is true. Whatâs not to like?â
âDonât get your drawers in a twist, Melanie. Heâs only here for a week.â
âA week, huh?â Two of the cutest dimples you ever did see popped out as Melanie flashed a smile. âHoney, thatâs more than enough time.â The lips pouted. âUnlessâ¦you have some sort of claim on him? I mean, youâre not going with him to the Jenkinsesâ pot luck tomorrow or anything, are you?â
Girls like this should come with warning labels. Sarah stretched her lips into what she hoped looked like a smile but which probably more nearly resembled an iguanaâs smirk. âMe? Heavens, no.â She waved at the young woman with the back of her hand. âHave at him, honey. With my blessings.â
The girls all titteredâloudlyâand Sarah cringed. She loved her sister dearly, but one of her was quite enough, thank you. Five Jennifers was cause for Alka-Seltzer.
Sheâd have to make do with coffee. That, at least, was something to be grateful for. Black, hot, there. All the criteria neatly met in one steaming cup. Sarah sipped, sighed, and tried to lean back in the chair without doing herself major damage. Miss Ellis, her mouth full of pins, was holding forth about how she had gone to this huge wedding in Atlanta and the bridalgown came from this really fancy salon named Fairchildâsâand would you lift your arm, darlinâ?âand the owner now manufactured her own line of bridal gowns but had still custom designed this absolutely stunning dress for the bride and do you know Thelma Rose Entwhistle told her it cost nearly ten thousand dollars?
They all gasped, right on cue, then proceeded to assure the dressmaker that her dresses were every bit as pretty, they were sure, and how clever of her to be able to make them for such reasonable prices.
Sarah rested her head on the back of the chair and shut her eyes. This was proving to be the longest morning in the history of mankind. She hadnât slept at all, she had to go into the clinic in the afternoon, her head hurt and the dress itched. And through it all needled the intense desire to throttle the living daylights out of Dean Parrish.
Somewhere around 3:00 a.m., after sheâd gone over his âconfessionâ for at least the hundredth time, sheâd finally heard what he was saying.
So what was with this inferiority business, anyway? How could he have possibly thought he would have ever gotten in her way, as if loving him would have ever interfered with her career goal? And how the hell did he figure he was worthless just because he hadnât finished high school?
Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris