Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) by Marie Ferrarella

was audibly loud. “Where do you think they get all those gorgeous men from to act as waiters?”
    “The unemployed actors line,” Johanna said simply, sipping her champagne.
    The drink was bitter and not at all pleasing. Alicia was skimping again. Quantity instead of quality, Johanna thought. But she didn’t set it down. She wanted to have something to do with her hands instead of just knotting them together.
    She looked around the huge room for Harry. It wasn’t hard to find him He was now in the center of a crowd. Probably pontificating. The crowd was made up mostly of young women. Once, he had been in the center of crowds of men, men who listened when he spoke. Now he talked to women who pretended to listen and hoped that they could get something out of it.
    “Has he left you unguarded again?”
    Johanna turned as she heard the deep baritone voice to her left. “Hello, Marty.” She nodded at the assistant producer her husband had convinced to link his name with this movie. She wondered if her smile looked as forced as it felt.
    “You know,” Marty slipped an arm around her shoulders, “Harry might be a movie genius—“
    “The operative word here is ‘might,’” Arlene said into her glass, but loud enough for Johanna to hear.
    “—but he certainly doesn’t seem to know how to appreciate the finer things in life. Now if you were mine, Johanna—“ Lazily, he let his fingertips glide along her bare back.
    She raised her eyes to his face. The meaning of his words were very clear. It was an open invitation, any time, any place, anywhere. She felt revolted. “But I’m not, am I?”
    “My loss.”
    She patted the smooth, handsome face. “You’ll get over it.” She saw the star of Harry’s ill-fated fiasco coming their way, a woman with ivory skin, flowing blond hair—her own—and a figure that was only out done by her insatiable appetite for good looking men. “In about five minutes, I’ll wager.”
    Marty looked at her quizzically as she took a step backward, safely away from his arm. Then he saw Tracy and his smile broadened. “Business,” he murmured, taking his leave.
    “Of the most important kind,” Arlene laughed bawdily, drawing glances their way. “You know, sweetie, there’s something you could learn from Tracy.”
    “What?” Johanna watched the couple disappear in the crowd. “How to carry my own penicillin in my purse?”
    Arlene wagged a stubby finger at her. “Tacky, tacky, sweetie.”
    Johanna grinned. “But true.”
    “No argument. What I was referring to is that Tracy has fun.”
    “Fun, to paraphrase, my dear Arlene, is in the eyes of the beholder. Having some handsome, sweaty guy strip me of my clothes and—“
    “Stop, you’re getting me all excited.” Arlene fanned herself with her hand as she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.
    Johanna moved away from the buffet table, seeking a quieter space away from the swell of the crowd. “Fooling around just for the sake of doing it is not my idea of fun, Arlene.”
    Arlene looked as if she thought Johanna was in serious need of help. “What is your idea of fun?”
    Her slim bare shoulders moved up and down shyly. “All the corny things you laugh at.”
    “Maybe I laugh at them because I can’t have them,” Arlene said quietly.
    Arlene’s answer wasn’t what she had expected and it surprised her. Johanna began to comment on the glimmer of truth she had seen exposed, but Arlene shut it away, her face impassive, her eyes roaming.
    “C’mon, I’m going to find you a dance partner. You’re not going to stand here like a wallflower when I know that there are at least a dozen men just dying to hold you in their arms.”
    She knew it was useless to argue, but she thought she’d give it a try. “Arlene, why are you so intent on my having a good time?”
    “You’ll have it for both of us. Call it vicarious living. I’m a stage mother, okay?”
    “You’re not old enough to be my mother.”
    “For that, you gain