The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(55)

“That’s not underwear,” I whispered loudly. “That’s a medieval torture instrument. And it’s not going anywhere near my body.”

Jayne stuck her head around a rack of athletic bras and panties. “I have to agree with her there. I once heard a story about a woman having to have her thong underwear surgically removed. Apparently, she’d gone to an amusement park and there was some mishap on the log flume.”

I made a mental note to have a discussion with Jayne later about what would and would not be appropriate topics of conversation while out on a date.

Ginette, surprisingly, was grinning. “How awful,” she said. “But imagine the stories she could tell her grandchildren.”

Both she and Jayne dissolved into adolescent giggles, leaving me to stare at them and wonder what I’d missed.

Turning away from them, I said, “I’m going to go look for a bra for Nola. She refuses to come try on anything, so I have to be her personal shopper. I’ll just guess on her size, and hopefully it will look good with her dress for the Citadel dance.”

“Thirty-two-B,” Jayne and my mother said together before looking at each other and laughing again.

“Whatever,” I muttered, walking away from them.

“Not yet,” my mother said, calling me back. “None of your new clothes are fitting you properly because you’re wearing your old bras. You need something with more lift—maybe even a push-up or two. Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way, but your breasts are sagging.”

Jayne had the decency not to look smug, but instead looked genuinely concerned. “It’s normal after childbirth and breast-feeding. It comes with age, too.” She and Ginette nodded in unison, like a couple of dashboard bobble-heads.

“Thank you, Jayne. I wasn’t aware that my body had changed since giving birth to twins at the advanced age of forty.”

Her face flushed. “I’m sorry, Melanie. I didn’t mean—”

My mother put a gloved hand on her arm. “She knows. She’s just sensitive about that subject. She’ll be thinking differently once we get her into a few ‘wow’ bras.”

“Oooh, I want one of those,” came a voice from behind a hanging rack of silk nightgowns.

I cringed, recognizing Rebecca’s voice a split second before she appeared in front of us. She wore Pucci in her little front carrier, and they both had matching pink bows in their hair. I saw my mother eye the dog and pouch.

“She’s a certified emotional support dog,” I explained, watching with amusement as Ginette rolled her eyes.

“Hello, everyone. What a nice surprise.” Rebecca’s hands were full of little hangers with various bras dangling from them. “I’m just having the devil of a time finding the right bra for my dress for the big launch party. There’s going to be a lot of press, so I have to look just right.” She eyed me carefully. “I’m hoping you’ve already started looking for a dress. I imagine it will be hard to find something now that you’re, well, between sizes.”

For the first time in my life, I found myself sucking in my stomach. “Actually, I haven’t given it much thought. When is the party again? Jack called to RSVP and he might have neglected to put it on my calendar. I hope he thought to check to make sure I was free.”

Rebecca’s lips formed a straight line. “On the twenty-seventh. You RSVP’d, so you have to come.”

“Do you think I could wear these together?” Jayne appeared from behind my mother, holding up a bright floral athletic top with striped running pants.

“Only if you’re planning on running away with the circus,” Rebecca said before noticing to whom she was speaking. “Oh, it’s Jayne, isn’t it? We met at the park—you were with Jack and the children having lunch, I believe. Although I’ve run into you since then, haven’t I?” She pretended to think for a moment, a pink-painted nail tapping against her chin. “Oh, right—running around Colonial Lake. You were with Jack again and the twins were in that adorable jogging stroller. You looked like the perfect Charleston family. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you what type of jog bra you were wearing—you’re pretty chesty, but I noticed it was holding you high and firm.”

Jayne turned beet red as she opened her mouth to say something, but her lips kept on moving as if unable to find the correct words and failing.

“We’re so happy to have Jayne as a member of our household,” my mother said, her tone reminiscent of the opera diva she’d once been. “I hope you were there for some exercise, too.” She let her gaze slowly roam up and down Rebecca. With a frosty smile, she said, “It’s been lovely seeing you, Rebecca. Please give my best to your mother. Tell her that it’s been too long and we must have lunch together soon.”

“I’ll do that. Actually, I might want to come, too. I’ve been following my friend and former colleague Suzy Dorf’s column on the history of some of these wonderful houses we have here in Charleston—kind of obsessed, really, which makes sense, since the story of Melanie’s house will be making my husband famous—so of course I’m fascinated with Jayne’s story of how she acquired the Pinckney house. My mother swears that she thought you and Sumter Pinckney were a serious item, but Melanie says I was mistaken. Just imagine—that it could have been yours if that were true. It’s just such a fun coincidence that Melanie’s nanny now owns that same house!”