The Last Mrs. Parrish(28)

At ten to six, she walked down the short path from the building to the street. At precisely six o’clock, the black Town Car pulled up. She wondered what her neighbors on her modest street were thinking as the chauffeur got out of the car and opened the door for her. She slid into the backseat across from Jackson and Daphne.

“Hello, Daphne, Jackson. Thanks so much for picking me up.”

“Of course,” Daphne said. “You look lovely. The dress looks like it was made for you. You should keep it.”

Jackson looked at her a long moment and then turned away. He seemed slightly annoyed, Amber thought. Great, she’d been hoping to make a lasting impression on him, and she was, but for the completely wrong reason. She never should have agreed to borrow a dress from Daphne. What had she been thinking?

“I went to the hotel a little earlier to see the auction setup,” Daphne said, smoothing over the awkwardness. “It looks beautiful. I think we’ll do well.”

“I think so too,” Amber said. “The silent auction items are fabulous. Can’t wait to see how much the villa in Santorini goes for.”

The small talk continued as they drove to the hotel. She noticed that Jackson held his wife’s hand for the entire drive, and when they arrived, he gently and lovingly helped her out of the car, leaving the chauffeur to lend Amber a hand. He was nuts about Daphne, Amber thought, and felt her determination wilt a bit.

They were not the first to arrive. The decorating committee was already there, putting the finishing touches on the auction table and placing the floral centerpieces on the fifty tables covered in pink tablecloths and black napkins. The band was setting up at the far end of the room, and the bartenders were arranging their stock; they’d be busy tonight.

“Wow, Daphne, it looks amazing,” Amber said.

Jackson put his arm around Daphne’s waist and, pulling her to him, nuzzled her ear. “Great job, my darling. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Amber looked at them, Jackson resembling a movie star in his black dinner jacket, and Daphne absolutely gorgeous in a strapless chiffon gown of emerald green that hugged every curve of her body.

“Thank you, sweetheart. That means so much to me.” She looked at Jackson and then pulled away. “I really need to check on my volunteers and see if anyone needs anything. You’ll excuse me, yes?” Daphne turned to Amber. “Stay here and keep Jackson company while I see if Meredith has everything she needs.”

“Sure,” Amber said.

Jackson continued to watch Daphne as she walked across the ballroom, seemingly unaware that Amber was even there.

“You must be very proud of your wife tonight,” Amber said.

“What?” He tore his eyes away from Daphne.

“I said, you must be very proud of your wife tonight.”

“She’s the most beautiful and accomplished woman in this room,” he said with pride.

“Daphne’s been wonderful to me. My best friend, really.”

Jackson frowned. “Your best friend?”

Amber sensed immediately that she’d made a mistake. “Well, not best friend exactly. More like a mentor. She’s taught me so much.”

She saw him relax a little. This was proving to be an exercise in futility. Obviously, nothing in her plan was going to move forward tonight.

“I think I’ll go see if I can be of any help,” she said to Jackson.

He gestured absently. “Right-o, good idea.”

The evening was a smashing success. The bidding was frenzied, and the crowd drank and danced until midnight. Amber walked around the room, taking it all in—the designer dresses and opulent jewels, the snippets of gossip and laughter from clustered groups of women, the men in black tie loudly discussing the latest S&P 500 losing streak. The world of the rich and mighty, mingling and toasting each other, smug and confident in their little one-percent corner of the world.

Despite being seated at Daphne’s table, though, Amber felt as out of place here as she had at the dry cleaner’s. She wanted to belong somewhere, to have people look up to her, fawn over her the way they did Daphne. She was tired of being the girl no one noticed or cared about.

But tonight was not turning out the way she’d hoped. Jackson never took his eyes off Daphne. He was always reaching for her hand or running his hand up and down her back. For the first time, Amber was discouraged, wondering if her plan was unworkable, if the prize was out of reach.

She watched the dancers from her seat, some of the May-December couples looking comically unsuited to one another. Something flashed in the corner of her eye, making Amber turn to see a photographer. She turned her head quickly as the flashing continued, praying her image had not been caught on camera.

Jackson and Daphne had been on the dance floor a good portion of the evening, and now they came walking back to the table. She saw Daphne give Jackson a discreet push, and he stood in front of Amber. “Would you care to dance?” he asked.

Amber looked at Daphne, who smiled and nodded at her. “I’d love to.” She rose and took Jackson’s hand as he led her to the dance floor.

She relaxed into Jackson’s strong arms, inhaling the clean, masculine smell of him, enjoying the feel of his arms around her and his body against hers. She closed her eyes and pretended he belonged to her, that she was the envy of every woman in the room. The high lasted even though the dance ended. He didn’t ask her again, but that one dance was enough to get her through the rest of the evening. At twelve thirty, Amber strode to the long table where volunteers sat waiting to help winning bidders check out. She sat down at the credit card machine next to Meredith.