Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(79)

Naomi gathered up her purse and briefcase. Just as she was getting ready to open the car door, Gerry caught her arm. “This is important to you, isn't it, sis?”

“I know you don't understand, Gerry, but I love what I do.”

He nodded slowly and then smiled at her. “Good luck, kid.”

The sound of a car door slamming woke Francesca. At first she couldn't think where she was, and then she realized that—like an animal going into a cave to die alone—she had crawled into the back seat of the Riviera and fallen asleep. Memories of the night before washed over her, bringing a fresh wave of pain. She straightened and moaned softly as the muscles in various parts of her body protested her change in position. The cat, who was curled up on the floor beneath her, lifted his misshapen head and meowed.

Then she saw the Cadillac.

She caught her breath. For as long as she could remember, big, expensive cars had always brought wonderful things into her life—expensive men, fashionable places, glittering parties. An illogical surge of hope swept through her. Maybe one of her friends had tracked her down and come to take her back to her old life. She brushed her hair from her face with a dirty, shaking hand, let herself out of the car, and walked cautiously around to the front of the house. She couldn't face Dallie this morning, and she especially couldn't face Holly Grace. As she crept up the front steps, she told herself not to get her hopes up, that the car might have brought a magazine writer to interview Dallie, or even an insurance salesman—but every muscle in her body felt tense with expectation. She heard an unfamiliar woman's voice through the open door and stepped to one side so she could listen unobserved.

“... have been looking everywhere for her,” the woman was saying. “I was finally able to track her down through inquiries about Mr. Beaudine.”

“Imagine going to all that trouble just for a magazine advertisement,” Miss Sybil replied.

“Oh, no,” the woman's voice protested. “This is much more important. Blakemore, Stern, and Rodenbaugh is one of the most important advertising agencies in Manhattan. We're planning a major campaign to launch a new perfume, and we need an extraordinarily beautiful woman as our Sassy Girl. She'll be on television, billboards. She'll make public appearances all over the country. We plan to make her one of the most familiar faces in America. Everyone will know about the Sassy Girl.”

Francesca felt as if she had just been given back her life. The Sassy Girl! They were looking for her! A surge of joy pulsed through her veins like adrenaline as she absorbed the astonishing realization that she would now be able to walk away from Dallie with her head held high. This fairy godmother from Manhattan was about to give her back her self-respect.

“But I'm afraid I don't have any idea where she is,” Miss Sybil said. “I'm sorry to have to disappoint you after you've driven so far, but if you'll give me your business card, I'll pass it on to Dallas. He'll see that she gets it.”

“No!” Francesca grabbed the screen door handle and pulled it open, illogically afraid the woman would vanish before she could get to her. As she rushed inside, she saw a thin, dark-haired woman in a navy business suit standing next to Miss Sybil. “No!” Francesca exclaimed. “I'm here! I'm right—”

“What's going on?” a throaty voice drawled. “Hey, how ya doin', Miss Sybil? I didn't get a chance to say hi last night. You got any coffee made?”

Francesca froze in the doorway as Holly Grace Beaudine came down the stairs, long bare legs stretching out from beneath one of Dallie's pale blue dress shirts. She yawned, and Francesca's altruistic feelings toward her from the night before vanished: Even bare of makeup and with sleep-tousled hair, she looked extraordinary.

Francesca cleared her throat and stepped into the living room, making everyone aware of her presence.

The woman in the gray suit audibly gasped. “My God! Those photographs didn't do you justice.” She walked forward, smiling broadly. “Let me be the first to offer my congratulations to our beautiful new Sassy Girl.”

And then she held out her hand to Holly Grace Beaudine.





Chapter

16



Francesca might have been invisible for all the attention anyone paid her. She stood numbly just inside the doorway while the woman from Manhattan clucked over Holly Grace, talking about exclusive contracts and time schedules and a series of photographs that had been taken of her when she appeared at a charity benefit in Los Angeles as the date of a famous football player.

“But I sell sporting goods,” Holly Grace exclaimed at one point. “At least I did until I got involved in a small labor dispute a few weeks back and staged an unofficial walkout. You don't seem to realize that I'm not a model.”

“You will be when I've finished with you,” the woman insisted. “Just promise me you won't disappear again without leaving a phone number. From now on, always let your agent know where you are.”

“I don't have an agent.”

“I'll fix that, too.”

There would be no fairy godmother for her, Francesca realized. No one to take care of her. No magical modeling contracts appearing at the last moment to save her. She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror Miss Sybil had framed with seashells. Her hair was wild, her face scraped and bruised. She looked down and saw the dirt and dried blood streaking her arms. How had she ever thought she could get through life on the strength of her beauty alone? Compared to Holly Grace and Dallie, she was second rate. Chloe had been wrong. Looking pretty wasn't enough— there was always someone prettier.