Glitter Baby (Wynette, Texas #3)(103)

When Jake and Simon started talking about horses, Kissy slipped to Fleur’s side. “He’s even hotter in person than he is on the screen. That man belongs in the Hunk Hall of Fame.”

“His tooth is crooked,” Fleur retorted.

“I’ll bet nothing else is.”



Everyone except Fleur had a wonderful time. Michel and Simon finally began to talk over Michel’s spectacular halibut dish, and as the breadbasket made its second pass, they were listing their favorite restaurants. Before long, they’d begun a casual discussion about checking out a trendy place in the East Village. Kissy tried to catch Fleur’s eye for a congratulatory salute, but Fleur pretended not to notice.

Kissy and Jake were trading jokes as if they’d known each other for years. Then they began comparing notes about a new singer they both liked. Why didn’t they just go to bed and get it over with?

When it was time for dessert, Fleur brought out a French almond cake she’d bought that afternoon at her favorite bakery. Everyone loved it, but she could barely eat a bite. She suggested they take their Irish coffee into the living room. Kissy sat on the couch. Normally Fleur would have sat next to her, but now she grabbed one of the big floor pillows instead, leaving the rest of the couch free for Jake, who immediately claimed it.

Everyone except Fleur started arguing about the all-time best rock groups. Her unhappiness settled into a lump in the pit of her stomach that she didn’t want to examine too closely. Kissy sent her a sympathetic smile. Fleur looked away.

Kissy cleared her throat. “Fleurinda, you promised I could borrow your amber earrings. Show me where they are before I walk off without them.”

Fleur hadn’t promised Kissy any such thing, and she started to say so, only to find herself on the receiving end of one of Kissy’s steel magnolia glares. She wouldn’t put it past her former friend to stage a scene, so she rose reluctantly and followed Kissy to the bedroom.

When they got there, Kissy crossed her arms over her pillowy breasts. “You’d better get that whipped puppy look off your face right now, or I swear to God, I’m going back in that living room and French him right in front of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kissy looked at her with disgust. “I’m about ready to give up on you. You’re twenty-six. That’s too old not to know yourself better.”

“I know myself just fine.”

Instead of responding, Kissy started tapping the toe of one bright red ballet flat. Fleur felt herself wilt. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be. You’re acting crazy.”

“You’re right. And I don’t even know why.”

“Because you’re green-eyed jealous, that’s why.”

“I’m not jealous! Not the way you mean anyway.”

Kissy wasn’t having it. “Since when have you ever known me not to flirt with a good-looking guy, let alone a man like that? Yummy. And what did you do? Not one thing, that’s what. You just slinked off into the corner. I’m ashamed of you.”

Fleur was ashamed of herself, too. “It wasn’t about Jake. I’m not that stupid. It was about feeling like an overgrown teenager again.”

“I’m not buying it,” Magnolia Blossom said. “Don’t you think it’s time you stop kidding yourself and take a hard look at your feelings for that gorgeous man sitting in your living room?”

“My feelings for him are made up of dollar signs. Really, Kissy. I’ve practically lost Olivia, and the only clients who want me to represent them are ones I don’t want to represent, like that cretin Shawn Howell. Jake’s not even pretending to write, and—” She stopped. “That’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Kissy. You’re right. I’ve been acting infantile. Forgive me.”

Kiss finally softened. “All right. But only because I feel the same way every time I see you and Charlie together.”

“Charlie and me? Why?”

Kissy sighed and refused to meet Fleur’s eyes. “He likes you so much, and I know I can’t compete with you when it comes to looks. Every time I see the two of you talking, I feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

Fleur didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “It seems like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know herself very well.” She gave Kissy a bear hug, then glanced at her watch. “Butch Cassidy is on television tonight. If I’m calculating right, we should be able to take a peek, then get back to the party before we’re missed. Do you want to indulge?”

“You bet.” Kissy flipped on the small television perched on a secondhand table in the corner of the bedroom. “Do you think we’re getting too old for this?”

“Probably. We should give it up for Lent.”

“Or not.”

The Hole-in-the-Wall Gang had just robbed the Overland Flyer, and Paul Newman’s Butch, along with Robert Redford’s mustachioed Sundance Kid, were drinking on the balcony of the whorehouse. Kissy and Fleur settled on the edge of the bed as the schoolteacher Etta Place climbed the steps to her small frame house, lit the lamp inside, and unfastened the top buttons of her shirtwaist. When she reached her bedroom, she pulled off the garment and hung it in the closet. Then she turned and screamed as she saw the chiseled features of the Sundance Kid staring menacingly at her from across the room.