California Girls(92)

“You look great,” Zennie said, stripping off her clothes and stepping into the bridesmaid dress she’d bought for Ali’s wedding.

Of course the simple, inexpensive gown looked stunning on her. Oh, to be that tall, that fit and that genetically blessed, Finola thought with only a tiny bit of rancor.

While Mary Jo zipped up the dress, Finola handed her sister a small navy evening bag. They’d just stepped into their shoes when the doorbell rang.

While Mary Jo greeted the driver, Finola checked that she had everything, then she and her sister stepped into the limo.

“Thanks for doing this,” she said as they pulled away from the curb. “The station is a big sponsor of the charity so I couldn’t get out of going but I really didn’t want to face the hordes alone.”

“Happy to help,” Zennie told her. “It’s not my idea of fun but lately I’m feeling unsettled and out of sorts, so this is a nice distraction.”

Finola studied her. “No regrets?”

“The occasional surprise, but no regrets.”

Impulsively, Finola squeezed her hand. “I’m glad.”

It didn’t take long to get to The Beverly Hills Hotel. They waited in a line of limos before reaching the red carpet. Zennie stared at the crowd of photographers.

“I wasn’t expecting this. What should I do?”

“Smile and head inside. I’ll be right beside you.”

“What if I trip?”

“Then you’ll be on the news.”

Zennie grinned. “Good to know.”

They made it inside without mishap. Finola led the way to the registration area where she checked them in. The night was a fairly traditional event with cocktails and a silent auction followed by dinner and a live auction. She was at one of the station’s three tables where she would be surrounded by people she knew and trusted. Zennie would sit on one side of her and she’d arranged for Rochelle to sit on the other. But first she had to get through the cocktail party.

She linked arms with her sister. “Ready?” she asked.

“I’m not sure for what, but okay. Let’s do it.”

They walked into the huge ballroom. There were dozens of pairs of photographs of children on the walls. The picture on the left showed a sick, sad child while the one on the right showed the same kid, but healthy and happy. Everywhere banners proclaimed You can make miracles.

As they made their way to the bar, they passed too many people Finola knew. Women stopped her with a concerned expression.

“How are you?” a tall redhead asked. “Really, Finola. How are you?”

Finola smiled. “I’m doing great, Maddie. How are you?”

“I just feel so awful. Everything was so public. You really didn’t know at all?”

Finola stepped back. “We’re parched. Let’s talk later, all right? Right now a vodka martini is calling my name.”

Maddie nodded sadly, as if concerned.

“She seems nice,” Zennie offered.

“She’s a heartless bitch who hates my guts.”

“She hides it well.”

They reached the bar. Zennie ordered a club soda. Finola did the same.

“What happened to the vodka martini?” Zennie asked, sounding confused.

“I haven’t eaten in five days. I’d get sick. I’ll have some wine with dinner.”

“Five days?” Her sister stared at her. “So you could look good here?”

“Absolutely. Everyone wants to know how I’m doing. If there’s any sign of weakness I’ll be ostracized and that’s a best-case scenario.”

Zennie looked around at all the well-dressed people in the ballroom. “So why do you do it?”

“I love my job and it’s worth it to endure this so I can show up at work on Monday and love my job again.”

They wandered around the silent auction. Zennie started to bid on martial arts lessons from a celebrity instructor only to realize the opening bid was five thousand dollars. She tucked her bag under her arm.

“So, only looking,” she said, looking shell-shocked.

“You’re pregnant, sis. No martial arts for you for a while.”

“Right. I forgot.”

Several more women came up and offered Finola the sympathetic half hug-air kiss. One acquaintance’s husband walked by, pausing only to hand her a business card without saying anything. When he’d moved on, she turned the card over. He’d handwritten Call me followed by a number.

Zennie peered over her shoulder. “Am I imagining things, or is he offering you sex?”

“I think he’s offering me sex.”

“I had no idea your world was like this. No offense, but I’m not sure I like it.”

“It was easier when I had Nigel.”

“I could get you a really big stick. That might help.”

Finola laughed. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. Do you know what the menu is? I’m dying for a meal without kale or yogurt.”

“Healthy food getting to you?”

“You have no idea.”

Finola pointed to an auction. “That’s a brownie and cookie package delivered every quarter for a year. I’m going to buy you that and I don’t care what it costs.”