One Summer in Paris(66)

“Why not?”

“It’s dinner. Catching up with a friend.”

“Not dinner and sex?”

“Definitely not dinner and sex.”

“So why are you so stressed-out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I was eighteen when I saw him last.” Grace smoothed her beige dress over her thighs. “That’s a long time ago.”

So it was a confidence thing.

Audrey chewed. It was weird. Grace had to be at least… er…how old? She was completely crap at guessing ages.

She trod carefully. “How many years since you saw him?”

“Are you asking my age? It’s not something I hide. I’m forty-seven.”

Forty-seven?

Audrey had guessed her to be at least fifty. Forty was old, too, of course, but not as old as fifty.

“Okay, so I’m going to say it the way it is and you’re not to get mad at me.” Audrey helped herself to another delicious morsel from the plate next to her. “You’re only forty-seven, but you dress like—” she waved a hand “—the way you do. What is that about?”

“I’m dressing my age.”

“No. You’re dressing like a grandmother. We have to fix that.”

“We’re not fixing anything. This is the style I like.”

Audrey took another bite of food. She didn’t want to hurt Grace’s feelings, but still—sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind, didn’t you? “All I’m saying is that I think we could make a few small changes. I mean, the tights have got to go, obviously. Who the hell wears tights in the summer?”

“I do.”

“Not anymore you don’t. Take them off.”

Grace pressed her hands to her thighs, as if she was afraid Audrey might physically remove them. “I like them.”

“No one ‘likes’ tights, Grace. They’re an abomination. Need me to learn how to say that in French?”

“I do not. And I disagree. Women of a certain age shouldn’t be showing their legs.”

“Maybe not if you’ve got veins and things, but you haven’t.” Audrey studied Grace’s legs. “All you need is a little fake tan and you’re away.”

“I’m not turning my legs orange.”

Audrey sighed. “They won’t be orange. And if you want me to learn a ton of new French words, then you are going to have to lose those tights. That’s the deal.”

“The new words are for you. To help you.”

“And the new way of dressing is for you. To help you. We need to brighten up your look a little. You wear a lot of beige and black. I mean, you look great, don’t get me wrong, but it makes you look older than you are.”

“Beige and black are classic, safe choices.”

“If you work in a funeral home maybe. We need to make sure that when you meet Philippe for dinner, you wow him.”

“I’m not meeting him for dinner.”

“Yeah, you are.” Audrey stood up. Where should she start? “I think you’re wearing your clothes a size bigger than you should.”

“Tight clothes don’t look good on a woman my age.”

Audrey thought about her mother. Spilling flesh. Tight waistbands. “You’re right. But there’s a difference between clothes that are tight and clothes that fit well.” She paced around Grace, looking at her from every angle. “Lift your dress up.”

“Excuse me?”

Audrey reached out and hoisted it up herself. “Why do you always wear dresses that end midcalf?”

“I hate my knees.”

“Is that why you wear tights? Your knees look fine to me, but we can get something that ends below the knee if it makes you more comfortable.”

“You want to help choose my clothes?”

“Not help. I don’t need help. I’m choosing them. I’m also doing your hair and makeup.” Audrey pulled the clip out of Grace’s hair. It tumbled loose over her shoulders. Her fingers ached to pick up scissors. “You look good. You’re the kind of person who never leaves the house without sunscreen and a hat, so your skin is great. You don’t have any gray in your hair. How long have you been wearing your hair like this?”

“Thirty years.”

“You’ve had the same hairstyle for thirty years? Well sh—I mean, darn.” Audrey helped herself to a cherry from the bowl on the table. If she stuffed her mouth with cherries, there would be no risk of her saying all the things she wanted to say. “Time for a makeover.” She spat the cherry stone into her palm and was about to put it down on a book Grace was reading when she caught her eye.

“The garbage can is in the kitchen, Audrey.”

“Good. I knew that. Thanks.” She strolled into the kitchen, threw the stone in the bin and walked back into the living room. “I’m almost house-trained. Are you impressed? Now sit down and don’t move.” She pulled out one of the dining room chairs. “I’m nipping upstairs to fetch a few things, but I’ll be back in a minute.”

She sprinted to her apartment, grabbed what she needed and returned to find Grace still standing in the same place.

“What exactly are you planning?”