Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (find a book to read TXT) 📗

“There’s something very odd about that woman. Afraid to leave an eighteen-year-old at home alone? And she still hasn’t told us a thing about herself.”

“I think she’s probably just very shy,” Grace said. “An introvert.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I am dying to know what she did to her ex,” Ashleigh said. “It’s those quiet ones who always surprise you with something outrageous.”

“Speaking of outrageous,” Camryn said pointedly.

“Okay, sooooo. Boyce and I have been married, what, four years now? And it was amazing.”

“And then?” Grace asked.

“My biggest mistake was quitting my job. Boyce told me he didn’t want me working so hard.” She shook her head ruefully. “I never even saw it coming.”

“Hello?” A man’s voice bellowed. “Rochelle? Where the hell are you?”

Their heads swiveled. A grizzled, shirtless old man wearing baggy shorts that hung below his kneecaps stood at the bar, banging the wooden surface with his glass.

“Pipe down, Milo,” Rochelle hollered back. She stood. “Hang on. I want to hear this. I’ll be right back.”

Rochelle scurried behind the bar, scolding her regular as she drew him a beer.

“Your mom seems nice,” Ashleigh told Grace. “Did you say you’re living together? Where?”

Grace pointed her index finger upward.

“Here? You live above a bar?”

“I grew up here,” Grace told her. “There’s an apartment upstairs, two bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen. It’s not fancy, but I guess you get used to it. At least it’s close to the beach.”

“I’m back,” Rochelle slid back onto her chair. “You were saying?”

“Long story short, Boyce wanted me out of the office because he was having a fling with this slutty little drug rep named Suchita.” Ashleigh laughed bitterly. “He even took her to the same suite at the Ritz where he used to take me, back when he was married to Beverly.”

“That’s just plain tacky,” Rochelle said. “But how’d you find out?”

Ashleigh flipped her hair over her shoulder. “One of the girls in the office spilled the beans that he was getting friendly with the Juvenesse rep. I knew it was this Suchita chick right away. I parked across the street from his office and followed them to the Ritz.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “That was our place! Afterwards, I followed her back to her house, and when I saw the neighborhood she was living in, I knew it was true. No drug rep can afford to live in Newtown. So I decided to fix her little red wagon. Teach her a lesson.”

“There was a Home Depot a couple miles away,” Ashleigh continued. “I went home and changed into my guerrilla warfare outfit: black T-shirt, black Theory slacks, black Tory Burch flats. Then I went back after midnight. I painted HE’S MARRIED in these big, scary red letters all across the front of her house. Oh yeah, and on the front of her Beemer.”

“You wore Tory Burch on a covert mission?” Camryn looked offended.

“They were last season, and I’d worn them to death,” Ashleigh said. “So that’s it. See?” She glanced around the table. “The whole thing just got blown way out of proportion.”

“I’ll bet,” Rochelle said, helping herself to a sip of Grace’s pinot.

“I know, right?’ She turned to Grace. “Apparently in this state it’s considered some kind of capital offense or something if you paint all over your husband’s mistress’s house. And then there was some crap about defacing private property … I let my lawyer deal with all that. I paid some fine. But then!” She paused for effect. “Stackpole found out. And he literally blew his stack!”

“And that’s how you ended up at Ladies’ Night,” Rochelle said. She picked up Ashleigh’s empty glass. “Anybody ready for another?”

Camryn frowned. “Better not. The station put me on ‘probation’ after they found out about the YouTube video. My lawyer says the only reason they didn’t fire me is because I’m a community institution. I’m not but forty-two. And they act like I’m friggin’ Betty White or something. Plus, I have 26,345 Facebook fans.”

“You’re only forty-two?” Ashleigh leaned way across the table to study Camryn’s face. “Have you ever thought of Botox?” She traced a finger over Camryn’s forehead, and down to her upper lip. “Because I could totally hook you up. Boyce showed me how to inject myself. It’s really easy-peasy.”

Camryn drew back. “Uh, thanks just the same. I don’t think I’m up for any DIY Botox sessions at this time.”

Ashleigh sighed and looked at her watch. “Guess I’d better get on home, too.” She fumbled around in her billfold, finally finding a twenty-dollar bill, which she laid on the tabletop. “Thanks, ladies. It’s been fun.”

*   *   *

Grace hung around downstairs, long enough to help count out the cash register, wash the last of the dirty glasses and dishes, and turn off the neon WE’RE OPEN sign on the front door.

“That’s a fascinating group of women you’ve got going there,” Rochelle said, as she trudged up the stairs to the apartment.

“I don’t know that I’d call them fascinating,” Grace said, three steps ahead. “Bat-shit crazy is more the word that comes to my mind. I was a little worried about Ashleigh. She was slamming those margaritas pretty seriously.”

“No worries,” Rochelle said. “They were actually fakearitas. I just barely passed the tequila bottle over ’em.”

“Good thinking,” Grace said. “And I will admit it’s just a little bit comforting to put things in perspective and find out there are people who’ve done worse things than me.”

“Yeah…” Rochelle agreed. “I might need you to show me how to look at that YouTube video that Camryn was talking about. You know,” she added hastily, “just to help you put things in perspective.”

“I keep thinking about Paula, the therapist,” Grace said, when they got up to the living room. “She was really zonked. I don’t feel so good about leaving her all alone like that.”

“What else could you do?”

“I could have made sure she got home okay,” Grace said finally. She turned around and headed for the door.

“You’re going back to check on her?” Rochelle asked.

“Yup.”

16

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