"So, blow it off. Come to Bluey’s and I’ll put a reserved sign on a stool at the bar. We have a good band playing this weekend."
"Don't think I'm not tempted. Except then I would have to make up a raft of excuses for both Father and the stockholders expecting to see me at the club, and in the end it would turn out to be more trouble than it's worth."
"Plus, you’re a social creature by nature. You will probably have a great time once you’re there."
"Yeah, maybe. What do you think, this one?" Kurstin held up a white floor-length gown. "Want to know what I would do this weekend, given the choice?"
"Too bland," Hayley decided, eyeing the dress. "What would you do?"
"Get laid. This one?" She held up a pale green strapless number.
"Oh, God, you too?" Hayley sat up and impatiently waved away the dress. "Forget the wardrobe for a minute. How long has it been for you? I bet it hasn’t been nearly as long as it’s been for me."
“Don’t wager your hard earned paycheck on it." Kurstin draped the gowns over a slipper chair and crossed the room to join Hayley on the bed, bracing her spine against the tall footboard. “It might turn out to be the biggest sucker bet you ever made."
"You think so? Well, tell me this, then," Hayley said. "Have you had sex more than twice in the past two-and-a-half years?"
"Well...yes."
"Not me."
"Yeah, but you’ve had some turbulent years. At least that is an excuse of sorts. I don't have an excuse, aside from the fact that I know every man in town."
"Ooh. In the biblical sense?"
"No. Try to stay on track here, Hayles. If I knew them all in the biblical sense, we would not be having this conversation."
Kurstin tapped her foot against the Aubusson rug. "I know their families, their histories—hell, I bet if push came to shove I could even quote you their childhood illnesses."
Hayley scooted to an upright position. Sitting cross-legged, she grasped her ankles and pressed her knees toward the mattress, then allowed them to relax, lazily working them up and down like fairy wings opening and closing. She looked up from the contemplation of her bare calves to meet her friend's gaze. "If you could have just one evening of uncomplicated, guilt-free, fantasy sex, what kind of man would you pick?"
"A construction worker," Kurstin promptly replied. "With a hard hat, hard hands, and a great big, hard…"
"…to resist smile." Hayley grinned.
"That, too. It is definitely up there, right after really hard working hips. What about you? Who would you pick?"
"Remember 'Ranch' romances?"
"Please," Kurstin said with pained loftiness. "You know I only read enlightening fiction." But she could not prevent herself from squirming beneath the get-real look Hayley gave her. "Okay, okay, I might have read one. Possibly two." Her foot stilled on the carpet as she leaned forward. "And man, was I enlightened," she admitted enthusiastically. "This gorgeous rancher had the little blonde heroine every which way there was. It was great. Inspiring, really."
"Exactly," Hayley agreed. "That's who I would pick. Some big ole rancher with ten gallon shoulders and a stallion-sized dick he has to strap down with the thingamajig on his holster just to prevent himself from ravishing me on the spot every time I come on the scene." She laughed but then immediately sobered. "Instead I get real life. How lowering. I got my period this morning, I have a zit starting next to my nose, and you know how I get when it comes to the opposite sex. I can talk trash with the best of 'em, provided it's only you and me. I don't have a problem holding my own with the barflies who hit on me at work, because that's business. But when it comes to doing the Up Close and Personal with a regular guy, all that introversion I have worked like a slave to overcome rears its ugly head. Every stinkin’ time."
"And the closest I’m bound to get to a construction worker in this lifetime is an ancient Coke ad on TV that I, um, may have recorded back when," Kurstin admitted, climbing off the bed and reaching for the topmost evening gown draped over the dainty slipper chair. She held it up in front of her. "So, back to real life. What do you think? Should I wear this red number to wow the local boys at the country club dance? Or do you like the pale green better?"
"Joe," I say again and my heart pounds in my breast as I take in my husband's wild-eyed gaze. "What are you doing up here?"
Only slowly does he turn entirely away from the closet with its damning contents. His fists clench and unclench as he stares at me and I take a cautious step backward, frightened of him for the first time ever. That one step forward strikes me as threatening.
"What am I doing here?" he demands with quiet fury. "Don't you think that’s a question better asked of you?" He takes another step toward me, waving a stiff hand toward the closet "What the hell is this, Patsy? It looks like a fucking shrine to Hayley."
You're stupid, Patsy. I hear the echo of my mother in his tone and raise my chin, stepping past him to inspect the destruction done to the closet door. Relief flows through me when I get close enough to inspect it, for the damage is minimal, really. The lock has simply been drilled out and the door opened. I turn back to Joe. "Why did you remove the deadbolt?"
"Because I don't like stumbling across locked doors in my own goddamn house. Are you going to answer my question, Patsy? What is all this shit?"
"Just a few articles I have gathered over the years about her poor husband's death and the trials and stuff."
"A few articles, my ass. This looks like every fucking word that has ever been written, not to mention every sound bite ever recorded. How did you get all this shit? This is sick, Patsy."
"It is not sick!" I disagree furiously while Mother's voice in my mind sneers, ignorant, unnatural girl. "Hayley Prescott is one of my oldest, dearest friends. It is only natural I am interested in what has been going on in her life."
"Oldest, dearest… For Christ's sake, Patsy, up until this summer you hadn't seen her in twelve damn years!"
"So what? We have a bond that will endure until the day I die."
"You have a bond," Joe repeated flatly. Jesus. He had known for several months now that their marriage was falling apart, but this! This was just plain crazy. He started to demand what kind of bond she thought she had with Hayley but then shook his head. No. I don't want to know. Looking inside the closet, he thought of all the nights he had found her missing from their bed, and took a step back, distancing himself. "I'm leaving, Patsy."
"No!" She rushed forward. "You cannot." Grasping his arm in both hands, she stared up at him, her expression beseeching. "Joe, please. This is insane. Let us talk about it…we can work this out."
"Not today we can't. I gotta get out of here."
"But where will you go?" she demanded plaintively.
"I don't know. I'll get a room at the Inn for tonight. I’ll worry about something more permanent tomorrow."