Chapter 4: The Gala Guest List

Hazel locked the front door at six.

She flipped the sign to CLOSED so hard the glass rattled.

"Okay," she said. "Tell me the part where you didn't cry in front of the Ranieri man."

"I didn't cry."

"You told me the Escalade had a minibar."

"It did have a minibar."

"Deirdre."

I sat down on the stool by the cutting table.

I put my face in my hands for a moment, because that was all I had.

Then I took my hands away and looked at the rack of gowns along the wall.

There were eleven of them, all waiting for a fitting.

The green silk I had cut for myself hung at the end, still wrapped in its muslin.

"He wants Braden to pay in public," I said.

"Good."

"He wants me standing next to him while Braden pays."

Hazel pulled a stool across the floor and sat down facing me.

Our knees touched.

"You want that too," she said. "Don't tell me you don't."

"I want my name off that paper."

"And?"

"And I want Joyce Tully to say sorry in a room with a hundred people in it."

"That's a lot of people, Deirdre."

"It's a lot of people who laughed."

Hazel nodded slowly.

She bit the inside of her cheek, the way she did when she wanted to say something mean about someone's mother.

"Call him," she said.