Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
A magnetic force pushes me to look to my right. There, I find him. Leaning against the wall, a beer bottle in his hand, an unfathomable expression on his face. He wears elegance so well. He wears everything well. Even . . . depression? I cannot help but wonder whether he intended to fall that night at the Pierre, or if it was just a drunken, foolish mistake as he said.
Maybe he is regretting the kiss that came after it too.
Maybe he doesn’t even remember kissing me. Why do I care? I’m a widow still very much in pain from losing her husband. I shouldn’t give a darn what he is thinking.
That’s when I notice he isn’t alone.
He brought a date?
Yes, he brought a date. So what? Again, you don’t care, remember?
She is standing right next to him, and they share a pleasant conversation. She is beautiful. Tall, razor thin, with long black hair and midnight eyes. Unlike me, she is dressed to impress, in a white gown, with fitted bodice and exposed back.
My stomach rolls. It can’t be jealousy. Me? Jealous? Ha. I wasn’t even jealous when Paul invited all my good friends to slow dance at our wedding, including Georgie, my sister. Twice. Even when it stopped being appropriate and started looking a little weird (Big city people! Ma laughed it off).
But this girl . . . she is so lovely, and so much to Arsène’s taste. Dark haired and mysterious, like Grace.
“Surprise!” A pair of hands grabs me by the shoulders from behind. I gasp, swiveling around. Ma—yes, Ma!—is standing in front of me, arms stretched wide.
My momma, in the flesh! With her big grin and wide eyes and short, no-nonsense hairstyle and gemstone-beaded necklace that makes her fancy herself a real first lady.
“Sugar plum! You bright shining star of mine!”
I fling myself into her arms, clinging to her for dear life. “Ma! What’re you doing here?”
She wraps herself around me. “What do you mean? I wouldn’t have missed your premiere for the world. Oh, Winnie, look at you. You’re all skin and bones! Your daddy was right. I needed to buy a ticket six months ago and drag you back home with me.”
I unglue myself from her, peering into her face. She looks the same as always. Same clothes, same hair, same smile. It brings me a lot of comfort knowing my parents are exactly the way I left them.
“You’re staying?” I ask, realizing she is going to get into my apartment and see Paul’s shoes and yogurt and newspapers are still very much there, eagerly awaiting his return.
“Oh, sugar plum, I wish I could. But Kenny has a recital tomorrow, and Lizzy’s going to kill me if I miss it. Not to mention Georgie is down with her allergies again, and Daddy . . . oh, you know Daddy! He can’t do anything without me. I just wanted to be here for you today.”
“When did you land?” I hold her hands as if she is a hallucination, about to disappear from my view any minute now.
“This morning,” Chrissy answers, inserting herself between us, a ceramic travel mug with her fat-burning tea in hand. “I spent the day showing her around. We didn’t want you to know before the show. Figured you were already a nervous wreck.”
I don’t need to ask Chrissy to know she bought Ma the tickets. My parents aren’t poor, but they’d never splurge on a few-hours trip. I’m so grateful I could cry.
“Oh, Chrissy.” I make a face, hugging her. “Thank you,” I whisper in her ear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“I’m heading back to the airport in a couple hours,” Ma announces, taking the scene in with haunted eyes. She’s never been a fan of the Manhattan scene. “All I really wanted was to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. Better than okay!” I smile brightly, hoping she buys it. If I can convince her of that, I am ready for my Oscar performance.
Ma’s eyes are misty and skeptical as her gaze swipes over me. Her hand is still on my arm, like she, too, cannot bear the idea of my evaporating into thin air.
“I don’t think New York’s good for you,” she says, finally, through pursed lips. “It’s cruel and hectic. It doesn’t understand your soul, sugar plum.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Mrs. Towles.” Chrissy jumps into the conversation artfully. “In fact, I was going to broach this subject with your daughter tonight.”
“You were?” I frown. This is news to me. Chrissy always tells me I have nothing to look for in Mulberry Creek. That my future awaits somewhere big and polluted and full of opportunities.
“Yes.” Chrissy takes a sip of her tea. “You should be heading to Hollywood as soon as The Seagull ends. If you make it there by June next year, we can book you a ton of auditions for pilot season.”