Good at Games (36 page)

“Something's still not right,” complained the more flamboyant of the two men. He wagged his finger at Lucille and Suzy. “It's the same outfit, definitely, but the wrong one's wearing it.”

Mystified, Lucille looked at Suzy.

“Have you the foggiest idea what they're talking about?”

Suzy shook her head. Damn, why hadn't she just donated the lime-green-and-silver-striped tracksuit top and cycling shorts to Oxfam instead of giving them to Lucille?

“It's her. It
is
her. Look at her face!” crowed the second man. “Same dog, same outfit… Hey, darling, put us out of our misery. Did you ever manage to get it together with Leo?”

“Ignore them.” Suzy turned scarlet and attempted to drag Lucille away. “They're a couple of drunks. They spend their days on park benches hurling abuse at innocent passersby.”

“Don't drag me,” complained Lucille. “We can't leave Baxter. Anyway, they said something about Leo.”

“Come on, you can tell us,” urged the first one. He grinned lewdly at Suzy. “Are you still fantasizing about him? Leo Fitzthingummy? Still wondering what he looks like with his clothes off?”

“Never mind that.” His friend giggled. “What I want to know is did she ever screw him?”

“Ah. Good question. Well?” The first man raised his blond eyebrows at Suzy. “Did you? Because you know you wanted to.”

“This is complete bullshit,” Suzy muttered, wishing the ground would open up.

“Now stop it. You mustn't deny your innermost feelings,” the other one chided. “You told us you loved him.”

“I did
not
tell you that,” shrieked Suzy, too embarrassed to catch Lucille's eye and wondering how she was ever going to live this down.

“She's right, you know. She didn't tell us. She was talking to herself at the time.” Enjoying himself immensely, the first one clutched his heart and declared, “Oh, woe is me. How can I marry Billy when 'tis Leo I truly love?”

“Harry,” Lucille corrected him automatically. “Not Billy.”

“That's right.” The other one nodded, remembering. “It was Harry.”

His friend shrugged, patting Baxter and grinning across at Suzy. “OK, but I still think she has a nerve, yakking away to herself like that and accusing us of needing help.”

* * *

“Well?” said Lucille, clipping Baxter's leash to his collar. The gay couple had sauntered off in the opposite direction, arm in arm and laughing like maniacs.

Suzy, collapsing on the bench they had just vacated, said despairingly, “Damn, I really wish I'd taken the car.”

Lucille sat down too, stuffing her cold hands into the pockets of the tracksuit top Suzy had given her. “Is it true? Are you really in love with Leo?”

“No. No. Of course not.” Suzy shook her head, then abruptly stopped and closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“But—”

“I know. You don't have to tell me. It's a disaster.”

“I wouldn't call it a disaster.” Lucille hesitated, because of course it was.

“Come on. He's already taken.” Suzy opened her eyes and sighed. “By Gabriella, of all people. They're getting married next month and there isn't a thing I can do about it. How much more disastrous can it get?”

Lucille thought for a moment. “Does Leo know?”

“You must be joking! And he's never going to find out! If he did, I'd just die.” Suzy swiveled around in a panic. “And if you tell him, then you'll be the one who dies, so don't even think it.”

“But he might—”

“No,” Suzy interrupted before Lucille could say the words. “He wouldn't. He just wouldn't, OK?”
Don't you understand? He's out of my league.
“And I wouldn't either,” she went on, “because he's getting married.”

This wasn't the real reason, of course, but there were some things just too hard to admit to. After a lifetime of being able to pick and choose and have any man you wanted, it was a pretty humbling experience falling for one who was unlikely to want you back.

And why
would
he want me
, Suzy thought with resignation,
when he's already got Gabriella?

* * *

“I waited until you were on your own,” said Celeste. “Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“I need to see you. It's important.”

“Actually, I was just about to—”

“Please. Please. We really have to talk.”

“Won't the doorstep do?”

“Don't mess around. This is serious. Come on, Jaz, let me in.”

Jaz hadn't been messing around, but he let Celeste in anyway. Since she was wearing a pink chiffon crop top and a pink-and-white polka-dot skirt the size of a Kleenex, she was in danger of freezing to death if he didn't. She was already shivering dramatically. When the temperature outside fell below zero, normal people wore coats. Celeste's idea of bundling up had always been to throw on a slightly less-transparent bra.

In the kitchen she huddled against the stove, hugging her stomach and pressing the backs of her bare, fake-tanned legs against the heated rail.

“I've been waiting around the corner for Maeve to go out to the shops.” Celeste spoke through chattering teeth.

“You'd better have something to warm you up,” said Jaz. “Tea? Coffee?” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “Or maybe you'd prefer a brandy.”

“You're looking great,” Celeste parried, fluffing up her hair and ignoring the dig. “Really brown.”

“Thanks. Why don't you just tell me why you're here?”

“Oh, Jaz.” Clutching the chrome rail and shaking her head, Celeste blurted the words out. “I've done the stupidest thing in the world. It's all been a hideous mistake. All I wanted to do was make you jealous, get you to notice me again…it was never serious with Harry, he's nothing compared to you.”

“Actually,” said Jaz, “I already knew that.”

“It's over, OK? I just want to come home.” Letting go of the heated rail, Celeste moved across the kitchen toward him. “I love you, Jaz. I never stopped loving you for a second.” Her pink lower lip jutted out prettily. “We're good together, aren't we?”

Jaz pretended to consider this. “Good at what, exactly?”

“Sweetheart, please. I made a mistake. I've said I'm sorry. Now if you'd just forgive me, can we forget it ever happened?”

Jaz breathed in the scent she was wearing, the kind she knew he liked. “I forgive you.”

In response, a single tear of happiness slid down Celeste's cheek.

“Oh, sweetheart, I
knew
it—”

“But that's all.” Jaz shook his head as she reached out to him. “You aren't coming back. It's over.”

“What?” The penitent pout promptly went into reverse; Celeste's lips almost vanished from sight. “It isn't over. It can't be. I won't
let
it be over—”

“No choice, I'm afraid.” Jaz shrugged and glanced at his watch.

“I kept you from drinking all those years!” shrieked Celeste. “The whole reason I didn't drink was to make sure you didn't start again. Don't you see? I didn't stop because I was an alcoholic; I did it because I loved you!”

“Really?” Jaz raised an eyebrow. “Interesting concept. Sure it isn't anything to do with my bank balance?”

“That's not fair!”

“Let's not have a fight about this. It's over,” said Jaz. “Go home to Harry.”

“He's
boring
,” roared Celeste, “and he hasn't got any
money
, and he thinks it'd be a good idea if I got myself a
job
!”

“Shocking.” Jaz was by this time struggling to keep a straight face.

“Don't laugh.” Celeste stamped her foot so hard that a pink silk dragonfly fell off the toe of her shoe. “It isn't funny. You'll never find another girlfriend like me, you know.”

“Well, that's something,” said Jaz.

“You miss me,” Celeste whined. “You can't pretend you don't.”

Jaz considered whether to tell her about Lucille. After consideration, he decided he wouldn't.

“Time to go,” he said patiently.

“You could end up spending the rest of your life alone.” Celeste's voice rose as he maneuvered her out of the kitchen. “You'll be so miserable.” Tears were now rolling down her cheeks in earnest. “Dammit, I'm going to be miserable too, and it's
all your fault
.”

“I daresay we'll both cope.” Jaz pulled open the front door with a flourish and stood to one side. Lightly, he said, “Remember what they taught us. You just have to take it one day at a time.”

* * *

It was a toss-up which of them was more alarmed when Lucille answered the door the following evening and saw who was on the front doorstep. In an instant her heart plummeted.

Oh crikey, what now?

“Oh. It's you,” Julia said shortly, her gaze roaming everywhere but in Lucille's direction. “I need to see Suzy.”

Julia was looking very done-up in a full-length pale yellow silk dress worn under a midnight-blue velvet jacket. Her dark hair was tied back in a ballerina's bun, the makeup had been troweled on, and heirloom jewelry glittered at her ears, wrists, and throat.

Feeling somewhat done-down by comparison in her black sweatshirt and jogging pants, Lucille cleared her throat and waited until Julia was forced to look her in the eye. “Sorry. Suzy's out.”

“Oh well, that's typical.” Julia heaved a sigh, exasperated by Suzy's selfishness. “Right, never mind, just let me in anyway. I need to borrow something from her closet.”

“She should be back soon,” said Lucille. “Why don't you come in and wait?”

Julia's stare was positively glacial. “Alternatively, why don't I come in and borrow something from Suzy's closet? She's my sister, you know. It's really not a problem. She wouldn't
mind
.”

Phew, scary.

“OK.” Lucille backed toward the stairs. “Come on up.”

Diplomatically, she waited in the sitting room while Julia ransacked Suzy's closet.

“Oh God,” wailed Julia. “This is hopeless hopeless
hopeless
.”

“What is?” Lucille appeared in the bedroom doorway. The bed was awash with discarded dresses, and Julia was pacing up and down, agitatedly twisting the neck off a padded hanger.

“OK, here's the situation.” The words were bubbling up, bursting to get out. Julia evidently had to tell someone, even if the only person available was Lucille. “My husband's boss and his wife have invited us to a charity ball tonight, at the Grand Hotel. Fifteen minutes ago we drew up outside just as they were getting out of their car.” The syllables were by this time being spat out separately, like gravel. “And can you believe it, my husband's boss's wife is wearing exactly the same dress as me.”

“Wow,” said Lucille. “That's incredible. Even the same size?”

“She's a sixteen, I'm an eight.” Julia quivered at such an outrageous slur.

Lucille presumed she wasn't talking about their mental ages.

Diplomatically, she said, “So at least you look better than she does.”

“I look fabulous,” Julia snapped, “and she looks like a tank in stilettos.”

“Oh well, isn't that good?”

“What are you, completely mad? It's a
disaster
.” Julia rolled her eyes in despair. “That's why I had to come here, to borrow another dress, but bloody Suzy hasn't got anything that'll bloody fit me, and there isn't time to drive all the way back to Tetbury, and all the shops are closed, and there's no way in the world I can walk into the Grand Hotel, wearing exactly the same dress as Hermione Blunkett Brain!”

“Right. I see,” said Lucille. “In that case, why don't I lend you something of mine?”

It took less than ninety seconds to rifle through the contents of Lucille's meager—sorry,
capsule
—closet.

Julia was breathtakingly ungrateful. “You can't seriously expect me to wear something like this.” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she peered at the label of a leopard-print dress split to the thigh. “Oh, for crying out loud, it's Topshop.”

Tempting though it was to pack Julia off into the night in a black trash bag and matching wellies, Lucille bit her lip and kept her temper. “How about this one?”

Julia's lips curled. “You must be joking. I'd never wear anything that tacky.”

So much for Lucille's favorite amber silk trouser suit.

Fretfully, Julia flung it down on the bed. “Haven't you got anything a bit more…designer?”

“This one's by Chanel,” Lucille offered, pulling out a baby-pink jersey tube dress.

“Chanel is spelled Chanel.” Julia was scornful, flicking the label with a manicured nail. “Not Channel. This is utter garbage. Where in heaven's name did you get it?”

“Southmead Market. Eight ninety-nine. I like it.” Struggling to keep a straight face, Lucille flipped the dress around to show Julia the lettering on the back proclaiming
Black Girls Do It with a Wiggle
.

“Thank you very much,” Julia said coldly. “You're being
such
a help.”

“Look, if you want to go to the ball stark naked, that's fine by me. I'm really not that bothered.”

“You're supposed to be helping me out here.”

“I'm trying to help you out”—Lucille rolled her eyes helplessly—“and all you're doing is getting belligerent and sneering at my clothes.”

Good grief
, she realized suddenly.
We sound exactly like a couple of bickering sisters…

“What's this?” Her tone petulant, Julia pulled a plain black velvet dress out of the closet. “You've cut the label out.”