7:17 P.M., PST
“I thought we were going to the ladies’ room,” Dee reminded Cammie, practically trotting to keep up with Cammie’s long stride.
“Well, we’re not.” Cammie pushed out a door with a large red Exit sign above it. Fortunately, no alarms went off. The girls were behind the observatory, where there was nothing but a patch of grass that led into dense woods.
Cammie opened her purse and rummaged around until she came up with half a joint. “Light?”
Dee found some matches in her purse and handed them to Cammie.
Cammie read the cover. “Art’s Delicatessen in Studio City?”
“My father eats there,” Dee said defensively.
Cammie shrugged, lit the joint, and held it out to Dee.
“No thanks. There’s all kind of chemicals in weed these days. I don’t smoke unless I know who grew it.”
Cammie took another hit. “More for me. So, what do you think of her?”
“Who her? Oh, her, her. Ben’s her.”
“Ben’s her, my ass. They just met, Dee,” Cammie reminded her friend. “So, I’m hotter, right?”
“Maybe Ben cares about more than surface appearances.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Well, she’s classic, in a certain way.”
“Classic colorless, cold bitch. She looks like she’s wearing a chastity belt.” Cammie snubbed out the joint and carefully put it back in her purse. “Ben will get sick of her in about five minutes.”
“I don’t think so,” Dee said. “He seems to be really, really into her and—”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, of course,” Dee replied. Letting Cammie know how she felt about Ben was even more dangerous than letting Sam know. But Dee was used to covering up how she really felt about things. She just made her voice a little breathier and her eyes go really wide. Which was exactly what she did now.
“I’m not saying she’s any real comp for you, Cammie,” Dee added, hedging her bets. “You know that.”
“Right,” Cammie agreed. She giggled as the pot hit her. “Oh, yeah. I feel so much better.”
“Let’s go in—I really have to pee,” Dee said.
“I’m not ready. Pretend you’re Bambi. Go in the woods.”
“That wouldn’t be very sanitary, Cammie.”
Cammie laughed. “You are too funny. You’re worried about ‘sanitary’ after your last so-called boyfriend? Wasn’t he the one who never wore underwear?”
“It wasn’t his fault; his cleaning lady was deported.”
Cammie took out her compact and looked in the mirror, fluffing up her mass of curls. “How can that washed-out blonde compare to this? Answer: She can’t.” She put her compact back in her purse. “I think it’s time for a little divine intervention.”
“Prayer can be really helpful, Cammie,” Dee said, crossing her legs, she had to go so badly. “And I swear to God, I really have to pee.”
Cammie shot her friend a withering look. “Not prayer,” she spat. “There are three things that are truly divine, Dee: that fat transvestite who starred in all the John Waters movies; forgiveness—although that one is highly overrated—and me, when I take Ben’s bitch down.”
“Everything is so nice,” Cammie said, smiling at her tablemates. “Nice, nice, nice.”
Anna felt certain that Cammie had gotten stoned in the ladies’ room. Her pupils were the size of pennies, and she had a really stupid grin on her face. Of course, there was an upside: Cammie was no longer being bitchy. Frankly, Anna was happy for the respite.
“Here comes the daughter of the groom,” Cammie sang out to the tune of “Here Comes the Bride.” “She looks so-o-o-o pretty.”
Sure enough, Sam was heading for their table, now sporting the figure-flattering black dress.
Dee smiled. “I found that dress for her. It’s a size ten,” she added significantly.
“Whatever size it is, she looks great,” Adam said.
“Tell her that and you are so getting laid tonight, dude.” Damian smirked.
There was more bitchy banter. Anna found it exhausting. And boring. Didn’t Ben’s friends ever talk about anything that mattered?
Ben put his hand on Anna’s. “Would you like to da—”
“So, I’m dying to dance,” Sam chirped as soon as she reached the table, resting her hand on the back of Ben’s chair, behind his neck. “Ben?”
“Actually, I just asked Anna. Later, okay?”
“Oh, sure. Okay. That’s—that’s fine,” Sam stammered. “I mean—”
“Hey, Sam, I’m the lonely guy without a date,” Adam said, quickly getting to his feet. “Let’s go.” He took Sam’s hand and led her toward the dance floor.
“Ooh. Shot down at her own father’s wedding,” Damian exclaimed as a waiter set his dinner of pistachio-encrusted salmon before him. He ignored it and reached for what looked like a glass of scotch again. “That’s gotta hurt.”
“You could have danced with her,” Anna whispered to Ben. “I think you hurt her feelings.”
Unfortunately, no one had warned Anna about Cammie’s bionic hearing. “That’s so sweet of you to care,” Cammie oozed. “You must be a very kind person.”
Anna didn’t bother to respond to that; it was so obviously insincere.
“Is everybody ready to par-tay?” a deejay asked, taking over for the orchestra as they went on break. He started spinning some house music. Anna was grateful for the excuse to leave the table.
“Oh, I love this!” Cammie said gaily, jumping out of her chair. “Let’s all dance.”
As the others at the table rose, Ben did, too. He held out a hand to Anna, who stood up just as Cammie was passing behind her chair. Anna felt the tug on the bottom of her silk dress at the same moment she heard the sickening sound of ripping silk.
She looked down. The bottom of her dress was impaled by Cammie’s right stiletto heel. Anna reached behind her … and hit the lacy bottom of her La Perla chemise, which barely covered the curve of her butt. The vast majority of the bottom of her dress was on the floor.
“Oh my God, what happened? Let me see!” Cammie stepped back and spun Anna around so quickly that Anna didn’t have time to resist. Which meant that Cammie, her friends, and pretty much everyone at the wedding were gawking at Anna’s lace-covered ass.
“Killer lingerie,” Damian pronounced.
“What the hell happened?” Ben asked.
Cammie clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry! The bottom of your dress must have brushed the floor when you were getting up—what a terrible accident.”
Anna dead-eyed her. It was no accident, and they both knew it.
“What a shame. And your dress was so gorgeous, too,” Cammie went on. “I’ll pay for it, of course.”
Anna was careful to keep her voice steady. “I’m sure you will.”
“God, you must be so embarrassed.” Cammie’s voice oozed sympathy.
Yes, she was. All Anna wanted to do was to walk out of the damn wedding and never have to see any of these horrid people again in her entire life. But she was Jane Percy’s daughter. And she refused to let this overly made-up, over-the-top bleach job get over on her.
“Why would I be embarrassed?” Anna asked coolly. “I’m not the one who ruined my dress. Besides, like Damian said, I’m wearing killer lingerie.”
With a look of admiration at Anna’s poise, Ben removed his tux jacket and held it out. Anna slipped it on. It fell almost to midthigh, which was a relief. Then she reached for a sharp knife and cut off the bottom half of the front of her dress, still leaving it somewhat longer than the back. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Yes! She was having a Cyn moment. No, she was having a new-and-improved Anna moment.
She laid the material on her chair, turned to Ben, and said, “Let’s dance.”