Here I Go Again: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

all as clients, but even a couple would make a huge impact on my bottom line. Currently the only business I’ve lured to LissCom is the industrial plating manufacturer. I’m working on a scintillating campaign to raise awareness of the lubricity of chrome plating, which is used to prevent corrosion. Hot, right? (And don’t even get me started on the bennies of cylindrical grinding!)
    I run across Duke’s name. There’s a note next to his RSVP, asking to be seated with his date, who is, apparently, a member of our class, but her name isn’t specified.
    And that’s fine.
    No, I mean it.
    It’s fine .
    Seriously, who’s he going to find that’s better than me? I’m sure he’s just escorting some rent-a-skank to make me jealous. Or maybe he’s bringing Elyse, that bloodsucking divorce attorney of his who graduated with us. Either way, what’s going to happen is he’ll see her and me in the same room and there’ll be no question of who’s cuter.
    And yet . . .
    I feel a twist in my stomach, maybe from nerves. Of course, that could just be Mamma’s gumbo. That woman does not skimp on the andouille.
    While Nicole drones on about something called Gymboree (don’t know, don’t care), I mentally prepare my pitch for the evening. When we arrive at the Drake, I insist we stop for a drink in the bar of Palm Court before we hit the reunion. Nicole’s all, “Blah, blah, blah, missing dinner in the ballroom,” but I tell her that Lissy Ryder likes to make an entrance.
    “You’re not going to start talking about yourself in the third person, right? Oh, God, it’ll be tenth grade all over again.” Nicole shudders.
    Ignoring her, I down my first skinny-girl margarita, followed by another. I pretty much have to keep my hand clamped over Nicole’s wrist while we’re at the bar, because she keeps claiming she needs to manage the registration table. I tell her if our classmates are too dim to figure out that they’re supposed to take the tag with their own name and photo on it, then they need a helmet, not a facilitator.
    At eight thirty-two p.m., one hour and thirty-two minutes after the reunion starts, I release Nicole and she sprints off ahead of me. I’m not in love with how cut her calf muscles are as she fifty-yard-dashes into the party. (Note to self: Encourage Nicole to eat more carbs.)
    As I push through the doors of the ballroom, the deejay begins to spin Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.” Not my favorite jam by a long shot, but definitely a fine, fine song for making an entrance.
    I stand and bask for a moment and wait for my minions to rush me. The gracious paneled ballroom is a couple of stories high, and there’s a stage decked in a banner stating WELCOME BACK, LT LIONS—CLASS OF 1992 . There’re lots of old photo collages on the sides of the bar, and over by the deejay booth there’s an enormous poster of our school’s most famous alumnus to date . . . David Hasselhoff.
    Oh, yes.
    Let the (lion) pride of that sink in for a moment.
    Dozens of white-draped tables line the parquet dance floor, and they’re all topped with flowers in our school colors. Really, Nicole? Gold and blue carnations grouped around a tiny stuffed lion clad in a football jersey? Strike two and three-quarters.
    Still, tonight marks my relaunch into life. Yes, things were bumpy during the summer, but that’s all over now. LT, get ready for Lissy 2.0!
    I bask a little longer, enjoying the solitude before the onslaught of those hoping to catch a ride on the Lissy 2.0 Express.
    I continue to bask as the song ends and Kris Kross’s “Jump” begins. Clearly every person in this room will notice me as soon as they stop hopping up and down like a bunch of cracked-out kangaroos.
    Basking, basking . . .
    When “Achy Breaky Heart” comes on, the crowd shrieks and storms the dance floor, like they have absolutely zero shame in two-stepping to Miley frigging Cyrus’s father. Open bar, indeed.
    I continue to