Sawyer, Meryl Read Online Free PDF

unfailingly upbeat. Until the divorce.
    "You'll make a lot of money if you land that TV job,"
Talia mercifully changed the subject.
    "Even if I do get the job, it'll take time to save enough. I
want a baby, but my biological clock is quickly becoming a time bomb. Now that
I've found the right man, why wait?"
    "Speaking of men," Talia said to Val, "Royce found
you a date for the auction this Saturday night."
    Val wagged her finger at Royce. "Last time you fixed me up
with a periodontist. I had to listen all night to how gingivitis is a bigger
health threat than AIDS. Then after dinner, know what he did?"
    "He flossed—hopefully in the men's room, not at the
table." Royce wheedled a smile out of Val, a glimmer of her old self.
    "No. He said: 'Your place or mine?' Like sex was a
given."
    "You'll get back into the swing of dating," Talia said.
    Dating was only part of the problem, Royce decided. During the
years the three of them had attended Sacred Heart Girls' School, Val rarely dated.
She'd met her husband the day they'd arrived at college. Royce doubted Val had
ever kissed another man.
    A kiss. Heaven help her. Why had she kissed Mitchell Durant like
that? She despised him for having forced himself on her, but she hated herself
even more for remembering that kiss in such exquisite detail. Even now, in the
sobering light of day, she could feel his lips on hers, his masculine body
aggressively pressing against hers.
    There was no escaping the ugly truth: She'd wanted Mitch in spite
of what he'd done to her father. She must need counseling. Clearly, she had
some deep-seated psychological problem.
    Val expelled a tortured sigh, then asked Royce, "All right,
who have you dug up for me this time?"
    "Remember that column I wrote: Where Does All the Parsley
Go?"
    "Uh-huh. Restaurants put parsley on every plate but nobody
eats it. That was one of your funnier pieces."
    "Well, I received an irate call from the parsley king, the
man who supplies the entire West Coast with the stuff, which has made him
richer than the Farenholts. I schmoozed him over a cup of coffee, and I really
liked the guy. So I called him last night and told him about you."
    "Go with him, Val," Talia urged. "Everyone will be
there."
    "Even the Farenholts are coming," Royce added with an
edge to her voice. She waited while the waiter served their salads. "Brent
took a table and invited his parents to come with us. Naturally, his mother
insisted on including Caroline and that Italian count she's been dating."
    "What nerve." Val speared a mushroom with her fork.
"I'd come just to give you moral support, but I haven't got a dress
suitable for a black tie affair."
    "I have the perfect dress. Borrow it." Royce refused to
let Val spend another night alone, moping over that heartless jerk. "Go by
my place and try on the copper dress in my closet. You know where I keep the
key, don't you?"
    "Everyone knows. You might as well keep the door
unlocked."
    Talia added, "You're asking to be robbed."
    "I haven't got anything worth taking." Royce winked at
her friends and tossed a piece of parsley on Val's plate. "Come on Val.
It'll be fun."
    They finished their salads and Royce passed on dessert, thinking
of Eleanor Farenholt's comment about her weight. Royce didn't aspire to having
a stick figure like Brent's former girlfriend, Caroline, but she didn't want
condo thighs either. She was only ten pounds or so overweight, but beside
Eleanor and Caroline it felt like fifty tons.
    "I'm tired of waiting," Talia announced after she was
served a chocolate torte that made Royce's mouth water. "When are you
going to tell us why you were dancing with Mitchell Durant?"
    "Because Arnold Dillingham insisted," Royce said,
striving to justify her actions, but having difficulty convincing herself as she
informed her friends about the situation with her trial television program.
    But she couldn't bring herself to tell them about the kiss in the
dark. She simply couldn't explain her actions, even