The Good Life Read Online Free PDF

checked her watch. Amanda, her hair stylist, was scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes. On occasions like tonight, Ann wished she wore her hair longer; there wasn’t much Amanda could do with a bob. Yet, she got more volume out of Ann’s hair than anyone else in town. Plus, Ann trusted her. Amanda was young, but she was able to walk into the Baronses’ house, up the stairs, and into Ann’s private sanctum without making a big deal about it.
    An hour later, Ann’s hair was perfect. Even strand fell into place and was ever so subtly held with spray. It was soft and flexible, nothing like the helmet-headed styles of previous generations. Ann gave her head a quick shake as she looked in the bathroom mirror. Boom, back into place; it was flawless. Ann walked back into the bedroom and returned to her chair and magazine. When she finished reading an article about a sunroom she thought might be perfect for the back of the house, she pushed the house intercom button to call Mike. He was back from his run, no doubt with the towel he’d used to wipe his face hanging around his neck. “It’s almost six, honey,” she said. “You need to shower.”
     
    As Mike tied his bow tie in the mirror, Ann, facing him, ran her hands down the silk lapels of his Armani tuxedo. He quickly kissed her mouth, and then coaxed his thick black curls into place with his fingers. Even though he was beginning to gray at his temples, he was as arresting now as he was in college, more so, really, as the most powerful man in town. Plus, something about a man in formal wear made Ann’s breasts ache.
    “You look great,” Mike said, looking at Ann’s exposed back in the mirror.
    “Do I?” asked Ann, turning around so he could see her from every angle.
    “Do I want to know how much I spent on that dress?” he asked, kissing the tip of her nose.
    “You’ve spent more,” said Ann, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders.
    “You know you’re worth it,” he said.
    “Yes,” she said, “I am.”
    Mike laughed and gently spanked her bottom. “Let’s go,” he said, “your public awaits your arrival.”
    When they walked into the Grand Ballroom of the Hilton, the men straightened their spines and their ties, and the women, hands at their throats and lips slightly parted, inhaled simultaneously. An instant later, the crowd moved toward them. Like children drawn to a school-yard fight, they pushed forward enough to almost touch Mike and Ann, but left adequate space for them to move. As the Baronses made their way to the bar, Ann winked, smiled, and waved, and Mike, one hand on Ann’s back, used his other to pump the outstretched hands of the few comfortable enough to approach him. A warm spotlight shining on them or a band playing a grand march would not have seemed inappropriate for their arrival.
    The $1,000-a-plate sturgeon was tender and delicious; Ann ate almost half of it before pushing her plate away. She took a sip of her third champagne, arching her eyebrows at Mike across the table. Mike dutifully rose from his seat, approached her, and asked her to dance. He led her around the floor in a seamless waltz, holding her close enough to feel her backbone with his fingers. She could feel everyone’s eyes upon them.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    “I’m bored,” said Ann, surveying the crowd as they danced. “All this business chatter gets tedious.”
    “Welcome to my world, honey.”
    “And I’m happy to keep it in your world.”
    Mike kissed her forehead. The women in the room who noticed whispered their approval and envy to one another. “Do you want to go home?”
    “No, no, no, it’s early,” said Ann. “I’m just ready to get up from the table and mingle a bit.”
    “So you can go find your higher society friends?” Ann laughed at Mike’s joke.
    They walked back to the Dilloway table, and Ann sat back down next to John Patterson, Mike’s head of human resources. He was a nice enough man, but his wife,