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.”Tank shrugged.“What’s mine is yours.”We laughed at that before Blackwell cleared her throat.“Are you finished fawning over each other? It’s getting embarrassing.Take your seats, for God’s sake.Lisa and Tank—you’re next to me.”“You’re so bossy,” Jennifer said.“What I am, my dear, is the law.”I put my hand on Iris’ shoulder and welcomed her before Blackwell interrupted again.“Lisa,” she said.“The dress—divoon.”“I love it.Thank you so much.”She was seated opposite Iris and was facing the room, as Tank and I would.I took my seat next to Barbara, and Tank sat next to me.We were well paired—Jennifer was opposite me, and Tank was opposite Alex.“I don’t know about any of you, but I’m dying for a drink,” Iris said.“I’ve been thinking about having a martini all day.”Blackwell raised an eyebrow at her.“Really, Iris? Already embracing the cliché? So soon in the evening? Is that it?”Iris, who had dressed beautifully for dinner in a fitted black dress that accentuated a lovely figure I never would have known she possessed given the way she usually dressed, leaned forward in her chair and leveled Blackwell with a look.I’d never seen her with makeup on before, or with her unruly red hair pulled away from her face in a tight chignon.I thought she looked elegant—and formidable.Tank was right.Blackwell is used to being the focus.This isn’t going to go well.“I don’t know what that means, Barbara,” Iris said.“It’s well known that you editorial types like to be half in the bag on a daily basis, generally by mid-afternoon.”“Is that so?”“I can confirm that, by noon, your throat is likely battered with booze.You know, as if you drank a quart of pancake mix.It would be that thick and that coated.You’d be drunk.”“I can assure you that none of that is true here, Barbara.My dear, sweet, bombastic Barbara.I rarely imbibe, but since this is a party for Lisa, I can tell you right now that I will be imbibing.Heavily.All night.And who knows? You might have a mess on your hands if you’re not careful.”“Mon Dieu.”“But since you’ve brought up the issue of clichés, I think it’s fair to point out that you’ve fallen into a sinkhole of your own.”“Impossible.”“Really? Then allow me to take you back to class.When women of a certain age—”“A certain age?”“That’s right, a certain age.Since one can be painfully deluded when it comes to seeing what one’s become in the wreckage of one’s downhill slide toward the depths of death, let me just break the news gently to you—you, my dear, are of a certain age.When I see older women, such as yourself showing off too much décolleté, as you are now, I always smell a whiff of desperation.A cougar on the prowl.And I want to weep for the world.”“Save your tears, Iris.If you don’t, you’ll just salt your cocktails with them.”“Isn’t that clever? And news to me.Might I point out that’s information only a weeping drunk would know?”“I’m far from being a drunk, Iris.”“You’re also far from being twenty-five, so perhaps you should stop dressing as if you were.”“I’m wearing Chanel.”“Then the French hate you.And why shouldn’t they? With all of that horse hair on top of your head, not to mention all the whale bone and foam rubber you’re using to give yourself something that resembles a figure, I don’t know whether you’re a woman or a five-piece living room set at Frank’s Warehouse.”“This from a woman who typically dresses like a man,” Blackwell said.“Oh, how your words cut through my heart.”“And this from a woman who places her self-esteem in the cold clutches of couture.Oh, how I wish my words could even find your heart.”“You wouldn’t recognize couture if it bit you on the ass.”“Maybe not all the time, but as a sensitive person who can tap into the ethereal at a moment’s notice, I always can smell that faint scent of sorrow that enters the air when one’s youth has left them forever.And that scent? Oh, it’s all over you, Barbara.It’s practically fumigating this place.”Blackwell gave a light, easy laugh at that, waved a hand in front of her face, and glanced around at the rest of us.Did she see our mortified expressions? If she did, I don’t think she cared.And I was confused.I thought she liked Iris.What was their problem? Had something happened between them before we got here? I was about to say something—anything—to change the conversation when Blackwell stopped me with a warning look.“OK, everyone.Now, tell me the truth.Don’t worry—if you don’t agree with me, I can take it.You won’t hurt my feelings.So, I need to ask.Do I look a day over forty-five?”“Oh, please,” Iris said.“Really? Now you’re just looking for sympathy.And from your friends, no less.Here’s a tip.If you’re looking for sympathy, you can look it up in the dictionary—right along with ‘death,’ ‘shit’ and ‘suicide.’”Blackwell turned back to Iris and was about to say something when Iris lowered her gaze and bit her cheek.“That’s right,” Blackwell said [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]