Part 13 (2/2)
Just then the headache began, as usual right at her temples. Her first thought was of a gla.s.s of wine-cool, fragrant, tart on the tongue . . .
and the smooth feeling of softening around the edges that would accompany the taste . . .
”... so of course I insisted that you'd be happy to testify!” Kat finished triumphantly.
Emma's attention snapped back to the phone conversation. ”I'm sorry, Mother. What did you say?”
”I said I told my lawyer that your father was most certainly not acting on your behalf, and that you'd be happy to testify to that effect. I'm counting on you, Emma. My lawyer says your testimony could be essential.”
”But Mother-”
”I'm thinking of getting you a device for re- cording your father's phone calls,” Kat continued.
”That way, we'll have concrete evidence if he tries anything.”
Tears sprang to Emma's eyes, and she angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand. Was that all she was to her family? An inheritance for the lawyers to quibble over?
”Anyway, darling, we'll chat more about this later,” Kat continued. ”I'm really glad to know that you're fine.”
”Sure, Mother,” Emma said bitterly.
”Oh, my ma.s.seuse is just arriving,” Kat said.
”Must run! By the way, you had a call before I left from those Sunset Island people, the Hewitts?
They're hoping you'll come back to work for them this summer, though I can't see why you'd want to do something like that again.”
I'm sure you can't, thought Emma as she said a terse good-bye and hung up, thankful that the conversation with her mother was over.
By the time Sam and Carrie traipsed through the door with all their bags, Emma had a bottle of nice Beaujolais uncorked on the kitchen counter.
She had thought to let it breathe for a little while, but had changed her mind and already poured herself a gla.s.s.
”Call Danny,” Emma said to Sam, sipping her wine. ”I just decided we're having a party.”
”Hot d.a.m.n!” Sam cried. ”With food and guys and everything?”
”Everything!” Emma agreed.
”What time does it start?” Carrie asked as she carried a suitcase into a bedroom.
Emma took a long gulp of her wine. ”How's right now sound?”
It was an hour and a half later when Sam, the first to be showered and dressed, leapt to answer Danny's knock at the door.
”Goofy!” Sam screamed, and cheerleader-jumped into Danny's arms. She covered his face with puppy-dog kisses.
”Down, girl, down!” Danny joked, but he clearly loved the way Sam was greeting him.
”It's sheer youthful exuberance,” she a.s.sured him. ”Don't take it personally.”
Carrie had just entered the room and wit- nessed this greeting. ”I have a feeling he wants to take it personally,” she teased.
Whoops, better watch that stuff, Sam cautioned herself.
”So, come on in,” she said with a broad gesture to include both Danny and the guy standing with him on the threshold.
”Sam, this is Kevin Logan,” said Danny.
”Hi, Kevin,” said Sam with a grin. She hoped that her smile made up for practically ignoring the guy when she'd first seen Danny. Kevin had a youngish, sweet-looking face, with dark eyes that danced with intelligence. He returned her smile with an easy charm.
”And I'm Carrie,” Carrie said, introducing herself to Kevin. ”Hey, Goof!” she added, giving Danny a hug.
”Please, I'm off duty,” Danny said mock- seriously. ”Don't call me that or my fans will mob me.”
”Fortunately, we didn't invite any six-year-olds to this party,” Sam laughed, ”so you should be safe. I ordered lots of pizza, there's wine on the counter, beer and c.o.kes in the fridge. What's your poison?”
”A beer would be great,” Kevin said, heading for the fridge.
Sam laughed. ”I like a guy who makes himself at home.”
”You want one, Danny?” Kevin asked with his head in the fridge.
”Sure,” Danny agreed.
Kevin carried the beers into the living room and handed one to Danny. ”This house is fantastic.
Which one of you does it belong to?”
”Actually, it belongs to bachelorette number three, who has yet to make her appearance,” Sam quipped.
”She's got interesting taste,” Kevin said, qui- etly looking over the living room.
He reminds me of someone, Carrie thought.
Who is it? Then she put her finger on it-her brother Matt! Kevin had the same intelligent, mischievous kind of eyes set in a baby face. Both were the sort of guy you felt comfortable with right away, maybe because they both seemed to be so comfortable with themselves.
Carrie and Kevin started a conversation, and Danny seemed to have eyes only for Sam. She looks extra hot tonight, Carrie noted. Sam was poured into her faded jeans, and braless under a black leotard top. She'd thrown an antique lace bed jacket over the leotard. On anyone else, the effect might be bizarre, but on Sam it looked s.e.xy and perfect.
Carrie sighed and looked down at her own black stretch pants and oversized houndstooth blazer. Coverups. Carrie couldn't in a million years imagine being thin enough and confident enough to, first, go without a bra, and second, wear a bed jacket to a party.
”So Danny told me you're at Yale,” Kevin said to Carrie as he sipped his beer. ”Is it as tough as I think it is?”
Carrie gave a shrug and laughed. ”I'd like to impress you and tell you how incredibly difficult it is, but let's face it, I have no basis for comparison!”
It turned out that Kevin was a journalism major at Boston University, and with Carrie's tremendous interest in photojournalism, they quickly got involved in an intense conversation.
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