Ladies' Night (64 page)
After we said our vows, my mother revealed her masterpiece—a three-tiered lemon pound cake with strawberry cream cheese frosting—topped with an ingenious bride and groom crafted by Bo—from Legos.
We cut the cake, had some toasts, and, when it got dark and chilly, we all repaired to the after party at the Sandbox, my mother’s bar in nearby Cortez.
I don’t know what Amy Vanderbilt would have thought of our second-time-around wedding, but I know, for us, it was definitely an affair to remember.
* * *
Grace was rushing around the bar, greeting guests, when she spotted a newcomer out of the corner of her eye. She threw her arms around the woman.
“Suzanne! You came back. I’m so happy to see you.”
“There’s no way I would have missed your garden party—and then to sneak in a wedding, well, what can I say? It was beautiful, unexpected, and so romantic, Grace. Like something out of a fairy tale.”
“Thanks,” Grace said, beaming. She gestured to the willowy young woman at Suzanne’s side. “And this must be Darby.”
“It is. Darby, meet our beautiful, blushing bride, Grace.”
Wyatt wandered up and wrapped an arm around Suzanne’s and Grace’s waists. “And don’t forget the blushing bridegroom.”
Darby was a slender brunette, two inches taller than her mother, but with the same striking olive-green eyes. “Congratulations,” she said shyly. “Mom’s told me all about you, and the rest of the group.”
“Look who’s here,” Camryn shrieked, enveloping Suzanne in a hug before standing back to critique her appearance. “You look amazing,” Camryn said. “How’s life in North Carolina? And the new job?”
“It’s good,” Suzanne said. “I’m slowly getting used to winter. And snow! I had to actually go out and buy a wool coat and boots. The job is good.” She glanced at Darby, who’d drifted off and was chatting with Camryn’s daughter, Jana. “Elon is a good fit. For both of us.”
Camryn leaned in, her eyes dancing with a mischevious glint. “And what about men? Are you getting any action?”
Suzanne blushed violently. “I’ve actually had a couple real dates. The men’s soccer coach. He’s a good bit younger, but…”
“Ooh, Suzanne. You’re a cougar!” Camryn linked her arm through Suzanne’s and Grace’s. “Look at us now, y’all. Grace and Wyatt married. Suzanne moved off and prowling around up there in North Carolina…”
“What about you?” Suzanne asked. “Grace says you left News Four You.”
“I sure did,” Camryn said. “There was a senior producer’s slot open, but I got passed over, so I up and left. I’m producing the six o’clock news at channel two. The money’s not quite as good, but I get to sleep in for the first time in twenty years. And I sub-in on camera when somebody’s out sick or on vacation.”
“Men?” Suzanne raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“I was seeing somebody, but it didn’t work out,” Camryn said. “That’s one thing I learned from my divorce. If it’s not right, it’s not right. Cut your losses and move on.”
“Has anybody heard from Ashleigh?” Suzanne asked, looking around the room.
“Oh, sure,” Camryn said. “You can’t keep that girl down. She did some work-release thing as part of her sentence for trying to kill her ex’s baby mama. She’s working for another plastic surgeon and living down in Naples. She has to wear one of those electronic-monitoring bracelet things, which she hates, ’cuz she says it makes her ankles look fat, so she has to wear pants and can’t show off her legs anymore.”
“Ashleigh would have been here today, except the idea of being around all the party stuff—you know, with liquor and everything, made her a little anxious,” Grace said. “She’s been clean and sober for six months now.”
“Really?” Suzanne looked taken aback. “I mean, you two are on speaking terms? After everything that happened?”
“Grace has a much more forgiving heart than I do,” Wyatt said. “I’m good with Ashleigh now, although Grace is banned from ever getting in a car with her again.”
Grace laughed. “She’s changed a lot since that day. I think it was a turning point for her.”
“You’ll never guess who Ashleigh’s AA sponsor was,” Camryn said.
“Who?” Suzanne was still scanning the room, looking for familiar faces.
“None other than Paula Talbott-Sinclair,” Camryn said.
“I wondered what happened to Paula,” Suzanne admitted. “I know you all might disagree, but I really think she did eventually help all of us in our group.”
Wyatt pulled Grace into his arms. “I, for one, am eternally grateful to Paula. Without her, I might never have met the love of my life.”
Grace rewarded her new husband with a kiss, then looked at her friends. “He’s a sweet-talking fool, but he’s right about Paula. If she did nothing else, she brought us all together, at the lowest point in our lives, and forced us to look at our attitudes and expectations about love.”
“Don’t forget what we did for
her
,” Camryn chimed in. “She might still be mixed up with that parasite Cedric Stackpole if we hadn’t exposed him for the scum-sucking dog he really is. I bet she never would have had the nerve to rat him out to the state if it hadn’t been for us. And she damn sure wouldn’t have been able to reinvent herself like she has without me.”
“Paula reinvented herself?” Suzanne looked puzzled. “How? And what did you have to do with that?”
“Paula is now a certified laughter coach,” Camryn said. “She works with people dealing with depression, terminal illness, and severe emotional problems. I did a feature story on her before I left News Four, and now she’s got her own syndicated radio show.”
“Any news about dear old Stackpole?” Suzanne asked.
“He’s actually been in the news a good bit recently,” Grace said, not bothering to suppress her glee. “The feds raided his new law office and seized all his tax records. My lawyer says the IRS is going after him big-time for falsifying tax records and tax evasion, among other things.”
“That’s one story I would have loved to have been in on,” Camryn said. “What I wouldn’t give to stick a live microphone in his sorry face.”
“Just his face?” Wyatt asked. “And don’t forget, Stackpole still has to deal with the lawsuit filed by that guy who filmed his wife and girlfriend’s hair-pulling match in Sarasota. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy, huh?”
As they chatted and caught up on each other’s lives, music began to filter into the room. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as they were cleared out of the way, and guests began to edge onto the makeshift dance floor.
“You hired a DJ?” Suzanne asked, looking around the room.
“Better,” Rochelle said, joining the group. “When Grace was making me clean up the place, I finally got rid of Butch’s old Ms. Pac-Man game. It was broken, and I couldn’t get anybody to fix it. Instead, I found an old jukebox at the flea market and had it restored. I put in all the records he and I used to dance to.”
“And even some music from the last half century,” Wyatt teased.
Grace tugged at his arm. “Okay, enough talk, mister. This is our wedding night, and you are going to dance with me, and that’s final.”
“Gladly,” Wyatt said, leading her into the middle of the cramped floor.
Suzanne looked at Camryn. “Dance?”
“Damn straight,” Camryn said. “But just so you know, I always lead.”
* * *
The party was still in full swing at ten o’clock, when the two grizzled barflies known as Miller and Bud approached the Sandbox door. Miller pushed on the door, but it didn’t move.
“Hey,” he said, puzzled. “The lights are on, but it’s locked. What’s up with that?”
Bud pointed to a small hand-lettered note taped to the door.
CLOSED DUE TO PRIVATE PARTY
“They can’t do that to us,” Miller protested. “It’s Sunday night. We always watch the games on Sundays.”
Bud pressed his bulbous pink nose against the glass door and peered inside. “Man! They got all kind of food on the tables, and balloons and decorations and shit, and some kind of fancy pink drinks in martini glasses.”
Miller shoved him aside and took a gander for himself. “They’re dancing!” He turned to Bud in astonishment. “They’re actually dancing in there.” He frowned. “I see a couple guys—there’s an old dude in a suit, and a younger guy dancing with Rochelle’s daughter, and some little kid—hey, the kid is dancing with Rochelle.”
“Lemme see.” Bud elbowed him out of the way. He looked disgusted. “It’s mostly women in there. And they’re not even watching the game.”
“Must be a ladies’ night thing,” Miller concluded sadly as he turned away from the door. “Looks like we’re gonna have to find ourselves someplace new, Bud.”
ALSO BY MARY KAY ANDREWS
Spring Fever
Summer Rental
The Fixer Upper
Deep Dish
Savannah Breeze
Blue Christmas
Hissy Fit
Little Bitty Lies
Savannah Blues
About the Author
MARY KAY ANDREWS is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Spring Fever, Summer Rental, The Fixer Upper, Deep Dish, Blue Christmas, Savannah Breeze, Hissy Fit, Little Bitty Lies, and Savannah Blues
. A former journalist for
The Atlanta Journal Constitution
, she lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LADIES’ NIGHT.
Copyright © 2013 by Mary Kay Andrews. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover design by Michael Storrings
Cover photographs: Umbrellas by Herman Estevez; wood paneling ©
Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Andrews, Mary Kay, 1954–
Ladies’ night / Mary Kay Andrews.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-250-01967-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-01965-3 (e-book)
1. Divorced women—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Psychological fiction. I. Title.
PS3570.R587L34 2013
813'.54—dc23
2013009101
e-ISBN 9781250019653
First Edition: June 2013
