The Wedding Favor (26 page)

She handed it to the girl, who handed it to someone else, who glanced over it, then crooked a finger at Vicky. The interview took ten minutes. She spent the next twenty sipping her now-cold latte and figuring out how to set the alarm clock on her new phone, because she had to be at work at—gulp—five a.m.

Catching her reflection in the window, she smiled at herself.
Be careful what you wish for, Victoria. You just might get it.

T
hings
finally
slowed down around ten-thirty. Vicky leaned back against the counter, rotated one stiff ankle at a time. In all her years of drinking Starbucks, why had she never considered that the baristas stood on their feet
all day long
? She’d have left bigger tips.

Gerard, her boss, called out. “Take your break, Vicky. Be back in fifteen.”

She limped off to the ladies’ room.

Pausing at the mirror, she tucked a few loose hairs up into her French twist. They promptly fell down again, so she pulled out the clip. Why not? It wasn’t like she’d be called into court at a moment’s notice. She turned her head from side to side. She should get more interesting earrings. If she never saw another one-inch gold hoop, it would be too soon.

She checked her watch. Funny, she’d never had to time herself in the bathroom before. Peeing took longer than she would have guessed.

Back at the counter, another barista had appeared, skinny as a snake, with tattoos starting at her wrists and disappearing under the sleeves of her green Starbucks polo. Her hair was dyed black with magenta streaks, kohl ringed her indigo eyes, silver skulls and crossbones ringed her fingers, and she was pierced in places that made Vicky shudder.

“Hey there!” Her wide, friendly smile clashed wildly with her gothness. “You must be the new girl. I’m Josie.”

From the back, Gerard started whistling “Josie and the Pussycats.” Both of them did identical eye rolls, then burst out laughing. And that quickly, a friendship that Vicky couldn’t have imagined a month ago was born.

“I’m Vicky. I started today.”

“Cool. I’ve been here a year. That makes me an old-timer.”

“It’s hard on the feet.”

Josie lifted a foot, showing off bulky clogs. “They’re ugly as shit, but they help a lot. I’ll show you where I got them. What time you off?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“I’m on till three. Meet me outside. I’ll bring you a latte.” She grinned. “Free coffee’s the best and only perk of this job, so you might as well start sucking it down today.”

Gerard barked from the back. “I hope you’re restocking while you’re yakking.”

They rolled their eyes again.

By four o’clock, Vicky had a pair of the ugly clogs in her backpack, and she was parked on a bench in Washington Square Park, soaking up the sun with Josie.

“So what’s your story?” Josie asked. “You go to NYU?”

“Not yet.” But she might. Seeing all the students around had given her an idea. “I’m thinking of signing up for acting classes.”

She flushed as she said it, feeling ridiculous. But Josie perked up. “Seriously? You want to act? Because that’s why I’m in New York. I’m an actor. This rig”—she swept a hand down her body from her hair to her toes—“is for a play I’m rehearsing. I’m a gothed-out runaway surviving by her wits on the streets.”

“You’re an
actor
?” Vicky gaped. “In a
play
?”

“Uh-huh. We’ve got this little troupe, just five of us. We’ve been together for a year, done a couple of one-act plays in very tiny, very out-of-the-way venues.” She gave Vicky a look to emphasize “tiny” and “out-of-the-way.” “Got some good notices, mostly on Internet sites. Just enough to get a teensy bit of funding.” Her thumb and forefinger parted enough to slide a paper through. “So we’re putting up a play by one of the guys in the troupe. He was a runaway himself, so it’s gritty.”

She put a hand to her chest, fluttered her lashes dramatically. “I’m the star.”

“Wow.” Vicky goggled. “I’m so envious. I always wanted to act.”

Josie’s brows pinched. “Why didn’t you?”

“My mother wouldn’t let me.” God, that sounded ridiculous. What was she, seven? “Anyway, I’m out from under her thumb now, so I’m giving it a try.”

Josie cocked her head, gave her a long, searching study, her gaze inching down from Vicky’s four-hundred-dollar haircut to her Gucci loafers. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Hmm.” Digging in her voluminous bag, Josie drew out a sheaf of dog-eared pages held together with a binder clip. “Take this home tonight and read it. We haven’t cast the older sister yet. If you’re interested in reading for it, I’ll bring it up with the troupe.”

Vicky clutched Josie’s arm. “I’m interested! I’m
totally
interested!”

Josie laughed. “Okay, I’ll talk to them tonight. They’ll think I’m crazy, but what the fuck. I’m warning you, though. They’re hard-asses. Hypercritical, overly judgmental, and definitely heartless and mean.”

Vicky let out a snort. “Please. You just described my mother.” She leafed through the script. “What’s the older sister’s story?”

“She’s a Wall Street type,” Josie said. “Straitlaced, kind of prissy.”

Vicky managed not to laugh. “I think I can pull off that part of it.”

Josie nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got the look. The challenge is that she’s searching for me in the underbelly of the city. She’s completely out of her element, dealing with the homeless, destitute, desperate people she used to cruise past in a limo without even knowing they existed.”

A challenge, indeed, for an Ivy Leaguer from Westport.

“She has to let go of the way she’s always done things,” Josie added. “How she’s approached people. Even how she saw herself fitting into the world.” She shrugged. “It’s not a huge part, but it’s pivotal, because she changes the most during the course of the play. She has to convince the audience that she can readjust her narrow take on the world, think outside the box she’s always lived in.”

Vicky looked up from the script. Her lips curved slightly. “That’ll be harder to pull off, but I’d like to give it a try.”

V
icky dropped the top for the drive to Connecticut. Her mother had summoned her to dinner, and since the lease on her parking spot expired at week’s end, she was using the opportunity to move the Beemer to Adrianna’s house.

She enjoyed the ride, but dreaded the dinner table conversation. Matt had undoubtedly told Adrianna that Vicky intended to give up the law, sparking the summons. Since her mother would certainly express—stridently—her opinion on that, and would probably drag Winston and Tyrell into it too, the evening was destined to end in shouting and tears.

Parking in the driveway of Adrianna’s estate, Vicky let herself in through the garage, deliberately avoiding the cavernous foyer with its marble floor, stupendous chandelier, and copious arrangements of fresh flowers, designed to announce to all who passed through the front door that the occupants were Important People, wealthy enough to waste five hundred square feet of floor space on absolutely nothing.

Making her way to the kitchen—large enough to film a cooking show—she sniffed appreciatively at the roast chicken Adrianna’s latest housekeeper had left warming in the oven, then poured a fortifying glass of icy Chardonnay before going in search of her mother.

As usual, she found her in her office, phone pressed to her ear. Spotting Vicky in the doorway, she held up one finger. Vicky pointed outside, then cut back through the kitchen and out the double doors onto the adjoining patio.

Breathing deeply of the expensive Connecticut air, she looked out over the sweeping back lawn to the rolling meadow beyond, dotted with a dozen well-bred hunters belonging to Adrianna’s horsey-set neighbors.

And she thought of Brescia. Beautiful, powerful, placid. Everything she wished she was.

Then she thought of Ty. The son of a bitch. For a few fleeting hours, she’d actually believed they had a future. That there was a place for her on his ranch and in his life.

But that was behind her now. She sipped her wine. She was over him. She truly was.

“So you’ve thrown over your law career to become a barista.”

Like any good predator, Adrianna snuck up on her prey.

“The tips are surprisingly good.” Vicky turned to face her with a silky smile. “And my boss likes me. I don’t think he’ll fire me unless I actually do something wrong.”

Her mother’s gaze didn’t waver. “So you’ll mop up coffee with your law degree to spite me.”

“I’ve never done anything to spite you, Mother. Just the opposite. I got that degree to
please
you. I never wanted it. I still don’t.”

She skirted around Adrianna, went into the kitchen, and collected two place settings, brought them out to the patio and arranged them on the round glass table. She kept expecting to feel the familiar resentment. But she didn’t. She was charting her own course now. Her mother’s criticism had lost some of its power.

Adrianna brought the platter of chicken and roasted vegetables to the table, and for a few blessed moments they ate in silence. Vicky’s mind wandered to the script. She’d read half of it before leaving the city; she was anxious to get home and read the rest. Josie had told her to select a scene for the audition and they’d run it together beforehand.

“You were always my responsible child.”

Vicky’s head came up. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Adrianna waved a hand. “Matt was a natural, he excelled at everything. Top of his class, captain of every team. And every bit as good-looking as the cheating bastard.” Meaning Matt’s father, Adrianna’s despised second husband.

“But for you,” she went on, “nothing came easy. You worked for everything. You
applied
yourself. You never settled for less than the best.” The distress in her tone took some of the sting out of her words.

“Mother, I applied myself so hard because you pushed me so hard. I worked my ass off so I wouldn’t disappoint you. I agonized over every test. Forced myself to practice the piano. Did everything you wanted me to, until I turned into a neurotic, anxiety-ridden, uptight, psycho nutcase. And I ended up disappointing you anyway.” She gave a weak little laugh. “I should’ve done what I wanted to do all along. At least one of us would’ve been happy.”

Adrianna set her fork down, took a long sip of wine. She gazed at her plate, wouldn’t meet Vicky’s eyes. “What will you do?”

“I’m going to take some classes.”

Adrianna looked up hopefully.

“Acting classes.”

Her shoulders drooped. “How will you live?”

“On a very tight budget.”

“Matt said he could—”

Vicky cut her off. “I don’t want to work on Wall Street. I want to be on the stage.” Saying it out loud sent heat rushing up her neck to her face, but she didn’t let it stop her. “I know that everything you’ve said about acting is true. The chances are that I won’t make it and I’ll still be pouring coffee when I’m seventy. But I want to try.”

“This is my fault.” Her mother’s defeated tone was so out of character that Vicky almost felt sorry for her. “I should’ve gone to Matt straightaway and told him about Brown.”

“No. Keeping quiet was the right thing to do. Your only mistake was forcing Winston on me.”

Adrianna fiddled with her wineglass. Then she let out a sigh. “You’re right.”

Vicky’s jaw dropped. “Did you just say I’m right?”

“He’s a snake. You’re too good for him.”

Her fork clattered onto her plate. “Then why did you shove him down my throat?”

“Because he was the first man you’d shown any interest in since that pothead in college. Because I want to see you financially secure. Because I want
grandchildren
, for God’s sake, while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”

Vicky stared. “You’ve never mentioned grandchildren before.”

“What would’ve been the point? But when Winston came along, well, I thought if I encouraged you to overlook some of his . . . shortcomings . . . that you’d finally settle down.” She lifted one shoulder, let it fall. “It was a miscalculation, and it ended in disaster. Especially for you. I apologize.”

And the shocks just kept on coming. “Well. Thanks. But it hasn’t actually been a disaster. If things hadn’t gone to hell, I’d still be at the firm, miserable, instead of . . .”

She hesitated. Adrianna could ruin this with a few choice words.

She took the chance. “Instead of auditioning for a play.”

Adrianna blinked a couple of times. “Auditioning for a play.” She repeated the words carefully, as if sounding out a foreign phrase.
Where are the restrooms? Où sont les toilettes?

Vicky immediately downplayed it. “It’s just a small troupe, completely unknown. The role I’m up for wouldn’t be that challenging—an uptight MBA.” She laughed nervously. “I shouldn’t have a problem with that, but I haven’t done any acting since high school, so I probably won’t be any good, they probably won’t want me—”

Adrianna drew herself up. “What do you mean they won’t want you? Honestly, Victoria, I don’t understand why you always put yourself down. If they have a brain between them, of course they’ll want you.”

Again, Vicky’s jaw fell.

“I haven’t a doubt,” Adrianna went on, “that you’ll work every bit as hard at acting as you’ve worked at everything else. And if you put your heart as well as your back into it, I’m quite certain you’ll succeed.”

“
You are?
”

“Of course I am.” She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s never been the problem. It’s the
lifestyle
. The uncertainty. The utter lack of responsibility.”

Now they were getting down to it. “I’m not like your mother,” Vicky said with genuine compassion. “I won’t run off to Hollywood and disappear.”

“I wasn’t thinking of my mother,” Adrianna said stiffly.

“Of course you were. And why wouldn’t you? She deserted you and you’ve never forgiven her. But Mother”—Vicky reached out and touched her hand—“you just said I’m the responsible one, and you’re right. I could never walk away from my family. Not from Matt. Not from you.”

For a long moment, Adrianna’s gaze rested on Vicky’s hand where it covered her own. Vicky waited for her to pull away, as she always did. But this time when her mother raised her eyes, she left her hand where it was.