Catch 26: A Novel. Carol Prisant

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       CHAPTER 4

      Frannie stumbled to a chair.

      What had just happened?

      Was Randi in the ladies’ room, laughing at her? Had that finger been just sleight of hand? Hairdressers, she thought, as a tiny light bulb flared: hairdressers have more than their share of manual dexterity, don’t they? But how could she be so naive, or so drunk, to have been taken in like this?

      She was grateful for her anonymity. She twisted her gold wedding ring.

      But was she disappointed?

      Oh my God, she was, she was! She’d been completely ready to give up everything for this shining second chance. Her very soul. She’d offered that Randi her soul. What a vile, despicable trick to play on an old woman.

      But wait. Perhaps she was lucky it hadn’t been real?

      Well, maybe.

      And had anyone seen … whatever it was that she’d just experienced? She looked around, but no, no one was paying the slightest attention to her, which must mean that no one had seen a thing. So she walked back through the half-light to the booth, clicked her compact softly closed and dropped it in her purse. How gullible she seemed to herself right now. She probably was. But was she really that desperate?

      Or maybe this was all something she’d imagined.

      And had the same thing happened to Arlene? She would call her tomorrow. No, she wouldn’t. It would be too humiliating, even if it had.

      So, here she was. Good old Frannie Turner once again. Not always good, maybe, but most definitely old. And nothing was any different. Nothing had changed. Which wasn’t so bad.

      Really. It wasn’t.

      And then, despite the mysteriousness and peculiarity of the events of this day, Frannie brightened.

      And so. And so, since nothing she’d bargained for had happened – not even beauty tips – she might as well go home. She was still trembling, though, and steadying herself (her legs felt terribly weak) Frannie headed in the direction of the stairs, detouring to set her empty glass on the bar.

      But as she passed the roulette wheel, she stopped and checked her watch. It was early yet. Not even 9:00. And here she was, in a gambling casino with money in her purse and – given that she’d just been ready to take a huge, inconceivable, risk – why not just, well … risk a little something? Even though she didn’t usually gamble. Even though Stanley said gambling was throwing your money in the toilet. Even though, basically, she agreed, but still … five minutes, maybe. Just for the Hell of it?

      “The Hell of it?” Frannie smiled lopsidedly.

      So. Roulette? Blackjack? Craps?

      She thought she’d choose some game that looked particularly busy and watch for a minute or two. That way, she wouldn’t be noticed if she chose not to play right away. Spotting a tall empty chair at the far end of a horseshoe-shaped table and, squeezing through, she bumped an adjacent chair hard. Its occupant was so engrossed he didn’t even seem to hear Frannie’s overly profuse apologies, or to notice her at all. She, on the other hand, noticed him.

      Because he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever been this close to.

      He was tapping his fingers as he studied his cards. From the corner of her eye, she watched. He’s a dancer, Frannie felt sure. Even seated, he held himself like a dancer: his back arrow-straight, his neck long, his shoulders thrown back, his head … was “noble” the word? She caught just a whiff of a citrusy aftershave. He seemed to be dressed all in black, too. Interestingly his jacket was black; his sweater was black with slices of white at the neck and wrists. No wedding ring she noted (stupid old woman, she thought, but couldn’t help smiling), and … unhappily, the rest of him was blocked by a meaty young woman to her left who’d pushed herself between them. As casually as she was able, Frannie leaned forward. The prince was absorbed in his cards (what were they СКАЧАТЬ