My Favorite Mistake. Stephanie Bond

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      “I’m kidding. Gee, lighten up.” Then she snapped her fingers. “I saw the cutest striped dress in the window of Benderlee’s, and I remember thinking it would look smashing on you.”

      “Will it smash the credit line on my VISA card?”

      “Probably, but think of it as an investment.” She laughed. “Knowing you, you’ll think of a way to write the dress off on your taxes as a business expense.”

      “Ha, ha.”

      “I’m not kidding—I can’t believe how much Sam and I are getting back on our taxes this year, thanks to you. If you ever decide to go into tax preparation, I want to invest.”

      I laughed. “Thanks.”

      “And go to Nordstrom’s for shoes. Ask for Lito, tell him I sent you.”

      My shoulders fell. “Okay.”

      “And tell me you’re not going to wear your hair in a ponytail.”

      I squinted. “I’m not going to wear my hair in a ponytail?”

      “For goodness’ sake, Denise, loosen up. Your ponytail is so tight, it’s a wonder you don’t have an aneurysm.”

      My friends were good at reminding me that I was a tight ass. And a tightwad. “I’m loose,” I argued, rolling my shoulders in my best imitation of a “groove”—until my neck popped painfully. I grimaced—was it possible to break your own neck?

      “Wear your hair down and buy a pair of chandelier earrings.”

      “You think?”

      “I was under the impression that you called for my advice.”

      “I did.”

      “You want this woman’s business, don’t you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then you gotta do what you gotta do.”

      I sighed. “You’re right.”

      “So…Barry set you up to do business with his boss,” she said in a singsongy tone. “Maybe it’s a good thing you bought that wedding gown. It sounds like he’s thinking long-term.”

      I glanced at the dress I had so foolishly purchased and gave a nervous little laugh. “Or maybe he’s trying to suck up to his boss.”

      “Hmm. Sounds like someone needs to take a lesson from Cindy in positive thinking.”

      I thanked Kenzie for her help, then hung up with a cleansing exhale. Kenzie was right—I should be grateful for the opportunity that Barry had made for me, instead of questioning his motives. I was letting my frustration with our lackluster sex life color other aspects of our relationship. It was embarrassing, really—I was an intelligent woman. I had proof that elements other than sex were more important to a successful long-term, um…association. Financial compatibility, for instance. Sex waned over time. But dividend reinvestment stock plans were forever.

      A sudden thought prompted me to pick up the phone and order two plane tickets to Las Vegas for a long weekend as a Valentine’s Day surprise for Barry. When I hung up, I heaved a sigh, feeling much better. Then I slanted a frown toward my bedroom.

      I was suffering from a bad case of the all-overs, and the culprit was taking up too much room in my closet. I was already letting that ridiculous wedding gown interfere with our relationship, and for no good reason. Barry needn’t ever know what I’d done. Tomorrow I’d put that sucker on eBay and be rid of it for good.

      Er—the dress, not Barry.

      3

      KENZIE WAS RIGHT—the dress in Benderlee’s window looked better on me than the average frock, so I bought it despite the breathtaking price. And Lito at Nordstrom’s had hooked me up with a pair of shoes with an equally stunning price tag. If I wore them every day for the rest of my life, I might get my money’s worth out of them. Throwing caution to the wind, I had also bought a chic gray wool coat. I left my hair long and loose, which made me feel a little unkempt, but I have to admit I was feeling rather spiffy when Barry arrived. I opened the door with a coy smile.

      He looked polished and professional in a navy suit, striped tie, not a pale blond hair out of place. “Ready to go?” he asked, then pointed to his watch. “Traffic is a nightmare.”

      My smile slipped. “I…yes.”

      “Good, because I’d hate to be late.”

      Barry wasn’t the most attentive man I’d ever known, but tonight he seemed unusually preoccupied. Then I realized he was probably more anxious about the award for which he’d been nominated than he wanted to let on. Indeed, on the drive to the hotel, he checked his watch at least a hundred times, his expression pinched. And he seemed to be coming down with a cold since he sneezed several times. To see my normally calm, collected boyfriend so fidgety moved me. I reached over to squeeze his hand. “Relax. I hope you have a thank-you speech prepared.”

      He smiled sheepishly. “I made a few notes…just in case.”

      I instantly forgave him for not noticing how fabulous I looked. Besides, I reminded myself, I had dressed for Ellen Brant, and as luck would have it, we were seated at her table for the awards ceremony. In fact, by some bizarre shuffling of bodies and chairs, she wound up sitting between us. The woman was so cosmopolitan, even in my new clothes I felt gauche. I raised my finger for a nervous nibble on my nail, and tasted the bitter tang of fresh nail polish…a do-it-myself manicure was the best I could manage under the circumstances.

      “Denise, your dress is divine,” she murmured over her martini glass.

      “Thank you,” I said, taking my finger out of my mouth and sitting up straighter.

      “She’s smart and fashionable,” Ellen said to Barry for my benefit. “I like this girl.”

      “She’s dependable, too,” Barry said. “And loyal.”

      I managed to conceal my surprise at his bizarre statement. Until I realized that to Ellen, recently betrayed by her husband, loyalty was essential. So on cue, I nodded like a puppy dog.

      Ellen pursed her collagen-plumped lips. “Denise, why don’t you call me next week and we’ll go over the paperwork for that investment account.”

      “Okay,” I said in a voice that belied my excitement. If Ellen opened an account at Trayser Brothers, I’d be able to pay off my outfit and buy my apartment. Plus a new bed that didn’t reek of woodsmoke. A closet organization system. Caller ID.

      I could scarcely eat I was so wound up. I tried to contribute to the conversation, but Ellen and Barry were soon absorbed in television-speak, and I thought it best not to intrude. Barry was, after all, hoping for a promotion, and Ellen would drive that decision. Instead, I chatted with other people seated at the table, spurred to a higher degree of socialization than usual by the open bar. Happily, the evening was topped off by a slightly tipsy Ellen presenting Barry with the award for excellence in producing that was acknowledged in the СКАЧАТЬ