Practice Makes Pregnant. Lois Faye Dyer

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      Zoe held up a hand as if she were stopping traffic on a busy Manhattan street. “Nope. No excuses accepted. None. Zero. Zip. Nada.” She caught Allison’s hand and tugged her upright, spun her around and determinedly nudged her toward the bedroom. “You live the life of a nun—all work and no play. Tonight we’re going to forget our daytime jobs and concentrate on having fun.”

      Laughing, Allison let Zoe urge her into the bedroom. The petite brunette was difficult to resist in this mood. Allison knew she should be looking for a case law to buttress the arguments in State v. Cunningham, but the prospect of a night away from law books and class assignments was tantalizing.

      “I have absolutely nothing to wear to a society fund-raiser, Zoe.” She sat on the end of the bed, her gaze following Zoe’s curvy, shorts-clad figure as she slid back the closet door and began to push aside hangers. She glanced down at her own slim, five-foot, six-inch frame, then back at her friend’s hourglass, five feet two inches of lush curves. “And there’s no way I can wear anything of yours.”

      Zoe frowned at a tailored black business suit and pushed the padded hanger aside. “We’ll find something. If we have to, we can always take in one of my dresses for you.”

      Allison laughed out loud. “That would take all night. We’d never make it to the party.”

      Zoe half disappeared into the back of the closet, her voice muffled. “You’re going to this party if I have to steal a dress for you from Saks!”

      “Oh, great,” Allison said wryly, shaking her head and brushing back a lock of auburn hair that clung to her cheek. “You’re willing to become a felon so I can attend a party?”

      “Yes.” Zoe’s emphatic response was followed by a crow of satisfaction. She backed out of the closet, flourishing a clear plastic garment bag holding a lacy black gown. “Aha!”

      Allison straightened. She’d forgotten about the designer gown, bought during a whirlwind shopping trip with her mother on her last visit to her parents’ home in Beverly Hills. She’d never actually worn the dress because she’d flown back to Manhattan a day early to avoid accompanying her parents to a movie premiere. She hated the media frenzy that always attended her parents’ appearances at the Hollywood parties they loved.

      She’d managed to avoid attending any of the glamorous events since she was seventeen. That disastrous night at a film award after-party had left an indelible and traumatic imprint on her life.

      Zoe unzipped the clear plastic bag and pulled out the gown, her eyes rounding. “Wow, this is great. And absolutely perfect for tonight.” She glanced at Allison. “Do you have shoes to wear with it?”

      “Yes. I think they’re on the shelf behind a stack of winter sweaters.”

      “Great! Here.” Zoe tossed the dress at Allison and disappeared into the closet once more.

      Allison smoothed her palm over the lace-covered satin, the rich material cool against her thighs, bare below the hem of her white shorts.

      Zoe popped out of the closet, triumphantly dangling a pair of black strappy sandals from one hand. “Here they are.” She halted in front of Allison. “Are you going to shower and dress quickly, or do I have to threaten you?”

      “No, I give up.” Allison laughed at the quick, mischievous smile that lit Zoe’s face. “I’ll go to the party.”

      An hour later Allison stared at her reflection in the long mirror that hung on the inside of the small bedroom door. Gone was the efficient personal assistant cum law student. The mirror reflected an image so unlike her daytime persona that it was startling. The black lace-over-satin gown clung to her slim curves, emphasizing the swell of her breasts below the off-the-shoulder neckline.

      The narrow, ankle-length skirt was split up the side to just below midthigh, revealing the silk-clad length of pale thigh and calf, ending in black sandals with stiletto heels.

      She turned, peering over her shoulder at the back of the dress. Black lace clung to the curve of hip and derriere with a subtle seductiveness. She’d caught up her hair and anchored it with simple gold combs, leaving wispy curls to brush against her temples and the nape of her neck. A single, twisted-gold chain encircled her throat, falling just above her collarbone. The matching gold-filigree earrings lent a touch of the exotic.

      Subtle mascara and golden-brown eyeshadow gave her eyes a smoky, mysterious look accentuated by mocha-pink lipstick and blush.

      The woman in the mirror didn’t look cautious. She didn’t look studious. She didn’t look shy or introverted. She didn’t look the slightest bit like Allison’s normal self.

      She looked, Allison thought, like a woman to be reckoned with, sure of herself, outgoing.

      She curved her mouth into a smile. The woman in the mirror smiled back.

      Allison smiled more widely.

      Just for tonight, she told the woman in the mirror with uncharacteristic recklessness, this is who I’m going to be. No yesterday, no tomorrow. Just tonight. I’m going to laugh and flirt and have fun.

      “Wow, look at you!” Zoe’s reflection joined Allison’s. “And look at the two of us—the Princess and Rose Red.”

      Zoe wore a crimson cocktail dress, her dark hair and vibrant coloring a perfect foil for Allison’s black lace, fair skin and auburn hair.

      Allison linked her arm through Zoe’s and tilted her head to one side, her laughing gaze pretending to assess their reflections. “Not bad for a secretary and a waitress, eh?”

      Zoe waved her hand with airy unconcern. “I’m not a waitress, I’m a barista. And you’re not a secretary, you’re an executive’s personal assistant on her way to becoming a brilliant attorney. And tonight,” she added loftily, “we’re both elegant ladies of society.” The doorbell rang, interrupting her. “Oops, there’s Jack.”

      Arm still linked with Allison’s, Zoe hurried them out of the bedroom. Allison managed to catch up her tiny black evening bag and coat as they left the apartment.

      The ballroom was so crowded that Allison was separated from Zoe and her date within minutes of their arrival. For once, however, she didn’t mind being alone in a crowd. Wrapped safely in the protective trappings of a more glamorous and self-assured woman, she chatted easily with a much younger man standing beside her at the buffet table. He was obviously interested in her and she walked away from the encounter with her confidence soaring.

      I’m a completely different person, she thought, smiling to herself. This is such fun.

      The ballroom was decorated in a deep-sea theme, with Mediterranean-blue chiffon draped on the ceiling and covering the walls. Golden light gleamed softly through the filmy fabric, creating the illusion that the ballroom floated underwater. Spaced around the perimeter of the room were sculptures and photos of whales in their natural environment. In front of each display, clusters of guests gathered around professional lecturers who wore name tags and answered questions about sea life in general and whales in particular. Allison sipped champagne and wandered from group to group, fascinated by the depth and passion of the professors’ responses to questions.

      Standing on the edge of a group and listening to an oceanographer describe his group’s efforts to return СКАЧАТЬ