Page 102 of Devil in Disguise
“Hey,” he said, “quit looking in my heart like that.”
She smiled, all blue eyes and dimples, kissed his chest again, then his neck, which started up the electricity all over again, and said, “Then I will. I’ll try it, anyway. Hey, what’s the worst that could happen?”
* * *
When Dyma came downstairsat eleven o’clock on the morning of New Year’s Eve, her mom said, “Are you sure that’s right? And I know what you’re going to say. That I don’t know about clothes. But …”
“Mom,” Dyma said, “it’s bowling. What the heck areyouwearing? And why?” Her mom, in fact, was wearing slim black jeans with a surprisingly stylish belt featuring lots of silver hardware, and black suede pumps, the ones with the red soles that sent a “money!” signal to women who cared about that, along with a thin V-necked butter-yellow sweater that looked like it was made of something exceptionally soft. Silk and angora, or something like that. She was also wearing her engagement ring for once, plus her pearl-and-heavy-chain necklace from Tiffanyandher gold-and-white-jade cuff from ditto. And makeup. In short, she looked extremely expensive for Jennifer Cardello, and not one bit like somebody who was about to go bowling, in this or any other universe.
“All right,” Jennifer said, “I’ve never bowled, but Harlan said I should aim for looking nice. Casual or not, most of the women are pretty glamorous, at least they have been every time I’ve seen them.”
“Again,” Dyma said, “when they’rebowling?And tell me Harlan didn’t put that outfit together for you.”
“He has better taste than I do,” Jennifer said. “I admit it.”
“I admit it too,” Dyma said. “But still.” She was wearing jeans, too, but the pale, ripped ones that were her favorites (she’d gotten the salad oil and tomato sauce out of them, thanks to Pavani’s mom and her laundry wizardry), a thin, ribbed, long-sleeved, form-fitting T-shirt in a soft orange that she loved, and her silver cowboy boots, with her sweater-coat thrown over the whole thing. She wasn’t even wearing Owen’s ring, because hello? Bowling? Finger holes? “We’re going to be wearing bowling shoes,” she told her mom. “There are only so many outfits that look good with bowling shoes, and that’s not really one of them. Tell me you have socks.”
“Oh. Hang on.” A few minutes, and Jennifer came down stuffing them into her purse, Another obvious Harlan purchase, it was a sleek black suede shoulder bag with a luxe-looking gold bar across the top, and had probably cost a thousand bucks.
“Once again,” Dyma said, “nice purse, but … for bowling? What do you think, Annabelle?” Annabelle had come out to say goodbye, holding Nick in her arms, since she was babysitting. Dyma felt a little guilty about that, and also a little bit like a girl parading around in dress-up clothes. Thiswasvery weird, this mother/daughter double-dating thing.
“I don’t know,” Annabelle said. “I mean, I always just wore jeans and a T-shirt to go bowling, but it was North Dakota, so maybe …”
“See?” Dyma said.
“I don’t care,” Jennifer said. “Harlan picked it out. If it’s wrong, it’s his fault. I can’t worry about it, or I’ll have a panic attack and hide in my room, and I refuse. Let’s go.”
* * *
Let’sjust say that Harlan was right.
The team had rented the entire facility, it turned out. The lanes were lit up in pink and purple, the music was blasting, and the champagne was flowing. And dozens of women mingled, lane-hopping, missing their turns, tossing back their long, flowing locks, and not paying much attention to their scores.
Yes, they were wearing bowling shoes. In no other way, though, were they dressed to bowl. Dyma saw bustier tops and velvet jackets. She saw silk trousers and wrap sweaters. She saw a whole lot of expensive jewelry. What shedidn’tsee were ripped jeans and T-shirts.
Jennifer was greeted with hugs and glad cries of welcome. She introduced Dyma, and then immediately started asking about people’s kids, about school troubles and sick mothers, in a totally Jennifer way, a language she spoke and Dyma didn’t. After that, Jennifer was swallowed up by a group-amoeba, was laughing and being handed a virgin-something-or-other, confessing that she’d never bowled, being shown how, and immediately tossing the ball into the gutter. After many bounces.
“Only you, Mom,” Dyma muttered, but she was laughing. “Who bounces a bowling ball?”
“That’s why they love her,” came a voice at her elbow. A giraffe of a woman, all arms and legs and velvety-smooth brown skin, in a puffy-sleeved purple top, a gold chain necklace about half an inch across, and the skinniest of black trousers. And, of course, bowling shoes. “She could fall in the alley,” the woman went on, “and they’d just love her more. She’s real.”
“Hey,” Dyma said, “she probablywillfall in the alley. You have no idea.” And then recognized her. “You’re the woman from the ladies’ room. New Orleans?”
A five-hundred-watt smile. “The inside-out dress.”
Dyma stuck out her hand. “Dyma Cardello.”
“Oh, honey,” the woman said. “Let me teach you how to do the cheek kiss.” She did it, though it wasn’t a kiss. More a brushing of cheeks, a light hand on a shoulder. “No makeup smudge. Pretense of sisterly love, and we won’t examine how real it is in each particular case. Nadia Fontaine.” She held up her left hand, which sported a pretty spectacular wedding set. “Andre Fontaine.”
“Running back,” Dyma said. “So is that how I introduce myself? With the guy’s name? Kind of regressive, isn’t it?”
“Honey,” Nadia said with a wicked grin, “I’m not sure I’d introduce myself at all. Not today. Andoh,yeah, it can be a little regressive.”
“Let me guess,” Dyma said. “Wrong clothes.”
“Yep. But, hey, we all have a first time. So that was Owen Johnson’s parents you were meeting, huh?”
“How do you know?”
