"Sweetheart, don't take this the wrong way," he said, a grin on his lips as he placed her hand through his arm and began steering her toward the ballroom, "but you're a little loopy."
"Maybe so," she said, "but at least I'm not wearing a dead man's tuxedo."
Actually, she was wearing an old bridesmaid dress, but the less Lance knew about that, the better.
The hallway widened as they reached four sets of double doors leading into the ballroom. A portrait hung on the wall of the circular room. Lance looked at the painting and then read from the placard beneath it: WALLIFORD "WALLY" WILLIS. Sycamore Hills President, I939-I94Z.
"So that's the famous Wally," he said, as if meeting a long-lost friend.
"Don't worry." She brushed the lapel of his jacket. "You look better in the tux."
Lance leaned forward and studied the painting of the great-uncle Julia never knew. She and Caroline had frequently wondered what Ro-Ro's favorite husband must have been like. Was he strong enough to stand up to her, or weak enough to let her win every fight? Looking at the painting, Julia realized she'd known the answer all along. Wally must have been strong—very strong. There were plenty of people who were willing to cave in to Ro-Ro, but few who were worthy opponents. Julia studied the sharp, lean man in the picture, and she realized he hadn't just been her great love, he'd been her great challenge and, for Ro-Ro, the two were cosmically linked.
"He died young," Lance said, gesturing to the bio that hung beside the frame.
Julia nodded. "They weren't married for very long, and they lived abroad most of that time. When they moved home, he spent most of his days here." She gestured at their opulent surroundings. "And then he suddenly died. I think she hates this place because of it."
Lance nodded. "My dad spent all his time away, too. Mymom hated him for it."
"Oh," Julia said. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize your father had passed away."
"He's hasn't," Lance told her. "But my parents divorcee and he dropped off the face of the earth. The man's still living^ But the father's dead."
And then something dawned on Julia. "I really don't know anything about you," she said. "What's your mother's name?"
"Donna."
"What does she do for a living?"
"She manages theater companies, anywhere and even-where that will have her. She's great at it."
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"It was just me and my mom."
"Let's see," Julia said, struggling to think of more questions. "I already know you like whole milk and full-calorie pop—does everyone in your family have good metabolisms?"
A wide smile spread across Lance's face. "Yes."
"Too bad. I was just starting to like you."
"Jules, you look magnificent!" Caroline cried when they neared Ro-Ro's table. Even Steve seemed to take notice as he] stood to kiss her cheek and shake Lance's hand.
"Turn around," Caroline said. "Let me look at your dress."
"Caroline, you picked it out."
"I know, but I don't remember it being this stunning on you."
The black gown was floor-length with an empire waist, a simple scoop-neck collar, and an emerald-green wrap. Seven years and eight pounds ago, the dress had been Julia's idea of perfection. As she eased into a chair between Lance and Caroline, she wondered if it might still have the golden touch.
Right up until the point when Nina showed up wearing it.
Halfway through the silent auction, Julia looked up from the table to see her best friend floating through the geriatric ocean like a feather on the tide—a feather wrapped in emerald green. Julia's mouth gaped. Instinctively, she looked around the table, wondering if Lance or any of the others had seen. She said a silent prayer of thanks that they were all listening to Steve talk about tax-sheltered annuity limits, and no one had noticed Nina, who stood frozen on the dance floor, obviously unsure what to do.
"Excuse me," Julia said. "I'm going to run to the ladies' room."
She gave Nina a look, pointed to the powder room, and sprinted there herself. As soon as she'd checked for feet beneath the stall doors, Julia hissed, "What are you wearing?"
"My bridesmaid dress from Caroline's wedding?" Nina asked, as if it might be a trick question.
Julia smacked her on the shoulder. "You've got to go home and change!"
"Me? Why do I have to go home?"
"Because you live five minutes from here. I live sixty miles away!" Julia scolded.
"I can't," Nina admitted. "I don't have anything else to wear."
"Neither do I," Julia shot back.
"Well, I can't leave!" Nina said, anticipating what Julia was going to say next. "There's too much potential business in that room. Plus, I can't tell Jason he rented a tux for nothing."
Julia froze, dumbfounded. Could she have heard that correctly? "You're here with Jason "
"Well, I couldn't come by myself. And he called last night—"
"Nina, I cannot believe you're here with him."
"Jules, it's okay. We're here as friends."
"Like you went on vacation to Vegas together as friends?" Julia mocked. "I seem to remember you coming home from that one remarried."
"So what about us wearing the same dress, huh? This is pretty embarrassing."
"Nina, don't change the subject!" Julia snapped.
The door opened and Julia heard Caroline say, "I thought I'd see what was taking you—oh my gosh!" She gasped as she turned the corner. "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh." Caroline was rocking back and forth in a manner that suggested that as the bride, she should have seen this coming. "When I said you could wear the dresses again," she exclaimed, "I didn't mean at the same time!"
"Caroline," Julia said, "we have bigger problems. Jason is—" "Yoo-hoo!"
Georgia A. led the gang around the corner, then stopped, clasped her hands together in front of her elegantly age-appropriate gown, and said, "The gentlemen said that you ladies had locked yourselves up in here. I think we've figured out why."
Julia took one look at Miss Georgia in a royal-blue ribbon of a dress with a slit down the side revealing one stunning leg and she went to stand by Georgia B., who looked like she'd bought her dress from army surplus. Georgia B. put her arms around Julia and said, "Don't worry, sweetheart, we're going to work something out."
"I think I'll just go home," Julia found herself saying. "I should have just stayed home. I should have ..." Julia couldn't believe it; she was honestly starting to cry. Standing in the bathroom of Sycamore Hills, wearing a bridesmaid dress, surrounded by Georgias, she was crying. Julia James doesn't cry, she thought. Julia James is a bestselling author, one of the most bankable names in books! Julia's fans know her as someone who is calm and confident, ready for whatever curves life throws her!
She cursed Ro-Ro for making her come. She cursed Lance for making it so wonderful for a few minutes. She cursed the fact that once you get used to floating into rooms, it hurts a lot more to crawl out.
"Oh, honey," Miss Georgia was saying. "This simply will not do."
"I know that, Evelyn," Julia stammered. "That's why I'm crying."
Caroline massaged her sister's shoulders. "It's okay, honey. Shhhh." Then Caroline turned to the Georgias. "She's been under so much pressure lately, with the reporters and all the rumors. I'm surprised she's held up as well as she has."
"Honey." Julia heard Miss Georgia's sweet drawl. "You're doing terrible things to your makeup. There's no use making us fix what wasn't broken to begin with."
"Fix?" Julia brushed her hair out of her eyes.
"Of course," the Georgias sang in unison.
"Now, let's look at both of you," Georgia A. said, pushing Nina closer to Julia. "Ladies, what do you think?"
Miss Georgia planted her hands on her nearly nonexistent h*ps and said, "Julia has been here longer, so more people have seen her. She will be harder to change."
"But little Nina is so perfect in that gown. Oh, it would be a pity to touch it," Georgia B. said, and Julia no longer thought she was the nice one. But then Georgia B. redeemed herself by saying, "Plus, I don't think that neckline does Julia justice. It should accentuate her stately shoulders and show her wonderful skin."
"Agreed," Miss Georgia said.
"Wait!" Julia held out a hand. "Caroline, did you know Nina is here with Jason?"
"Yes. He's already at the table. You should have seen the tension between him and Lance when I left—very National Geographic."
Now this I've got to see, Julia thought, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and immediately the dread came rushing back. "I can't walk out there in a different dress. That's going to be too weird."
"Has anyone seen you without the wrap, dear?" Georgia A. asked.
"Well, no," Julia had to concede.
The Georgias all seemed to exhale, and Miss Georgia started toward her. "It's settled then. A lot of women are wearing black dresses, darling. We'll simply reverse Nina's wrap and change your neckline," Miss Georgia said. Then she dumped her small bag onto the makeup vanity, and a whole beauty arsenal fell out.
Twenty minutes later, Julia emerged from the bathroom with a different neckline and an entirely new appreciation for what a former Miss Georgia could do with cuticle scissors and double-sided tape.
Lance watched the way the waiter cleared from the right and served from the left, the way he moved noiselessly, effortlessly between the seated couples, and he realized that this man was no actor-in-waiting; this man was a pro. Only decades of experience within the Sycamore Hills ballroom could give a man the fortitude he would need to keep an even expression on his face as Jason ordered.
"Bring me the pork with the steamed rice instead of the potatoes, and the vegetable medley instead of the salad, and coffee with skim milk, not cream. You getting this down?" Jason asked the man, who looked old enough to have been hired by Wally Willis himself.
Maybe it was Lance's imagination, but as the waiter turned, he thought the man might have given him a wink. Lance smiled, relieved to be among peers, glad for the chance to see things from that side of the table for a change, even if it did mean sitting across from Jason. At least he got to share the table with Julia.
One June, while working the wedding-reception circuit, Lance had developed a theory that there are two kinds of people in the world—the kind who say thank you when you refill their glass, and the kind who act as if the water has miraculously reappeared. Julia, Lance decided halfway through the meal, was a thanker. Each and every time someone refilled a glass or removed or placed a plate, Julia said "thank you" in the perfect volume, the perfect tone. He'd served a lot of people, but he'd never seen anyone hit a hundred percent—until Julia. When Julia said thank you for her salmon and Jason decided that his pork needed to go back to the kitchen, Lance realized that Julia James was his kind of woman.