Page 9 of The Wedding

“Uh, yeah, last night.”

“Thatta girl.”

“No wonder your breath is awful.”

Kathleen backhanded Eve on the arm and coughed again.

“Me too!” Gwenyth cried, lifting her head long enough to join the sordid conversation. “I totally got that pussy last night.”

“Well, aren’t you special?”

Everyone looked at Monique. Before she could respond, Eve said, “Please, no, I don’t need more images about my sister than I already have.”

That just left Jamie. She was glad she had alcohol to blame her redness on because being straight-up asked if she had eaten out her girlfriend the night before made her woozy. Maybe if she were in different company… but even then…

“Ah! Look at her face! She’s gotten more than you, Char!”

“Of course she has. She’s living with Etta Coleman.” Kathleen snatched back the cigarette and this time managed a drag without coughing. “Everyone knows what kind of appetite that woman has.”

Someone snickered. Monique shot Kathleen a somewhat hostile look, but Jamie jumped in before things got ugly. “I would know better than anyone here. Unless you know something you’d like to share with the class.”

“Oh, shit!”

“Damn.”

Kathleen turned her attention to Jamie, mouth dropping open. “Are you trying to say something about me?”

“Oh, no. Unless you have something to share about my girlfriend and…” She didn’t say it.You.

“All right, girls,” Eve said, clapping a friendly hand on Kathleen’s shoulder. “We’re drunk and dumb. Let’s settle down. No cat fights at any party I’m throwing unless massage oil and mud pits are involved.” She looked between Jamie and Kathleen. “That was a joke.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jamie looked away.Good job, idiot. Ruin your friend’s bachelorette party because you can’t hold your tongue. Jamie already had a tentative relationship with these women, and Kathleen was one of the worst. One could never tell if Ms. Allen, the richest woman in her own right at that table, liked anyone. Most people debated if she even actually liked her girlfriend or if the blond harpy was simply leading Ira Mathison on.The things I hear when people think I’m too stupid to understand what they’re saying at brunches.

“Ladies! I hope I’m not late!”

Before anyone could respond, a carefully manicured hand snatched the half-smoked cigarette from Kathleen’s. She looked like she saw a ghost – or maybe a succubus – when she glanced up at who graced them with her presence. She then looked to Eve with an expression that said,“You invited her?”

Jamie didn’t know Lara Anderssen well, other than what she heard on the petty grapevine, but she knew she was either the saving grace of this party or their worst nightmare. Jamie pulled for the former. Seeing Kathleen’s reaction was worth it.

“Didn’t think you would make it!” Eve cried over the thumping music.

“Traffic between here and Orlando was terrible. I should have flown instead of taking the scenic route. What have I missed?”

She sat between Eve and Gwenyth, her presence dominating the table. Monique stifled laughter behind her handkerchief while Charlotte mumbled about assholes who thought they owned every place they went. Tobe fair, Lara and her wife were real estate moguls back home. They sort of did own every place they touched.That would turn me into a huge personality too.Nevertheless, Jamie faded into the shadows before things got crazier.

“We were discussing whether or not we licked Sappho’s ravine recently.”

“Oh, good, I’m here just in time. Now, where’s the liquor? I thought this was a party!”

The night was, dare Jamie say it, exhausting. Everyone except Monique partook in a plethora of vices, from alcohol to cigarettes, to flirting with every good-looking woman who came their way. Of course, there were enough hot women in that club to burn the place down.“It’s our friend’s bachelorette party, day one!” Gwenyth shouted at some woman with a little nose ring and not much else little about her. The women working at this place were fit and gifted in the genetics department. “Where the fuck do we go to get… to get some…”

The woman looked around before answering. “You want real party?” she asked with a thick accent. A thick,hotaccent. “Wait here. Twenty minutes. We get you real party.”

Ho, boy. She is not kidding.

Next thing Jamie knew, all seven of them were herded to a private patio where they were given three athletic, bare-chested women to wait on them hand and foot. For a generous tip, they would provide other services. Like ripping off their bottoms and shoving their special delivery landing strips toward anyone willing to pay for the shipping and handling.