“Paulie.”
“Ronny thinks they’re right, you know. She said it’s a disgrace for a girl from a good family to sully herself with such white-collar things. She says I’d be much better off learning how to talk to men and getting a makeover so my hair isn’t so frizzy.”
“Goddammit, Paulie, you’re perfect just the way you are! Don’t let that wretch make you feel like anything less, and for goodness’ sake, stop letting your parents ruin what could be for you,” I beg, feeling unaccountably panicked at the thought of one day soon leaving this bright, beautiful young woman at the mercy of the sharks swimming around her.
“She’s right, though,” she says, stiffening her spine and meeting my eyes with a defiant tilt of her chin, as if daring me to bad-mouth her precious Ronny.
Paulie, honey, soon—one day not too far from now—you will finally realize that your precious Ronny is not worth the blind faith and loyalty you give her so freely, I think, shaking with a mixture of anguish and anger.
Why do the undeserving always instill such loyalty in their victims, and why is it always schmucks like me who never get a break when they love others?
Just once I want someone I love to take a look at me and see that their love is safe with me, that I’m more worthy of it than the filthy idiots they seem to follow so blindly.
And yet what can I really expect from Paulie when I fled this town years ago and left her at the mercy of Ronny the Rattlesnake.
“She isn’t right, Paulie. None of them are. Don’t let your parents sell you the way they sold your sister, Ginny. And for goodness’ sake, don’t let Ronny make you believe that you’re not beautiful, because you are. You really are.”
“Don’t let them sell me? Fine advice coming from you, Trace,” she says scathingly, giving me a look and tone I’ve never seen or heard from her before. “Is this the real Tracy talking or the one who’s letting her own parents marry her off to the biggest sleaze in DC?”
The words hit me like a physical slap, and I rear back in surprise. The shy, timid, soft Paulie is gone, and in her place sits a woman I have never met but one I would root for any day of the week. This is the Paulie I’ve always wanted to see, and yet it’s so inconvenient to have her call me out right now.
Pesky!
“Paulie, I—”
“Well, thank God I made that call or we’d all be up the creek without a salon appointment this afternoon!”
Stupid Ronny.
She strolls in with a fake smile a mile wide and a look that sets my alarm bells ringing on high alert. I barely stop my eyes from narrowing in suspicion and I bite my tongue to keep from blasting her for interrupting something I feel the need to investigate.
My spine is tingling in that weird way that tells me something is definitely not right. With Ronny or Paulie, and I swallow the nerves that rise along with the feeling.
I’m a profiler by trade, thanks to the government blackmailing me into a very sticky situation, but I’ve had these gut feelings for years. After I realized they’re my instincts calling out and not anxiety attacks like my shrink told me, I’ve learned to rely on them.
Right now I’m feeling equal parts confused and edgy about both of the women sitting and staring at me, and all I can do is raise my tea glass and give them both a small smile that feels forced.
“Well thank God for you, Ronny dear. Now let’s stop being so wishy-washy and pack away the wedding things! I need a good facial and some real gossip now that I’m back with my girls.”
I watch the two of them exchange a look before turning back to me with another smile that makes my blood chill.
“Why of course, Tracy, darling. By all means, let’s do what we do best and dish the dirt on the poor mortals in our spheres. Have you heard what happened to Harriet…”
I allow Ronny to launch into a full-scale attack on some poor girl whose only crime is liking cream puffs a bit too much and spend my time watching Paulie from the corner of my eye.
Paulie Hayes, the Paulie I see sitting before me, is not the same Paulie I left behind when I fled to DC and the comfort of my father’s authority.
No, this chick is either involved in whatever is going on with Ronny, or she’s got her own agenda.
She is doing everything just exactly right to appear normal, but her body language is stiff and off, whether as a result of my company or something going down between her and Ronny, I can’t rightly say, but something is definitely not right here and I need to figure out what it is before I call Digg and give him a first report.
“And did you hear about poor Aunt Cleo! She took a tumble off the bed and broke her hip this morning. How terribly sad.”