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11
“SO YOU’RE GETTING a second interview?that’s great.”
“Yes.” Allie nodded several times to make up for the lack of energy in her voice. “They seemed really excited about me.”
Julie flicked her a glance. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, wearing skintight black pants and a belted tunic, clothes strewn over every available surface except the bed space Allie occupied. Tonight Julie was going out Wednesday-night clubbing with her boyfriend, David, and friends from work at Condé Nast. Apparently none of the gazillion outfits she’d tried on already made the correct fashion statement. “I’m sure they’re excited about you. But you don’t seem that excited about them.”
“No, no, I am. I need a job. They have one I can do. It’s perfect.”
“Oh whee, that sounds thrilling.” Julie yanked off the belt and tunic. “I give up on these pants. Nothing looks right with them.”
Uh...tight black pants on a tall, model-perfect body like hers? Everything looked right with them. Allie had given up on suggestions half an hour before. Julie certainly had strong ideas about how she didn’t want to look. Eventually she’d stumble over how she did. “It is thrilling. My long weeks of unemployment could be just about over, and I might not starve. That’s cause for celebration.”
“When are you going back to Lake George?” Julie turned to her dresser and started rummaging in her bottom drawer.
At the mention of the lake, Allie felt an immediate stab of misery. “I thought I’d rent a van and go tomorrow, early. Just pick up the clothes and come back the same day.”
“What? You’re not staying up there?” Julie straightened, holding a black camisole with a glittering floral design. “But Jonas will be there for the weekend.”
“I know, I know.” Allie flopped over onto her back and glared at the ceiling. She’d been having this battle with herself for the past two days. “I just don’t see the point of going back there, falling for him harder and then saying goodbye. I don’t want to date someone I see once a month.”
“He’s loaded. You could probably see him every weekend.”
Allie lifted her head. “Once a week? Would that be enough for you?”
“If I could see us working out long-term, I’d at least try it. What about this?” She turned to Allie in the camisole, arms spread.
“Well, I can’t see us working out long-term.” She eyed her friend critically, her brain coming up with her own fashion ideas. “It looks great. Like everything else you’ve tried on.”
“Why won’t you and he work out?” Julie demanded.
“We just wouldn’t. We’re too different.” Allie rolled off the bed and grabbed paper and a pencil from Julie’s desk. “I wish I had those clothes here now for you. There was this fabulous shirt, black with lace sleeves and two lace panels over the boobs, lined with skin-colored fabric, that was both sexy and elegant. No one is wearing stuff like that now. You’d look incredible in it, with a little fascinator in your hair and a narrow skirt or wide pants. Something like this.”
She finished the sketch with a few bold strokes and handed the paper to Julie.
“Yes!” Julie smacked the paper decisively. “That’s what I want. Can you make it for me in half an hour?”
“Uh...”
“Seriously, that would be the perfect look.” Julie gazed rapturously at the drawing, and then lifted her head to glare at Allie, jamming her hands on her hips. “You are an idiot not to be pursuing fashion design as a career.”
Allie snorted. “Yeah, thanks, but I’d like to make enough to live on.”
“So...” Julie dragged off the camisole. “Marry Jonas and you won’t have to worry.”
An undeniable thrill shot through her. Security, safety, for the rest of her life...
Allie recoiled from the bottom of her soul. What was she thinking? “Come on, that sexist crap is so not me!”
“Why not? If you’re crazy about him anyway, and he’s crazy about you, which it sounds like he is.” She glanced at her watch, cringed and bent back to her drawer.
“We just met! I can’t even think—”
“I know you just met. I’m not suggesting you propose tomorrow. But if things work out, since he’s got craploads of money, he could support you while you—”
“No.” The word exploded out. “I am not letting any rich guy support me.”
