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"Here. It's in 'Talk of the Town.' " she said, opening the Shiny. as I knew everyone called the glossy paper, to the proper page and pointing to a column written by someone called Suzy Q. Most of the column was devoted to a recent charity event given by a prince at the Flagler Museum. It listed people who'd attended, and one paragraph picked up on a recently knighted architect, Sir Floyd Raymond, whose daughter Vera was rumored to be "expecting, but not a baby, not yet. Vera is expecting an
engagement ring from one of the most eligible bachelors in Palm Beach, Thatcher Eaton. Sorry, girls, the counselor appears to be making a motion, and from what we've learned, no one in either family will raise any sort of objection."
There was a picture of Vera Raymond with Thatcher, and she looked very much like the woman I had seen him with in the cafe. I could feel the blood drain from my face.
"If you lived there. I thought you would know her and know all about it." Trinity said, her curiosity now piqued.
"No. I just moved here." I replied, fighting to keep my voice from cracking. Managing a simple sentence was suddenly like unraveling twisted wire in my head. My fingers held the paper like pincers as I stared at the picture of Thatcher and Vera Raymond, his arm around her waist, both smiling for the camera. I'm sure I looked like I was trying to burn a hole through the page.
You can keep that,' she said, backing away.
"No," I told her, and held it away from me as if it had become contaminated. Gingerly she took it back, flashed a smile, and hurried to return it to the receptionist, who had been watching us the whole time. I saw them put their heads together to mix some new gossip.
I lay back. It seemed hard to breathe. Despite the air-conditioning system, the air was oppressive and heavy. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it seemed to me that everyone in the salon was now looking at me and whispering. Minutes later. Trinity returned to rinse my hair and wrap it in a towel.
"Are you related to Mr. Eaton?" she asked. She had obviously been given the assignment of finding out as much as she could about me and passing it down the line of gossips just waiting to cackle like hens.
"I'm here to have my hair done," I said sharply. "Nothing more."
Her hands lifted from the towel as if she had touched a hot stove.
I glared at her.
"I'll tell my father you are ready," she said, and hurried away.
Moments later. Renardo de Palma was at my side, that soupy smile spreading like hot butter over his face.
"So, now we do some cutting, no?"
"No." I said, sitting up.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to do anything different with my hair."
I practically threw off the protective sheet, my heart thumping like a blown tire on a fast car.
"But. senorita--"
"I've got to go," I said. I moved quickly to get my jacket. Renardo's mouth hung open, his jaw slack, his arms up and frozen in position as he watched me put on my jacket.
"But your hair... your hair is wet. and--"
"I'm fine," I said. "Just tell me how much I owe you." He simply shook his head.
"Very well. Send me a bill. then." I added, and marched down the center of the salon, passing all the gaping eyes. Everyone stopped talking and watched me hurry out of the place. When the door closed behind me. I felt as if I had just left a sauna. I took a deep breath and hurried to my car. Water was dripping from my hair down the sides of my face.
Vaguely, I realized how mad and wild I had appeared and still looked to anyone who gazed in my direction, but all I could think of was getting myself away from those dissecting eyes and those whispers that had looped around me like chains, causing me to feel trapped and so naked and exposed that everyone could see the cracks in my broken heart.
How could he do this? How could he take advantage of me this way and lie and betray me? I felt so violated. I couldn't feel any worse if I had been raped, I thought, I had been raped. Instead of force, he'd used promises and sweet talk. The rage continued to build inside me, expanding like a hot balloon that was on the verge of exploding.
I didn't recall getting into my car and starting the engine, but after I had. I lurched away from the curb, cutting off another vehicle and nearly sending it into an oncoming car. The driver pressed on her horn, the blaring noise causing me to go even faster. I shot forward, then had to bring the car to an abrupt halt at a traffic light. The moment I did so, a police car pulled up alongside with its bubble light going and the officer stepped out
He gestured for me to roll down my window.
"What exactly do we have here?" he asked, gazing in at me. I simply stared at him, my lips trembling.
He turned when the light changed and waved the cars behind me around; then he nodded toward the side of the street.
