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5
“This would betres sexy on you,” Karen said, holding up a slinky reddress.
Nina looked at it. “Or tresslutty.”
“They can’t call us that anymore,” Karen said, replacing the dress and flipping through the other hangers on therack.
Nina paused at a backless dress in eggplant, it’s neckline deceptively demure. “They?”
“If women call us sluts, they’re traitors. If men do it, they’re misogynists,” Karen saiddistractedly.
“I guess I didn’t get the memo,” Ninasaid.
“Because you were in thesuburbs.”
They were at Bloomingdale’s, a departure from their usual routine that had caused Karen to look around for Julia, the personal shopper they both used at Bergdorf, as if Julia had installed tracking devices in their handbags to make sure they didn’t shop anywhereelse.
Nina loved Julia, trusted her sense of style, but she had to put her foot down when it came to a huge sale at Bloomingdale’s. Her settlement from the divorce was still partially intact thanks to her job at the gallery, but she was nowhere near as flush as Karen, who worked as a senior editor at a publishinghouse.
Loyalty only went so far when it came to fifty percentoff.
“Larchmont isn’t even an hour north of the city,” Nina reminded her. “And I've been here ayear.”
“Not long enough if you’re still worried about looking slutty,” Karen saiddrily.
Nina’s phone buzzed. She stopped flipping through clothes and removed it from herbag.
I can’t wait to seeyou.
She shook her head and typed back.Do we haveplans?
Yes. Seven,remember?
Do I have asay?
The hesitation of his reply made hersmile.
Ofcourse.
He’d been on her mind nearly every minute since he’d driven her home. It wasn’t just the white roses that had arrived at her apartment every day, much to Sal’sconsternation.
She was like an addict who’d been re-exposed to her drug of choice after finally getting clean. She woke up every day with the image of him emblazoned on her mind, the memory of his touch, insistent but gentle, when he’d turned her face to look at him. She’d even sunk so low as to pull her coat from the closet the next morning, holding it to her face and inhaling deeply, seeking traces of hisscent.
“Are you going to tell me who thatis?”
She looked up to find Karen studying her over the rack of clothes betweenthem.
“Who whatis?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Karen said. “Did you finally find ahookup?”
“Not exactly.” Nina hesitated. “It’sJack.”
“JackMorgan?”
Ninanodded.
“Neen… you’re seeing Jack again?” There was a mixture of concern and hurt in Karen’svoice.
