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Ross’s eyes lingered on Tina. Her father had been a Jefferson. She belonged to this world as much as he did— one half. She was half black, and Ross was half redneck.
That was the end of his bourbon, but Quinton loyally refilled his glass. “What do you think of the stock?”
“The same as always,” Ross shrugged.
Quinton surveyed the young women fluttering about in their best. Ross saw lilacs and mint green, cream, rose-of-sharon, soft pink feminine colors. He’d always liked the bolder tones, and bolder women.
Quinton confided, “I’m thinking I might try Samoan females next. Planning a trip there soon. Come along?”
“Reckon I’ll pass, Quint.”
Ross wrestled with his cynicism. Despite what he’d said, what Quinton said, not every woman in here was the same. They were fine women in many ways. There were daughters of Senators and oil barons, heiresses to any number of big businesses in the South. Girls with college degrees and accolades, girls who would be happy to marry him and bear him a litter of blonde children.
Tina met his eye.
Where was her new husband? Ross glanced around for a man with a bulldog-face and listened for an obnoxious laugh. She was alone? No— Ross saw the young billionaire was getting friendly with a breasty redhead near the chocolate fountain. Figured.
“Fuck Tina,” Quinton said. He glanced towards the door and found a new distraction. “Look— it’s Bridget. Remember her, Ross? She was obsessed with those orphans in Uzbekistan. Hey, Bridget! Over here.”
As Bridget gave Quinton the cold shoulder, Ross watched Tina lay eyes on Charlie, her husband, and his new little friend. Charlie and the busty redhead were basically necking into the fondue.
She married him. She could have married you, but she married him.
Charlie pinched the redhead’s nipple over her silky slip dress. With an expression of complete indifference Tina walked off to refill her champagne. Ross stared at his ex-girlfriend. His eyes confirmed what it had taken him a long time to accept. Tina had broken his heart for a man she didn’t give two fucks about.
Ross glanced at his watch. It was time to leave; he’d paid his due and surely Elroy wouldn’t mind.
“Ross, did you ever hear from Manny about that girl?”
“No.” Ross took the bottle of Bourbon from Quinton and capped it himself. Before Quinton could protest or Ross could initiate his departure, a pretty young woman fluttered up to their corner. Her blonde hair was long and flowing, and she wore a conservative dress in the usual safe pastel tones that Southern women preferred. She had giant eyes and a small, mincing little mouth. A true Southern belle.
“Beg your pardon, you’re Ross McCall?” The woman asked in a melodious and feminine voice.Don’t be an ass, she looks nice.
“Hello there,” said Ross. His eyes ran up and down her body. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Um,” she said, with a glance at Quinton that suggested she wished he was not there. “Arabella Ghastle. It’s nice to meet you.”
“A pleasure,” said Ross. He recalled the Ghastles owned a shipping company and Howard Ghastle was rumored to be racist. Ross wondered if Arabella Ghastle knew about his three sisters-in-law, all black, and the passel of mixed-race children that made up his nieces and nephews.
“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” Arabella said.
Ross nodded politely. “Are you related to Elroy?”
“Who, Elroy? Yes, I’m his cousin, on our mother’s side.”
“That’s nice,” said Ross.
“Inbred,” said Quinton suddenly. “Er— sorry. Talking to myself. Ross, Tina’s coming over.”
“So, Ross— do you like tennis?” Arabella ventured, but she never got a reply because Tina had descended.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Tina said sweetly.
“Yes, you are,” said Ross.
Ross detected no remorse in his ex-girlfriend’s eyes for anything that had happened between them. He hadn’t expected any. To his surprise, up close Tina didn’t look as good as he remembered. He wondered if she was still drinking.
“Ross is so funny,” Tina said, turning to the startled Arabella. “Isn’t he?”
