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No reaction other than the typical tense face of someone facing first-appointment judgment.
She lowered herself smoothly to the battered leather couch. Yet another one with yoga-grace. Took the exact spot where her soon-to-be ex had sat yesterday, crossed jegging-sheathed legs, fluffed her hair, tugged at a hoop earring, smiled prettily.
Trying to calm her jitters. The smile went no further than her lips and then faded.
My smile lingered. “Good morning.”
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Delaware. Though I wish it were under more ideal circumstances.” Soft voice; soft southern accent.
I said, “Likewise,” did a bit more paper-shuffling as the second surprise hit me.
Toni McManus bore a striking physical resemblance to Cordi Gannett.
The same oval, pointy-chin face, the same luxuriant honey-colored hair. Even the styling matched what I’d seen on Cordi the day in chambers and on her videos. A carefully sculpted mass of waves that managed to look natural.
If Toni McManus told me Caspian Delage was her hair guy, maintaining my composure would be an interesting adventure.
As I readied my pen and pad, I wondered if I was making too much of it. Good-looking blondes in L.A.—on the Westside—weren’t in short supply.
Still.
I said, “Tell me about yourself.”
Toni McManus said, “Pen and paper, huh? You know, for some reason I find that reassuring. Maybe because my dad’s like that. Old school, has his ways, sticks to his guns. Not that you’re from his generation—sorry for prattling.”
Same phrase Con Deeb had used. Who’d taught who? Or was it just one of those things couples develop? Coming to share expressions, speech patterns, spontaneous utterances. During the good times.
I said, “It’s normal to be a bit anxious.”
“Well then, I’m normal.” Her fingers moved restlessly. “This is going to sound flirtatious but it’s not. You have a warm, kind smile. I can see your patients being reassured.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” she said. “Talk about myself. If you’ve already met my ex, I’m sure he had no problem with that but it’s not really my thing, Doctor. At heart, I’m a country girl. Kentucky. We don’t brag, we communicate through our behavior.”
I said, “Don’t get above your raising.”
“One of my dad’s favorite expressions.” Deep-blue eyes studied me. “Okay, here goes—I assume we’ll get to Philomena, eventually. Because she’s who’s important.”
“Of course.”
“Good,” she said. “So how far back should I go?”
“Whatever you think is relevant.”
She tapped her fingertips together. “That’s kind of open-ended. Which I guess is the point. Like one of those tests you guys use—inkblots, whatever. I didn’t take a lot of psych in college but I remember those from Intro. Bats and flowers, the deal is they’re ambiguous so you put your personality into them.”
I said, “We won’t be using any inkblots.”
“Well, that’s good.” Nervous laugh. “Okay, little old me. I was born near Louisville on a horse farm. You’re probably going to learn this anyway, so I’ll come right out with it. My parents are wealthy and the money goes back generations. Hopefully, that won’t damage my case.”
“Why would it?”
“You know how it is, nowadays. The whole privilege thing? And this is going to sound obnoxiously privileged but I can’t see why anyone should be discriminated against, luckyorunlucky. Which is what it comes down to, right? The luck of the draw.”
She laughed softly. “Pick your parents carefully, I guess I did okay in that department. So yes, I had anüber-privileged life and a great one in ways that have nothing to do with privilege. My parents have beenmarried thirty-nine years and they still love each other madly. For some reason, that’s one gene I didn’t inherit. I’m thirty-six and have two failed marriages.”
“Like your ex,” I said.
