Sloan had no idea if that was intended as a deliberate insult to her taste in clothes, but she closed the book and opted for unvarnished honesty. "I'm really not a good judge," she explained. "My mother and my friend Sara love clothes, but I'm always too busy to shop. When I do go shopping, I can never decide whether something new is really 'right' for me, so I end up buying the same styles I already have; then I wear them until they're practically ready to fall apart so I don't have to go shopping again. Sara says the only way she can tell that I've bought something new is when it's a different color."
Sloan was aware that something she said had actually captured Paris's interest, but she didn't realize what it was until she was finished and Paris asked, "Does she love clothes? Your mother, I mean?"
Your mother. Our mother.
The weird irony of the situation hit Sloan with sudden force, but any empathy she might have felt for Paris was offset by the fact that Paris could afford the clothes she loved, while "their" mother had to work in a dress shop and sell what she loved to others. "Yes," Sloan said flatly. "She does." She got up and walked around the bed to her suitcases, as if suddenly intent on unpacking.
Sensing her dismissal, Paris stood up. "I'll see you downstairs at seven," she told Sloan in an equally flat voice.
Feeling absurdly guilty for cutting the conversation off so abruptly, Sloan bent over and unzipped Sara's large fold-over suitcase while she watched Paris leave the room and close the door behind her. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she opened the suitcase, removed a black cocktail dress on a hanger from it, and had turned to look for a closet before it finally hit her that something was wrong…
She hadn't borrowed Sara's big fold-over case because she hadn't needed it.
And she had never laid eyes on the black beaded cocktail dress with the short chiffon skirt that she was holding in her hand.
She swung back to the bed and stared at the open suitcase. A long, periwinkle blue silk skirt was on the next hanger. Sloan didn't recognize that either, or the matching top beneath it, or the red sundress…
"Oh, Mom, no!" Sloan whispered fiercely as she sank down on the bed beside the suitcase. Without looking, she already knew that everything else in that suitcase was new, and she knew exactly how her mother had managed to pay for it. A white envelope was tucked beneath the straps of a new pair of yellow sandals, and she reached for the note while resolving to return every single item as soon as she got home. So long as she didn't wear any of these things, the stores would be willing to return her mother's money. Sloan was sure of that—until she read her mother's note.
"Darling—" her mother had written in her rounded, pretty script, "I know you're going to be upset when you see these clothes, but I didn't use my charge card, so you don't have to worry about my making those awful interest payments that seem to get bigger and bigger no matter how many payments a person makes. I used the money I've been saving for my cruise, instead."
Sloan groaned, and reminded herself again that the clothes could be returned.
You wanted me to have a dream vacation, but at this very minute you're making the biggest dream I've ever had come true. After all these years, your father is finally going to get to know you, and I want you to look as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside.
This is the only dream I have left, darling. You've made all my other dreams come true, just by being you.
Now, have a wonderful time in Palm Beach! Think only happy thoughts, be carefree, and wear the beautiful clothes I bought for you.
I love you.
Mom
P.S. Just in case you're tempted to wear only a few of your new things, I think you should notice that I cut the labels out, so nothing can be returned. Have fun!
With a teary laugh, Sloan stared at the blurry words of the letter; then she looked at the top layer of clothes in the suitcase. She could not be "carefree" in Palm Beach, nor "think only happy thoughts," but while she was spying on her father, she was definitely going to "wear the beautiful clothes." With typical selfless generosity and an uncharacteristic streak of guile, her mother had left her no choice in that.
She brushed the tears out of her eyes and carefully unpacked all the beautiful new things in that suitcase before she realized there was another large suitcase of Sara's on the floor that she hadn't packed herself.
She wrestled it onto the bed, opened the locks, and lifted the top.
The first thing she saw was Sara's red sheath. The second thing was another white envelope. Inside the envelope was a short note from Sara.
You're always taking care of everyone else, but Mom and I wanted to take care of you this time. So don't be upset when you realize my clothes are in this case. And don't be upset when you realize your clothes aren't in any of the others, either.
Love, Sara
P.S. We took pictures of all the outfits and put them in your makeup case. That way, you won't have to think about which accessories go with which outfit.
Irate, Sloan glared at the note. She could not believe they'd done this to her, and without betraying even a hint of their scheme!
Her glare gave way to a helpless smile, and then to laughter.
As soon as she finished unpacking, she opened the French doors and walked out onto her balcony. Her room was situated at the northeast end of the house, overlooking a deep lawn that ended in a sandy beach about three hundred yards from the house. Tall clipped privacy hedges marked the side boundaries of the estate and extended almost to the beach, concealing a high iron fence. Sloan couldn't see it.
Clumps of palm trees, crepe myrtles, and giant hibiscuses were scattered about the grounds, with tennis courts situated on the far left, near an olympic-size swimming pool and cabana. In the center of the lawn, a little flag fluttered from a short pole, marking the center of a putting green with short, dense grass that looked as if each blade had been clipped with manicure scissors.
Amused by the incredible extravagances indulged in by the ultrarich, Sloan leaned over the balcony railing and looked to the right, along the house, wondering if Paul's room also had a balcony and if he might be outside. She could see several iron railings like the one she was leaning over, but the balconies were all recessed into the structure of the house itself, so it was impossible to see if anyone else was outside.
Disappointed that she couldn't exchange even a wave with her coconspirator, she turned away. In addition to a pair of chaise lounges with thick cushions, her balcony also provided a round iron table and a pair of chairs, but it was so muggy she didn't feel like staying outside.