Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

The building itself looked more like a small beach hotel than a restaurant. It was a plush. sprawling Mediterranean-style structure in mauve stucco with a white marble portico. The valet stepped out to receive me as I drove up. He opened my door and welcomed me to the club. Almost every other car parked there was either a Mercedes or a Rolls. I saw a Lamborghini side by side with a Porsche. No wonder the valet smiled when he got into my car. I thought. It was a new experience for him to park something worth less than fifty thousand dollars.

The moment I entered the club, a zray-haired man in a tuxedo approached. He surprised me by addressing me by name as if he'd known me for a long time. Was my picture already in the Shiny?

"Miss De Beers," he said with a smile blossoming as he drew closer. He extended his hand. "My name is Jorge. Welcome to Club Florette. Your hostess and her guests are already seated. Please, let me show you the way."

He took me through the small but elaborately appointed lobby with its oil paintings in gilded frames, its rich-looking leather settees and glass tables set around plush Persian area rugs, and brought me to a small but lavish dining room, the windows all draped in red satin and gold curtains. All of the tables were occupied, but everyone was speaking softly as though no one wanted to be overheard.

For a few seconds all conversation stopped and all heads turned my way. Then the conversations resumed as if I were too insignificant to require another second of pause and attention.

Manon Florette sat with three other women, all about the same age, mid- to late twenties, perhaps early thirties. She was an attractive light brunette about five feet eight with cerulean eyes. Like the other women at the table, she wore far more jewelry than I would ever think necessary, especially for lunch: diamond teardrop earrings, ropes of pearls, a cameo with a diamond set in the face pinned above her right breast. All the fingers of her left hand bore rings, and she had an engagement ring nearly twice the size of mine, as well as a diamond-studded gold band. The belt of her black pantsuit glittered with jewels as well.

"Willow, how nice of you to come," she said, extending her hand.

"Thank you for the invitation." I told her, which were apparently the exact words she was waiting to hear. She nodded softly at her companions, who looked just as

satisfied.

"Let me introduce you to a few of my friends. This is Liana Knapp,- she began.

Liana was a much taller woman with short, dark brown hair and Green speckled eyes. Her eyes were her best feature. Her mouth was wide and her lips uneven. She had an abrupt chin and a long neck that brought back visions of the flamingos I had just seen.

"Pleased to meet you," Liana said, giving- me her hand, but holding it out limply as if I was to take it and kiss it as someone would kiss the hand of a queen.

I gave it a quick shake, and her hand fell like lead to her lap.

"And this is Sharon Hollis," Manon continued, The much shorter woman with ebony hair and a dark complexion rose a little from her chair to extend her hand to me. I thought she had a pleasant, friendly smile and cute features, including a button nose and nearly gray pearl eyes.

"Hi," she said quickly.

"Finally. Marjorie Lane." Manon said.

"Why do you always manage to introduce me last. Manon, and always preface the introduction with 'finally'?" Marjorie asked.

"Simply alphabetical order. Marjorie. No insult intended." Manon said with an impish arin. The other two widened their smiles. but Marjorie shook her heavy shoulders as if she were raffling feathers and then turned to me.

She was the stoutest of the group, with a round face and thick lips. Her eyes were a dull brown that seemed to be infected by the flat coloring of her light brown hair, the strands of which hung limply down to her jawbone. She wore the least amount of makeup and, although also dressed in a black suit with almost as much jewelry adorning her as Manon wore, she didn't look as elegant,

"Happy to make your acquaintance," she recited like some young girl ordered to say it and told exactly how to say it. She glared at Manon, then looked at the menu.

"Please. sit," Manon told me. and I sat between Liana and Marjorie.

"We've all been anxious to meet you," Sharon Hollis said. "Naturally, we hear a great deal about everyone in Palm Beach, but so much about Lou.

"Really? I don't know why." I said, pretending surprise and ignorance.

"You don't?" Marjorie said, looking up quickly from the menu.

"Well. I know Thatcher is a respected attorney, and I imagine there would be interest in our wedding," I suggested,

"Yes. yes." Marjorie said impatiently, "but surely you must know your family is one of the most famous in Palm Beach?"

"I had no idea." I said, my eyes as amazed as I could make them.

Mallon laughed.

"Marjorie has a way of getting right to the heart of things. She doesn't enjoy preambles."

"Does that mean she doesn't enjoy foreplay?" Liana asked, and everyone but Marjorie and me laughed.