Liar Liar

My skin prickles as her attention returns, this time with a sneer.

‘I don’t know why you’re looking so superior. You were obviously in the same place as I was.’ Apparently. Though I don’t recall seeing her.

‘Yes, but she was dropping off,’ her bitch of a friend replies on her behalf. ‘She wasn’t thinking of buying other people’s used clothes.’ She says used clothes as though I was trawling the bargain bins for something in the colour herpes.

‘I donate the resale value to charity,’ Amélie adds with careless shrug.

Sure. And I sell smack to kids at the local playground.

‘Well, bless your heart,’ I say, going all Southern on her skinny butt. ‘I guess that’s easy to do when you’re buying the stuff with someone else’s credit card.’

‘Yes, it is nice,’ she purrs. ‘And I’m sure Remy doesn’t mind picking up the cost.’ Her hand coasts down the long line of her sleeve from shoulder to wrist. ‘Especially when he gets to rip those clothes off me any time he wishes.’

‘Bat. Shit. Crazy,’ I mutter under my breath.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said your parents must be so proud.’ I pick up my glass, despite telling myself I’d take it easy on the stuff, but when you’re swimming with sharks you do what you can to not act like chum. Taking a decorous sip, I set it back down. ‘Well, apart from the fact you weren’t able to seal the deal with him, so there’s very little chance of him ripping anything off you. Except maybe that fancy black credit card out of your cold grasping hand.’ I throw in a tiny shrug, kind of oops, sorry. Not!

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

I sigh, allowing my gaze to roam over her. ‘I know you just don’t have what it takes.’

‘Encule toi Salaud,’ she spits. Basically, fuck you, bitch.

‘Well, I tell you, Emily,’ I say, getting a kick out of her ripple of indignation. ‘The way I see it, I am the only bitch between the pair of us that is getting fucked. By Remy at least.’

Leaning across the brunette between us she makes as though to grab my hand, her words low and furious and in French and really not making a lot of sense.

‘He will tire of you, you are vulgaire. Cheap! You have novelty value only. You want him for his money—the house and the jet. The dress that you wear! But he will come back to me.’

‘I guess that’s where our opinions differ. The fact that Remy is rich doesn’t interest me,’ I reply, sliding out of my chair. I’m so serene and so cool and proud of the way I’m handling myself, because what I really want to say is, bitch, please; I don’t live in no house. I live in a chateau! ‘The fact he’s hung like a horse and fucks me like the energizer bunny however, does.’

So that wasn’t exactly serene or cool and worse, as I turn, I find myself face-to-face with Remy’s mother. Her hazel eyes as wide as saucers while, behind her, Everett looks like he’s about to explode. With laughter.

‘I’m sorry you had to hear that, Josephine.’ I tilt my chin a fraction higher than its been all evening. ‘But it’s true. Or at least it was in the beginning. I also happen to love him. And sure, the house is very nice, and it keeps the mystery somewhat alive that I don’t have to wash his sweaty gym gear or his underwear, but I know I’d love him as much if we were living in a hovel. I’d just have to teach him to do his own laundry, I guess.’

With a nod in her direction, and though I may live to regret it, I take the arm that Everett offers.

‘Did you see her face? That was fucking hilarious, Rose.’

‘Stop. A compliment and you used my name. Are you trying to kill me?’ I keep my eyes straight ahead because if I look at him, I might be tempted to sneak a peek at the table behind us, and I’m not sure that will do me any good.

‘What happened to Remy?’

‘He was waylaid by one of the journalists from Le Monde. Publicity for a good cause and all that.’

‘Okay, so where are we going?’ I ask still tottering alongside him.

‘We’re going to dance. I reckon one quick spin around the dancefloor and the Weird Sisters will have pissed off elsewhere.’

‘The Weird Sisters?’

‘You know, double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Get a black Amex card, then firm and good is the charm.’

‘Pretty sure those weren’t Shakespeare’s words. Anyway, I thought you were working tonight.’

‘I’m working it.’

‘Ha. Not with me, you’re not.’

‘Nah, you’re the job. At least until lover boy gets back.’

‘Does that mean I get to boss you around?’

‘Nope.’ At the edge of the dance floor, his hands move into the proper position; right hand at my back, his left resting on my shoulder, very unlike Remy’s earlier grip