Look Before You Jump Read Free Page A

In a grave. Dug to China. But
I’d finally gotten over the heartbreak and forgiven him. Cross my
heart. After all, I knew firsthand the pressures he’d faced under
the watchful eyes of the sanctimonious saved and couldn’t blame him
for wanting to escape. However, now the thought of seeing him again
sent an involuntary flutter from my heart all the way to my nether
regions. But Bobby – a pastor?
    Janine interjected before my mother could
berate me further. “He’s going to start as the pastor of the
children’s department.”
    “But he’ll quickly move up to somethin’ more
worthy of his family name,” Mrs. De’Laruse finished.
    Janine smiled over the lip of her teacup – a
devious, cunning, and very wicked smile directed my way. “Will that
get you up for church next Sunday, or what?”
    Or what indeed.
    ***
    I have an innate ability to walk into Neiman
Marcus and zero in on the party-girl section – you know, where they
keep the leathers, laces, and things that make you want to go bump
in the night.
    In this case I mean dancing. The stuff that
comes later doesn’t involve clothes.
    The shopping assistant met us inside the
store and after introductions, whisked us off toward shoes – which
took Mom and I right past my favorite department. A momentary
slowdown offered a view of a great leather sheath dress that would
be perfect at my job. Pair it with some thigh-high boots, and I’d
look like a dominatrix right out of a movie. ‘Course Mom would
never agree to such attire – not willingly, that is.
    During the last few years of working at the
bar, I’d had to get creative with my wardrobe. What was a tasteful,
long top or blouse to Mom became a mini-dress to me. A peek-a-boo
lacy overlay? Forget the underlying camisole and let the lace speak
for itself, I always say. What good are colorful and decorative
bras if you don’t get to show them off once in awhile?
    “You coming, Victoria?” Mom called, having
stopped up ahead.
    “Yeah,” I responded, somewhat despondent.
“These new heels aren’t as comfortable as I thought.”
    Don’t judge me for the little white lie.
    Mom looked down at the new tangerine pumps
she’d purchased just that morning to go with the appropriate summer dress she’d bought me the week before. When it comes to
shopping, luncheons, or just leaving the house, Mom always says a
woman should look her best because you never knew who you’d chance
to see. Hell, every Tuesday’s outing I looked dressed up enough for
Sunday church. Too bad my attitude didn’t match the attire.
    Mom tsked. “We’ll have to find a more
appropriate pair while we’re here.”
    The solution to everything in Mom’s book?
Dispatch the old and buy something new. Sometimes I missed the days
of not having to worry about balancing a checkbook or saving for
new tires on the Vette. But freedom came with a price – one I was
glad to pay if it meant not having to deal with the sperm donor.
The clothes Mom bought me every week? Let’s chalk that up to the
price a mother wished to pay to spend time with her daughter. I
really tried not to take advantage of her generosity – most of the
time.
    While checking out at one of the registers
toward the end of our shopping excursion, Mom noticed a lovely
little floral number she just had to try on, which left me standing
there with a pile of clothes and shoes that rivaled the heights of
the Matterhorn. I nearly piddled in my panties when she handed me
the black, no-limit AmEx and waltzed away with the personal
shopping assistant toward a dressing room. My eyes locked with the
clerk.
    “I’ll be right back.”
    With a potential three to five minute window,
I sprinted across the store in my brand-brand new tangerine pumps.
I grabbed the size four black leather sheath and saw the matching
studded bolero jacket I just had to have – hey, it was part of an
ensemble. Then my roving eye caught the platinum-colored, barely
there lace dress they happened to have in my