Playing the Game Read Free

ancestry; she was always reminding Roxanne that she was a direct descendent of someone or other who came over on the Mayflower. But that day the room was subdued by dim lighting and drapes closed to the sunshine of the early summer day. Roxanne was the last to arrive.
    Don’s family turned to Roxanne and stared. Roxanne was used to drawing attention, but these were not admiring gazes. Glancing around the room, she noticed Don’s Aunt Rose pursing her lips in disapproval. Aunt Rose’s eyes were riveted on the hemline of Roxanne’s dress, well above her knees.
    “Good morning, Roger.” Roxanne singled out Don’s nicest cousin, hoping for an ally. But she was more disappointed than surprised by Roger’s embarrassed nod and averted eyes in response. One more sweeping glance of the faces in the room told her she was on her own.
    They’d always disapproved of her and they always would, Roxanne thought. They were a conservative and snobby lot. If it wasn’t her short hemline that drew disdain, it would be the black feather that emanated from her veiled hat. Not that it mattered what she wore; they would never approve of her because she was not one of them. Not only was she not a blue blood with old money, but she was considered to be in show business. Although, Roxanne was fairly certain that if she was very famous and made lots of money at it, that would have made her okay.
    She stood for a moment, watching the gathering of people, some standing, some seated in the folding chairs that had been brought in to accommodate them. Roxanne had not looked forward to this, but it was Don’s express wishes that they all be present, and she especially had to be there. She wasn’t sure why, since their prenup agreement stipulated that she would not inherit anything. She knew there would be no easy exit for her, even as much as she knew that she would need to get away. So far, she’d managed to avoid any confrontations with Don’s family, and notably her mother-in-law. But today she felt a confrontation was inevitable.
    Penelope Boswell was an attractive woman with neat, short, pale blonde hair, but her narrow blue eyes gave her a permanent pinched expression. With her compact figure, she possessed a cat-like grace. But unfortunately, Roxanne thought, she also possessed a cat-like personality. Roxanne’s gaze met Penelope’s directly, and the older woman did not bother to hide the displeasure apparent in her frown. Roxanne smiled and nodded her head in return. She lifted her chin, clutched her bag, clenched her free fist and strode toward the empty seat in front of the traditional brick fireplace where the family lawyer stood with Penelope. She shook the attorney’s hand. He mumbled greetings and condolences at the same time. She turned to Penelope and her mother-in-law immediately averted her gaze.
    With a stiffened back and a set jaw, Roxanne took her seat. She was not surprised that Penelope chose not to be civil, not to even acknowledge her. But it was disconcerting. Penelope had been angry with Roxanne’s request for a divorce, but only because her son Donald had taken it so hard. Roxanne decided she should be generous to the woman in her grief. Maybe if they continued to ignore each other she could escape the proceedings without having to utter another word to any of them. But that seemed doubtful. She didn’t think it was paranoia that gave her the feeling that eyes were staring at her from all around the room, just waiting for something to happen. And she knew that something would not be particularly pleasant for her. They all blamed her for making Donald miserable when she filed for divorce.
    She was, of course, not the monster they all thought her to be. But then neither was she the saint that Don had constantly proclaimed her to be. She sighed. The room was quiet save for a few whispers exchanged as the attorney looked through his papers and cleared his throat. Anticipation hung in the air like the blade of a