Poseur #3: Petty in Pink: A Trend Set Novel Read Free Page B

were a
little
on the girlie-princess side, but the dark red four-inch stilettos more than compensated.
The dress was Snow White,
she decided.
    But the shoes were poison apples.
    A second whine of hinges urged her attention to the bathroom door. “Charlotte wants to know what’s taking you so long,” Laila
     informed her, a scornful eye riveted to the rounded toes of the glossy dark red pumps. The eye narrowed. “Uch,” she gargled
     in contempt, slithering her retreat through the cracked door like an eel.
    “I’ll be right out,” Janie called to the closing door, presenting her profile to the mirror. As she lifted a crumpled corner
     of paper towel to her cheek, the kiss caught the light and shimmered.
Was it a mark of protection,
she wondered,
like in
The Wizard of Oz?
Or a seal of death, like in
The Godfather.…
    It’s lipstick,
she scowled, rubbing the paper roughly against her cheek. When would she stop making everything so complicated?
    She exited the bathroom, her cheek throbbing pink. No longer the effect of lipstick, of course—but friction.

    “Just one more thing,” Charlotte advised, beckoning her forward with a backward flap of pale pink polished fingers. The signature
     Chanel cachalong camellia ring above her middle knuckle, along with the small hand under it, disappeared into her black satin
     tote, emerging later with a beautiful fabric headband.
    Behind her oversize Dior sunglasses, the gorgeous brunette blinked. “Kneel?”
    Janie hesitated, but did as she as she was asked: she sank to the grass and tilted her face upward. Above her, Charlotte bit
     her lip, clamping the hair ornament to her angled head.
    “We hereby crown thee the Duchess of Doucheberry!”
Theo Godfrey’s thin voice warbled in the near distance. Janie thought she heard Petra’s voice tell him
Shut the hell up
, but couldn’t bear to turn and check. Her pale cheeks pulsed. Could Charlotte have chosen a
more
public place to officiate her totally embarrassing accessorizing ceremony?
    “Magnifique!”
she exclaimed, springing her fingers from Janie’s temples. The Winston Willows framed the scene in feathery branches, slicing
     ribbons of light across the heaping plate of grapes and oozing triangle of Brie the three ballerinas called lunch. Having
     rejoined her friends on their cashmere Burberry blanket, Charlotte smiled, finding a grape with a polished finger and thumb.
     “Turn around?”
    Janie turned and the green grape turned with her, snapping at the stem.
    “You
do
have the legs for those shoes,” Charlotte breathed, popping the grape into her mouth. Next to her, Laila paled as though
     she’d been pinched.
    “What’s
that
supposed to mean?” she squeaked, and swiftly tucked her legs under her butt, hiding what no diet, exercise, or prayer on
     Oprah’s great earth could conquer. Her thick lower calves were the bane of her existence, her greatest weakness…
her Achilles cankle
. “Are you saying I
don’t
have the legs for those shoes?” Laila gaped at Charlotte’s insensitivity.
    “And, Janie, the dress!” Charlotte tuned her out, preferring to rhapsodize. “Not everyone can pull off that ivory color.”
    Kate reddened, gagging on a grape.
    “I’m sure these shoes would look amazing on you,” Janie returned to Laila, aware of the redhead’s bruised feelings, if completely
     mystified by them. Laila answered with a sarcastic smile.
    “Oh, they
would
look amazing?”
    “I can totally pull off that color!” spewed Kate, choking down her grape and pounding the cool grass with her palm. Janie
     frowned with worry. Why were they taking Charlotte’s comments so
personally
? Her gray eyes darted from girl to girl: Laila, clad in pink ballet slippers, and Kate, in her black camisole leotard and
     pink wraparound skirt. She pushed a nervous hand into her hair, forgetting the headband, which leaped from her head and flopped
     to the grass, coiling like a snake. A
black lace over ivory satin