Shoe Addicts Anonymous Read Free Page B

to feign interest, though she would have loved to come out with a great, hearty laugh as Nancy just had. “What do you have in mind?”
    “The Hutchinson House in Georgetown. Do you know the place? On the corner of Galway and M.”
    “Oh, yes, that’s beautiful.” She didn’t know the house, but she knew that if she confessed her ignorance, she was in for a long lecture on the history of the Hutchinson House, the furniture in the Hutchinson House, the people who had been to the Hutchinson House, and, of course, the cost of the Hutchinson House. Frankly, Helene wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep the polite stillness in her expression.
    “Now, about the silent auction,” Nancy began, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress.
    “I’ll have a Manhattan,” Nancy said, then raised her eyebrows to Helene in a way that indicated she did not plan to drink alone.
    “Champagne cocktail,” Helene said, thinking it was the last thing in the world she wanted right now. “And a glass of water,” she added, with good intentions to concentrate on the water and not the champagne. “Thank you.”
    A busboy passed their table, and his wide-eyed gaze lingered on Helene for just a moment.
    “The men do notice you,” Nancy commented in a voice that was distinctly disapproving.
    For a moment, the quiet sounds of silverware against china and hushed voices murmuring the latest gossip from inside the Beltway filled the air and seemed to become louder.
    “I ordered champagne,” Helene said lightly. “That always makes people wonder what the celebration is. That’s all they’re noticing.”
    That seemed to please Nancy well enough. “Back to what we were saying. The celebration is for finding the perfect place to hold the fund-raiser. Now. Let’s talk about your part in it, shall we?”
    Helene was not in the mood for this. She had always hated this kind of conversation, all about a cause she didn’t support and how she could lend a hand to help it. But she had no choice but to do her best, to offer the most she could, and to bring no shame or negativity down on the Zaharis name.
    Sometimes that made her hate it even more.
    When the waitress brought their drinks, Helene lifted hers in a toast with Nancy to the current president of the DAR—a toadlike woman who had once told several people that Helene was “once a shopgirl, so always a shopgirl”—and took what she intended to be her only sip.
    After twenty minutes of Nancy’s subsequent soliloquy on past DAR presidents, Helene gave in and finished the cocktail.
    Why not? It gave her something to do other than nod stupidly at Nancy and pipe false laughter at her tedious jokes.
    It was surprising how often Helene had these conversations, given how deeply uncomfortable they made her. Even more surprising was how oblivious everyone seemed to be to her boredom. Nevertheless, small talk was a huge part of her life, and as Jim continued on his path toward higher and higher political offices, it looked as if there was no end in sight.
    So Helene accepted this lot in her life as peacefully as she could. People in Jim’s circle ran on their own self-interest. It was very rare to meet one—no matter what age, sex, race, or sexual persuasion—who wouldn’t run over their own grandmother in cleats to get to their goals.
    Anyone who said Helene wasn’t paying the price for the housewife deal she’d made was crazy.
    Nancy continued talking.
    Helene continued smiling and signaled the waitress for another champagne cocktail.

     

    Later there would be hell to pay for turning off her cell phone.
    Helene leaned back against the stiff faux-leather chair in the shoe department of Ormond’s—her reward for her two-hour audience with Nancy Cabot—and turned the thought of her husband’s anger over in her mind, like a piece of jewelry she was considering buying.
    He hated it when he couldn’t get in touch with her.
    She, on the other hand, had grown to hate