The Unkindest Cut Read Free Page A

and then my so-called new best friend stops returning my calls.’’
    ‘‘That’s a shame,’’ I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. Sophie stared at Paula, one eyebrow quirked upward in an expression I knew all too well. I could read Sophie’s mind, and I hoped she would keep her mouth shut until we were alone.
    ‘‘I’m such a giving person,’’ Paula said, not acknowledging my response. Her expression turned tragically woebegone. ‘‘It’s so hard sometimes.’’
    ‘‘Yes, dear, I know,’’ Marylou said in a tone full of sympathy. I detected signs of strain in her face, however. If Paula had been carrying on in this vein ever since she arrived yesterday, no wonder Marylou was feeling it. ‘‘But you’re here with me now, and you’ve got two new friends. I know you’ll enjoy getting to know Sophie and Emma. And like I told you, they’re both excellent bridge players.’’
    Paula didn’t appear too thrilled over that last sentence. ‘‘God, I’m so sick of bridge sometimes, I could just scream.’’ Eyes narrowed, she regarded Sophie and me. ‘‘My husband is Avery Trowbridge.’’ She paused a moment. ‘‘Surely you’ve heard of him.’’ I hadn’t thought it possible for her facial expression to turn any more sour, but now it did.
    I had no idea who the heck Avery Trowbridge was, but evidently Sophie recognized the name. ‘‘Of course,’’ she said. ‘‘He’s one of the more outstanding bridge teachers—and players—in the world. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to play with him.’’
    Paula had relaxed slightly at Sophie’s first sentence, but then she frowned. ‘‘He’s a complete bastard to play with,’’ she said. The bitterness in her voice made me uncomfortable. ‘‘He’s incredible in bed, though.’’ Here she paused to smile, but that faded as she continued. ‘‘At the bridge table, he’s a complete and utter bastard. He doesn’t care how he humiliates you. He won’t play bridge with me anymore. Can you believe that?’’
    At this point I was ready to tell Marylou I had a splitting headache, because I didn’t think I could take much more of Paula’s negativity. She wore unhappiness like perfume, and I almost thought I smelled it emanating from her in waves.
    ‘‘That’s enough of that, dear,’’ Marylou said, her tone just the tiniest bit sharp. ‘‘There’s no point in upsetting yourself. You’ll give yourself another migraine if you don’t watch out.’’ She patted Paula on the arm, and Paula actually had the grace to look abashed.
    ‘‘Sorry,’’ she muttered.
    Sophie and I exchanged swift glances. I didn’t think either one of us had any doubts as to why Paula never managed to keep her friends. I had to wonder how Marylou had stood her for thirty years if she had always been like this. Marylou was such a kind, motherly soul, though, she probably felt sorry for Paula.
    ‘‘I thought we’d have lunch in the kitchen, if y’all don’t mind,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘It’s just so much cozier, I think.’’ She turned and led us out of the living room.
    ‘‘Oh, yes,’’ I said, trying to put as much enthusiasm in my voice as I could muster. ‘‘Your kitchen is always so inviting, Marylou. With the most heavenly smells.’’
    ‘‘Marylou is a wonderful cook,’’ Paula said. ‘‘I’m not very good at it, though. Every time I try anything more complicated than scrambled eggs or a hamburger, the results are disastrous. I just don’t have the knack. I don’t know how Marylou does it.’’
    ‘‘Oh, lots of practice,’’ Marylou said, keeping things light. ‘‘I do love it so.’’ She laughed as she looked down at her body. ‘‘And I think it shows. I’m too fond of sampling my own efforts, I guess.’’ She pointed us to our seats, and we sat down at the table. It was very prettily set with festive napkins in bright colors, and a lovely centerpiece of brightly hued flowers.
    Marylou was