“I knew you’d be a looker,” Aunt Rue says. “Both of you are. My Demi is too. It’s the Rosewood genes, I’m telling you. We’re very blessed.”
Rue was Miss Florida Universe 1967, a title she wears proud still to this day. A few summers ago, I caught her passed out in her hammock by the pool one night, crown on her head and a spilling strawberry daiquiri in her hand.
“But I’ll tell you girls,” she says, sitting down. “Looks fade. And they fade fast. One day you’re strutting down Hollywood Boulevard getting cat-called by Marlon Brando and the next day you’re shopping for push-up bras and mourning the loss of your perky caboose.”
“There’s more to life than having a nice ass, Aunt Rue,” Daphne says. She places her hand across her heart. “But thank you for the insight. I’ll treasure your words until the end of my days.”
“Plenty more where that came from.” Rue lifts her dirty martini, toasting mid-air, and takes a sip. “Did you have a nice flight?”
“I did.” Daphne spreads her napkin over her lap, and a server approaches to take our drink orders.
“So, what do people drink in Paris?”
“It depends on the occasion, I suppose.” Daphne orders a glass of cabernet. “Coffee or tea in the morning. A glass of wine at dinner. They always drink with food and never drink to get drunk. Getting hammered is actually poor taste in certain circles.”
“Fascinating.” Rue brings her martini glass to her lips. “So what are you girls going to do this weekend?”
“I thought I’d take Daphne to South Beach,” I say. “We could stay at this really nice hotel on the water and go out for drinks and dancing. Catch up. Maybe do some shopping. Just a nice girls’ weekend.”
“Sounds lovely.” Rue smiles, head tilted. “I’d love to join you, but I’m hosting a silent auction this weekend for Ethel French’s literacy foundation. I’ll be there in spirit.”
“You ever going to slow down, Aunt Rue?” Daphne asks.
“Maybe when I’m dead.” She takes a sip of her cocktail, flashing us a wink. “And that’s still a big maybe.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Daphne grabs her bag, excusing herself and making a beeline for the ladies’ room.
From the corner of my eye, I scan the clubhouse for Zane. It’s not like I want to run into him, nor do I think he’d be hanging around Laguna Palms on a Friday night, but all week I’ve been looking over my shoulder, wondering when I’m going to bump into him again because it’s only a matter of time.
The host breezes past our table, a small group of people in tow, and I have to blink twice when I recognize one of them as Zane’s stalker.
Nearly choking on my drink, I glance away before I accidentally make eye contact with her.
“Oh, hi there.” It’s too late. Carissa spots me. She stops at our table, her hand resting on the back of my chair as the other one flips her long dark hair over a bony shoulder. “Hi, Rue. How are you?”
Carissa knows Rue?
“Hi, darling,” Rue says. “Have you met my great-niece, Delilah? She’s visiting from upstate New York, helping me sell my house.”
Carissa flashes a mega-watt smile and turns to me. “Yes, actually. We met the other day at Zane’s.”
My jaw falls.
No. She. Didn’t.
Rue’s gaze sharpens in my direction before lifting to Carissa’s. “You know better than to associate with that filthy rat, Carissa. You’re better than that. You don’t let a man break your heart and then give him the pleasure of sticking around for his convenience.”
“Believe me, it’s nothing like that,” Carissa says. “I happened to be in the neighborhood visiting some family. Just wanted to say hi. As a friend. Didn’t realize he had . . . company.”
Carissa is wearing a skintight dress, red-bottomed heels, and a phony smile. Her gaze is pointed in my direction.
“So what are you ladies up to this weekend? If you need any fun recommendations, let me know. These are my stomping grounds, and I’d be more than happy to endorse a few hot spots.” Carissa’s eyes squint as she speaks, as if it’s physically challenging for her to hold a genuine expression in her faux act of kindness.
“We’re going to South Beach,” I say. “My sister’s here. We’re taking a girls’ trip.”
“Love South Beach.” Carissa lifts her manicured hand to her bony décolletage. “You should go to Club Azul. You won’t regret it. Anyway, I’ll let you carry on with your dinner. It’s been lovely seeing you all.”
She slinks away, following an elderly couple as they’re seated in a corner booth.
“I just love her. The epitome of elegance and refinement.” Rue smiles, watching her walk off. “Her father owns the Cougars, you know. That family bleeds navy and gold.”
“I didn’t know that.” I glance around for our waiter. It’s nearly impossible to swallow the dry lump in my throat without something to wash it down.
“She and Zane were an item for a while,” Rue says. “After things went south with his last girlfriend.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, although part of me is curious to hear the flipside of the story. There’s always the possibility that she wasn’t a stalker – that Zane lied.