Window Dressing by Nikki Rivers

Author:Nikki Rivers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2006-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

When I went into work on Monday, Dora was already sketching out Valentine’s Day ideas at her drawing board.

“The display department at Grant’s, along with the devil, never sleeps,” she explained. “And, speaking of the devil, how was the yam and marshmallow casserole?”

“It was fine. Thanksgiving dinner was fine. Everything was fine—”

She looked up from her sketch. “Why do I have the feeling you’re leaving out the word ‘except’?”

“Except I had to kick a predatory Realtor out of my house last night—”

“All Realtors are predatory. Kicking one out of one’s house could be pleasurable.”

I took a moment to think about it. “You’re right. It was the high point of my weekend.”

“And the low point?” Dora asked.

I sighed. “That would have been when my previously charming son came home from college with a chip on his shoulder the size of a stump.”

Dora gave me a look of distaste. “I know nothing of children. Never had one and, thanks to menopause, never will.”

Stuart joined us. “We’re not all here to procreate,” he said as he unwound an impossibly long muffler from his neck.

“Amen to that,” Dora said.

“But, actually,” Stuart added, “Lauren did a pretty good job with it. Her rather adorable son Gordon shows every sign of becoming civilized as soon as he starts getting laid regularly.”

Dora laughed, which covered up my slight gasp. The display department at Grant’s wasn’t exactly the PTA where, at a moment like this, all the other mothers would be murmuring reassurances that would have nothing to do with my son’s sex life.

“Anyway, Dora, you’ll never guess who this one’s mother is,” Stuart said as he jerked his thumb my way.

“Don’t make me guess, darling. I drank a rather lot of gin over the weekend.”

Stuart started to quiver with excitement like a Labrador retriever eyeing a squirrel on the backyard fence. “Are you ready?” he asked to heighten the drama.

“Never mind ready. In ten seconds I won’t give a damn.”

“Okay—okay.” He took a deep breath. “Lauren’s mother is Bernie Blondell!”

It took Dora a moment. “You mean that beautiful blond model from the fifties?”

“And early sixties,” Stuart added.

“Really?” Dora looked me over. “How interesting.”

I’d had years of experience with people’s reactions to how little I resembled my mother. Dora’s was certainly mild enough.

“And guess what?” Stuart asked.

Dora gave him a look.

“Oh, right,” he said. “The gin. I got to sit next to her at Thanksgiving dinner! She is still divinely gorgeous and utterly chic. She was wearing this—”

The in-house phone on Dora’s desk rang. She picked it up. “Yes?”

We watched her face change as she listened.

“You have got to be kidding?” she asked darkly. “Seriously? The whole thing? How many pieces do you think?”

We watched her squeeze her eyes shut as she listened to the answer.

“I knew there was a reason I hated children,” she muttered. “All right. Give us a while. We’ll come up with something.” She hung up the phone and turned back to us. “You know that five-foot ivory ceramic tree with the gold leaf trim at the entrance near accessories and costume jewelry?”

We dutifully nodded.

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