The Girls Of Mischief Bay. Susan Mallery

would do better tomorrow.

       Four

      “And hold,” Nicole said, her tone encouraging. “Five seconds more.”

      Pam stayed in the plank position. Every muscle in her body trembled with the effort, but she was determined to make it the entire minute. The image of her naked self still haunted her. The least she could do was give her all in exercise class.

      “Time,” Nicole called. “And you’re done, ladies.”

      Pam collapsed onto the mat for a second to catch her breath. Her stomach muscles were still quivering. She would be sore well into tomorrow, which was kind of depressing considering she did three classes a week.

      She rose and staggered over to the shelf that held the cleaner spray and the towels, and wiped down her mat and the equipment she’d used. The other students did the same. She kept her eye on Shannon, wanting to make sure they had a chance to talk. She figured of all the women she knew, Shannon was the one most likely to have a referral. Or at least be able to get one.

      “She’s trying to kill us,” Pam said, moving next to the annoyingly firm redhead.

      “I think that, too.”

      They collected their personal belongings from the cubbies by the waiting area. Lulu stood and stretched. Pam stuffed the blanket Lulu had been on into her tote, then walked toward the door. Lulu walked along with her.

      When they were outside and heading for their cars, Pam scooped up the dog and wondered how exactly she was supposed to bring up such a personal topic.

      “Do you have a second?” she asked.

      Shannon stopped and faced her. “Sure. What’s up?”

      Pam took a second to admire the other woman’s smooth face. No saggy jawline for her. And her skin was really bright. Pam had noticed a couple of dark spots on her cheek and forehead. All that time in the sun when she’d been a teenager was coming back to haunt her. Day by day her complexion was moving from human to dalmatian.

      “I don’t mean to imply anything,” Pam began, wishing she’d planned this better. “Or be insulting. It’s just…I don’t know who else to ask.”

      Shannon’s mouth curved into a smile. “I suddenly feel like you’re going to ask me if I’ve had a sex change operation. The answer is no.”

      Pam tried to smile. “It’s not that. I was thinking about maybe getting some BOTOX and wondered if you knew anyone who ever had or something.”

      “Oh, sure. That’s easy. Of course I can give you a name. I have a person.”

      Pam frowned. “A person who does it?”

      “Sure.”

      “Because you get it?”

      “I have for about five years.”

      Pam’s frown deepened as she studied her friend. “But your face is so smooth and natural looking.”

      “Which is kind of the point,” Shannon told her. “I’ve been using it to prevent wrinkles.”

      “They can do that?”

      “They can.” Shannon moved her hair off her forehead. “I’m trying to scowl. Any movement?”

      “Not much.”

      “So it works. I’ll email the contact info for the place where I go. They’re very good. The shots hurt—I won’t lie. But after it’s done, it’s no big deal. Then about a week later, you have fewer wrinkles.”

      “That sounds easy,” Pam murmured, even as she wondered if she’d left it too long. She was years past preventative care.

      “I love it,” Shannon told her. “But I will warn you, it’s a slick road to more work. I’m flirting with the idea of injectable. Maybe a little filler in my lips, that kind of thing.”

      “Filler?” Pam’s stomach got a little queasy. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

      “So start with BOTOX. The rest will be waiting.”

      “Thanks.”

      They chatted for a few more minutes, then headed to their cars. As Pam strapped in Lulu, she sighed.

      “I was kind of hoping she would tell me I didn’t need anything done,” she admitted.

      Lulu wagged her tail.

      “Be grateful,” she told the dog. “You’ll always be a natural beauty.”

      * * *

      Nicole walked into the house at 6:28 p.m. Not a personal best, but pretty darned good, she thought. She ignored the ache in her back and her legs and how all she wanted to do was sleep for the next twenty-four hours. At least tonight was one of her early nights. Tuesdays and Thursdays she worked until eight.

      “Mommy’s home! Mommy’s home!”

      Tyler’s happy voice and the clatter of his feet as he raced toward her made her smile. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays she didn’t get to see him in the morning. Her first class started at six, which meant she was up and out by five thirty.

      She dropped her bag on the floor and held out her arms. Tyler raced around the corner and flung himself at her. She caught him and pulled him close.

      “How’s my best boy?”

      “Good. I missed you. I practiced my reading today and Daddy made sketty for dinner.”

      “Spaghetti, huh? Sounds yummy.”

      “It was.” He kissed her on the lips, then leaned his head against her cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”

      “I love you, too, little man.”

      She lowered him to the floor. Tyler headed back to the living room and she walked into the kitchen. There were dishes everywhere. The plastic container that had contained the “sketty” Tyler had enjoyed, along with everything from breakfast and lunch.

      The pain in her legs moved up to her back. Frustration joined weariness. She walked into the bedroom and saw the laundry she’d sorted at five that morning still in piles. Hadn’t he done anything?

      Eric walked into the kitchen and smiled at her. “Hey, hon. How was your day?” As he spoke, he stepped close and kissed her. “I know you’re going to say fine and that you’re tired, but I gotta tell you, you look hot in workout clothes.”

      The compliment defused her annoyance for a second. “Thank you and my day was fine. Long, but good. How was yours?”

      “Excellent. I rewrote a scene three times but now I have it right. At least I hope so. I’ll find out at my critique group on Saturday. In the meantime, I have class tonight, so I’ll see you later.”

      She stared at the man she’d married. He was so similar to the guy she remembered and yet so totally different. He still wore his hair a little too long and had hideous taste in loud Hawaiian shirts. But the old Eric had taken care of the details of their life, while this guy didn’t seem to notice anything beyond his screenplay.

      She told herself to breathe. That yelling never accomplished anything.

      “I’d love to read the new scene,” she told him.

      “You will. When it’s perfect.”

      The same answer she always received. Because he’d yet to let her read a word of his work. Which sometimes left her wondering if he was writing anything at all. Which made her feel guilty, which led to her wanting to bang her head against the wall in frustration.

      “I gotta run.” He kissed her again, then straightened. “Well, shit. I forgot to do the dishes. Leave them. I’ll do them when I get home.