Faces of Fear (9 page)

"UCLA is, like, four miles from my house," Lisa Hess, the fourth of their lunch table regulars, chimed in. "And most of Bel Air's even closer. Your new stepdad will probably buy you a car for your sixteenth birthday and you can come visit us. It's no big deal."

Cindy sipped a Diet Coke through a straw. "A car," she sighed. "In what, two months?"

"Plus which," Lisa went on, leaning across the table and dropping her voice so no one but her three friends would hear, "you can get as much plastic surgery as you want—for free!"

Alison could barely believe her ears. She was being dragged out of school in their sophomore year, moved out of Santa Monica, and getting stuck with a stepfather she didn't even like, and all they could talk about was colleges, cars, and plastic surgery? "I don't
want
any plastic surgery," she snapped back at Lisa, "and I don't care where I go to college, and I don't like Conrad Dunn."

A momentary silence dropped over the table at Alison's outburst. Then Anton grinned mischievously. "You'll all please note for the record that she didn't say anything at all about the car."

"And I don't want a car," Alison added, but felt a blush giving her away.

"See?" Anton said. "She's turning the same color red her new Porsche will probably be."

In spite of herself, Alison giggled. "I hate red," she said. "If I get one, I want white. And not a Posrche. Maybe one of those little Lexuses."

"Well, at least we know she can be bought," Lisa said. "And stop worrying about the guy your mom's marrying. Nobody likes their stepparents at first. Give the guy a chance—he didn't do anything wrong."

Alison shook her head. "It's not that. There's just something about him."

"Oh, come on," Cindy said. "I've had two stepdads, and at first I really hated the newest one. But he turned out to be pretty cool—in some ways he's even better than my real dad."

"
Nobody's
better than my dad!" Alison snapped.

Cindy pulled back in exaggerated alarm. "Jeez! Nobody said anything about your dad."

"And it's not going to be all that bad," Lisa put in, realizing just how upset Alison was. "You can have a big sixteenth birthday party and introduce us to all those Wilson Academy guys. And you can take us all for a ride in your new car."

"After you introduce
me
to all those hot Wilson Academy
girls,
" Anton countered.

Alison shook her head. "But I like our house in Santa Monica, and I like going to school here, and I don't want to move." She sighed heavily. "I just don't want things to change."

"No," Cindy said, her voice turning dead serious. "What you really want is for your parents to get back together, but that's not going to happen."

Alison knew Cindy was right, but she also knew she wasn't ready to accept that fact.

"Your dad's happy," Cindy continued. "And even if he weren't, he wouldn't be going back to your mom. He'd find another guy. So don't you think your mom should be happy, too? In two years you'll be going to college somewhere. What's she supposed to do? Just sit around by herself, having passed up true love with the most famous plastic surgeon in the western world just because you didn't want to move five miles? Grow up, girl—it's not like it's the end of the world. It's not even like you're going to Kansas or something. It's Bel Air, for God's sake! If you want to stay here so bad, I'll tell you what—we'll just swap places, and you can live in my room and walk to school and I'll move to Bel Air and go to Wilson and drive the car over to see you every single weekend. How's that?"

The way Cindy put it made Alison feel like a complete idiot. "I'm being a real jerk, aren't I?" she asked, half hoping nobody would answer, but knowing that Cindy, at least, would. But instead it was Lisa who spoke.

"Only about half a jerk, and so what? If it was Cindy, she wouldn't want to move, either. As for me, I'm looking on the bright side—maybe you can get me a discount on some new boobs." She pulled her sweater tight and looked dolefully down at her flat chest. "And God knows Anton here could use a nose job."

"And Mr. Dryer could use a chin," Anton whispered as their history teacher walked by.

"And Mrs. Hoffman!" Cindy put in. The principal's baggy eyes, double chin, and sagging jowls were legendary enough that behind her back everybody called her the shar-pei. Even Alison started giggling.

"See what good you could do in the world?" Anton asked.

"Oh, all right," Alison said to Cindy. "Maybe I have been a jerk. But you still shouldn't have blabbed."

"I'm sorry," Cindy said. "I didn't think it was such a big deal, since everybody was going to know sooner or later."

The bell rang and everybody grabbed their lunch trays, shoved them onto the racks, and headed to their next class.

Everybody except Alison.

She sat for a moment longer, considering everything that had been said.

Her parents really were not getting back together.

Bel Air really was only a short drive away.

Her mother did deserve to be as happy as her father was with Scott.

And while it was still true that she didn't like Conrad Dunn anywhere near as much as she liked Scott Lawrence, so what? Lisa was right: in two years she'd be off at college anyway.

So maybe, after all, it was no big deal.

And one thing was for certain: nobody liked a crybaby or a whiner, and she wasn't about to turn into one.

Alison took a deep breath and decided that, all things considered, she was pretty lucky.

Things could be a lot worse.

* * *

RISA SHAW TURNED slowly in front of the three full-length mirrors, admiring the fit of the pale yellow silk suit from every possible angle.

"That is perfect," Lexie Montrose declared, echoing Risa's own unspoken verdict on the outfit. "Buy it."

Yet Risa still cocked her head and looked again. Even though the suit was, indeed, perfect for her going-away outfit after the wedding reception, its price tag still gave her pause. "I don't know."

"Of course you do," Lexie urged. "Buy it and let's go have lunch."

The saleswoman smiled at her as she rehung Risa's rejected dresses. "You look beautiful."

"And looking beautiful is getting to be very expensive," Risa said. "Given that this is the second time around for both of us, I think we should be a little more conservative."

"It's a suit!" Lexie said. "What's more conservative than that? You'll wear it a thousand times."

"I was talking about a more conservative
budget,
" Risa said. "The wedding dress costs as much as Alison's first year of college tuition will." She took another turn in front of the mirror. "Still, I love it."

"Then buy it," Lexie decreed. "It's not like you're broke—you're a Realtor, for God's sake! One commission and you'll pay for the whole wedding ten times over. Except that Conrad's paying, remember?"

Risa sighed, knowing that arguing with Lexie was useless, especially when both of them knew Lexie was right. Besides, the suit needed no alterations at all, which Risa decided was a sure sign she was meant to have it. She nodded at the saleswoman. "Okay, I'll take it. Can I pick it up on our way back from lunch?"

Lexie jumped up from where she'd been sitting. "Perfect timing," she said, glancing at her watch. "I made reservations for us at The Grill."

* * *

RISA PICKED at her small salad, the only entrée she could allow herself if she wasn't going to gain any weight between now and the wedding. "I'm going to have to do an hour on the treadmill just for this," she said, glowering at Lexie's lean body, into which a dozen escargots were fast disappearing. "I can't afford to gain even an ounce and still fit into that slinky wedding dress."

"It's worth it," Lexie said, blithely downing another snail dripping with garlic and butter. "The dress is a stunner and you look fabulous in it. Makes me want to get married again."

Risa set down her fork and sipped her iced tea. "What I really want," she said slowly, "is to know for certain that I'm doing the right thing. It's barely been a year since Michael moved out and Margot died. What if Conrad and I are really only on the rebound? What if this is all a terrible mistake?"

"Don't be silly," Lexie said, airily waving her fork and splattering butter on the tablecloth. "You're way past the puppy love stage. You know what's real and what's not. Michael's happy with Scott, and you and Conrad have found each other. You should be counting your blessings instead of wondering what may or may not go wrong in the future."

"It's not just me," Risa sighed. "It's Alison, too. Saying she's not happy about the marriage is an understatement."

"Alison will come around," Lexie assured her. "You'll see. Conrad will make a fabulous stepfather."

"Maybe so, but even after almost a year, she still doesn't like him. What if she never warms up to him?"

Lexie finally put her fork down and leaned forward, both her voice and her expression turning serious. "Take it from one whose been there a few times, Risa. Kids can take a long time to get over a divorce. Alison might be refusing to meet Conrad halfway just because she thinks it would be disloyal to Michael, or because she thinks if you don't marry Conrad, you and Michael will get back together again. But she'll come around. Besides," she added pointedly, "Alison will be off to college in two years, making her own life. Are you willing to give Conrad up for two years with your daughter, and then a lot more all by yourself?"

Risa frowned, still unconvinced.

"Okay, then try this," Lexie went on, leaning back and picking up her fork to stab the last escargot. "Ask Michael to talk to her. You two are still on good terms, right?"

Finally Risa smiled. "‘Good terms' doesn't quite do it justice. Who'd have thought he'd turn out to be my best friend? Best
male
friend," she quickly added as Lexie started to put a hugely hurt look on her face.

"Thank you," Lexie said. "I'd have hated having to sling a snail at you right here in public."

"But you'd have done it," Risa archly observed. "Anyway, it's weird how once I realized that Michael's leaving truly didn't have anything more to do with me than the fact that I'm a woman, I stopped being mad at him. And it's impossible
not
to like Scott—if he was straight, I might have fallen for him myself." She paused. "If I hadn't been married to Michael, of course."

"All right, all right, I get it," Lexie interrupted. Not being on speaking terms with any of her own ex-husbands, she wasn't about to listen to Risa extolling the virtues of the man she'd divorced less than a year ago. "So Michael's a saint, and Scott's a regular Mother Teresa. Between the two of them, they ought to be able to set Alison straight, you should pardon the pun. And for God's sake, eat something. After the wedding, Conrad can give you back the perfect figure with a little liposuction." She raised an envious eyebrow. "You've got it made, girl."

Risa finally smiled. Her head had been clogged with wedding plans since the night Conrad proposed over dinner at Spago, presenting her with an emerald-cut diamond, and since then the only problem had been Alison's dark disapproval of what she'd decided to do. But maybe Lexie was right—maybe she should have Michael talk to her. At least it was worth a shot.

"So what's in your bouquet?" Lexie asked, determinedly changing the subject from Alison back to the wedding plans.

"Don't know," Risa said, her smile spreading into a grin. "Henrik is going to surprise me."

"You trust a wedding planner to make that decision on his own?"

"I do," Risa said. "He found the designer and dressmaker for me, and you should see what she's sketched for Alison. And every time I think up something to worry about, Henrik has already taken care of it."

"Okay, that's it," Lexie said, wiping the last of the butter from her lips. "I'm divorcing Dick and getting married again just so I can use Henrik."

Risa laughed out loud, looked longingly at her tiny, unfinished salad, then covered it with her napkin and smiled at her best friend.

Lexie, she decided, was right.

Thanks to Henrik, everything was going to be perfect, and in the end even Alison would come around.

* * *

CONRAD DUNN GAZED at the marks he had drawn on Lucinda Rose Larson's face. Lucinda Rose lay anesthetized on the operating table, draped with green sterile sheets, awaiting her annual tune-up. Today he was performing liposuction under her chin and along her jawline, a simple procedure, as well as taking a few tiny tucks on her eyelids. He'd drawn the dotted lines on her face earlier, when she was standing up, and now he tugged on the crepey skin around her eyes to gauge its elasticity. Although only fifty-seven, Lucinda Rose had inherited thin northern European skin, and too many sun-worshipping years on the Spanish Riviera had wrinkled her far beyond her years. An annual tune-up kept her at least comfortably fashionable among her peers, and Conrad was good enough that even though everyone always asked their friends who had done their work, no one ever thought Lucinda Rose had had anything done at all.

"Kate?" he asked, the rest of the question unnecessary.

"Vitals are stable," the anesthesiologist replied. "She's ready to go."