The Smart One and the Pretty One (33 page)
“Call it whatever you want.” Lauren peered up at her. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” Ava said.
“Which means you owe me, because if it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have met him. Or given him a fair chance.”
“I probably wouldn’t have met him,” Ava said. “As adults, I mean. Anyway, I’ll give you that.”
“Good.” Lauren sat back and took a deep breath. “I’m glad you owe me, because I have something I have to confess to you. It’s been weighing on me and I was waiting for the right time. Given your happy post-sex mood at the moment, this is probably as good a time as any.”
“Oh no,” Ava said. She lowered herself into the armchair. “What did you do, Lauren?”
“It’s not
that
bad,” Lauren said. “I didn’t murder anyone or anything like that. I just bought some clothes. I know I promised I wouldn’t and signed that stupid piece of paper, but there was this top—”
“The one you were wearing the night Daniel came over?”
“Yeah. The shoes were new, too.”
Ava shook her head. “I knew you looked too good that night. And you were so upset when you stained the top that it made me wonder. But I wanted to trust you.” She chewed on the side of her thumb. “Why is it so hard for you to control what you buy, Lauren? It hasn’t even been a month since you signed that contract.”
“I don’t know,” Lauren said. “I thought I was being pretty good, actually. It’s just . . .” She thought for a while, rocking gently, knees to chest. “Honestly? It was kind of wrapped up in the whole Daniel thing. I wanted to make him really notice me. I thought maybe the right clothes would make a difference.”
“One top isn’t going to change how someone feels about you,” Ava said.
“Maybe not. Anyway, I was also kind of mad at you for making me sign that thing in the first place. Buying these things was my way of rebelling.”
“Very mature.”
“Fuck mature.”
“That’s what he says in
Diner
.”
“I know. It was a quote.”
“I thought the contract would help you stick to your resolution,” Ava said. “I was just trying to help.”
“It’s hard to be the one who always needs help.”
“We take turns at it,” Ava said. “Haven’t you noticed?”
Lauren clasped her hands together. “So . . . Does that mean you forgive me?”
“What choice do I have? I can’t exactly cart you off to fashion jail.” Something occurred to her. “How did you pay for all that stuff, anyway?”
“Used the household AmEx.”
“Didn’t you think I’d notice the charge?”
“Why?” Lauren said. “Do you actually read through your statements?”
“Of course I do,” Ava said. “Don’t you?” Lauren shook her head and Ava said, “Well, that’s part of the problem right there. You need to learn to monitor that stuff. And I expect you to pay me back once you’re earning money again.”
“I will.”
“Which reminds me: you need to start earning money again.”
“I’ll start looking today. I told Mom I’d bring lunch over and hang out, but the rest of the day is free.”
“It’s nice that you’re spending so much time with Mom,” Ava said. “I’m a little jealous.”
“I’m a little jealous you spent the night with a great guy,” Lauren said. “You owe me for that one. Actually,” she said with sudden excitement, “when you think about it, it’s because I spend too much money that you ended up with Russell.”
“Excuse me?” Ava said.
“No, really. If you hadn’t annoyed me by making me sign that contract, then I wouldn’t have hunted down Russell because of the
other
contract. So you should really thank me for not paying my bills.”
Ava stood up. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Say ‘Thank you.’ Say ‘Thank you, Lauren, for not paying your bills.’”
“I’m going to take a shower,” Ava said and went into the bedroom.
Lauren called after her, “If you don’t say ‘Thank you,’ I’m going to tell Mom on you.”
Ava just shut the door. She went to run water for her shower but stopped at the sight of herself in the mirror. You could tell she had just had sex, she realized with amusement. All the classic postcoital signs were there: flushed cheeks, overly bright, almost feverish eyes surrounded by smudged mascara (thanks to Lauren), wavy, tousled hair, lips that were dark red and swollen from a night of kissing . . .
She stood there and she looked and she smiled and she thought,
Now there’s a pretty girl.
I
grew up and went to school in Newton, Massachusetts. Back then my name was Claire Scovell. A few months after I graduated from Newton South High, my parents dropped me off in Harvard Yard. They picked me and my dirty laundry up about four years later. Once my laundry was done, I left home to seek my fortune.
The eighties were a decade of bad hair, bad clothing, and bad judgment, and the less said about them the better. Happily, I survived, emerging with a new last name and a new state of residence.
Just to be clear, my tenure as a Californian is temporary. I’m only staying here long enough to bring up my kids and grow old in the sunshine and be buried next to Marilyn Monroe, and then I’m moving right back to the East Coast. Leave a light on.
I’m the youngest of five and my husband is the youngest of four, and together we have four children—three boys and one girl. This is the fourth book I’ve had published and my third novel. My fourth child celebrated his fourth birthday on the fourth day of the fourth month in the year 2004. None of this is significant.
I feel very lucky that I get to do what I love and still be home every day to greet my kids when they come home from school. How
they
feel about it will eventually come out in therapy.
Since this book is about sisters, here are five of my own favorite famous sister groups:
1. The March sisters
(Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy) from Louisa May Alcott’s novel
Little Women
—Coming upon my sister reading
Little Women
for the very first time, my aunt instantly warned her not to get too attached to Beth. Where was she when I was reading
Old Yeller
?
2. The Bouvier sisters
(not Jacqueline and Lee, but the really famous ones: Marge, Selma, and Patty)
—The blue-haired Bouviers prove that sisters
can
sound identical. Of course, it helps if the same person is actually providing the voice for both or all of you.
3. The Brontës
(Charlotte, Emily, and Anne) There were originally two more Brontë sisters, but life was hard in the early part of the nineteenth century, and they died young.
—Brilliant? Yes. Crazy? Almost definitely. They wrote story after story about imaginary worlds in teeny-tiny handwriting. On the other hand, TV hadn’t been invented yet, so what else were you going to do on a long winter’s evening?
4. The Bennet sisters
(Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia)
—If you’re a woman and you like to read, then you already know and love the Bennets. Elizabeth is always torn between loving her family and being deeply embarrassed by them—and if you don’t relate to that, you probably don’t have sisters. Or a family.
5. The Gorgon sisters
(Medusa, Stheno, and Euryale)
—Tough and mean, with hair that’ll take on any flatiron and win, these women-beasts redefine what it means to be female, and you’ve got to love them for that. From a distance.
