Read Online Misfortune by Nancy Geary - Free Book Online

“Cash Needed” sign for all to see. Worse than an embarrassment, it was a humiliation, but the month of income paid most of the house expenses and property taxes for the whole year. She could not manage without it.
    “Who are you renting to?” Jack asked.
    Clio laughed. “Since when did you take an interest in the transient population around here?”
    Beverly ignored her. “A nice couple from Manhasset. He works for an investment bank, Morgan Stanley, I think. They have several small children and an au pair.”
    “Good. Sounds good.” Beverly couldn’t tell whether Jack had paid attention.
    “You’ll have to excuse me,” Clio said. She squeezed Jack’s hand. “A dreamy party, perfect as usual. I would love to stay, but I’m already late for the Bancrofts’ dinner.”
    “Yes, I’m sorry we can’t make it, but people are bound to hang on here,” Jack replied, glancing at Beverly. “Give my best to Marshall and Beth, won’t you?”
    Clio smiled. “Of course. Love to Constance. I’ll call her tomorrow.” She embraced Jack.
    “She’ll want to know all the details, I’m sure.”
    Beverly watched her depart. Her lithe body slid across the polished hardwood floor. She knew without looking that Jack was watching Clio leave, too. Clio inspired such glances from other women’s husbands.
    Beverly imagined Clio’s call to Constance Von Furst at nine the next morning, the earliest civilized hour to start phoning. Clio would sit at the antique farm table in her sunny breakfast room and gaze out over her expansive lawn as she finished a bowl of raspberries and sipped iced cappuccino. Beverly could hear their polite chatter, Clio thanking Constance again for a lovely cocktail party, filling her in on the details of the Bancrofts’ intimate dinner for thirty-eight of their nearest and dearest, the menu, the seating arrangement. “The Bancrofts are such lively hosts, even at their age.” Then Clio would reassure her, “You were positively missed.” Constance, relieved that her absence was noticed, might ask whether cigars were offered after dinner or who wore “Oscar” or “Calvin,” shorthand references to designers so patronized by these women that there was no need for formality. Clio and Constance shared criticisms of unsuspecting people, women mostly, who could never have imagined that their actions and appearance were monitored so closely. Constance, listening, would sip herbal tea sweetened with one teaspoon of clover honey out of a hand-painted porcelain cup. Beverly wished that she could start her day this way, wished that she could be included, once again, in the inner circle.
    Jack interrupted her musing. “Excuse me, won’t you,” he said. “I’d better see how the Champagne supply is holding up.”
    “Yes. Yes, of course.”
    Beverly’s gaze remained on Clio. More than a dozen people stopped her on the way out for a final comment. Each one appeared more interested than the last in establishing a connection before she disappeared into the night.
    Life is easy for some people, Beverly thought as she emptied her wineglass. The oaky alcohol soothed her hot throat. She nodded at the bartender for a refill.
    “I don’t understand why you spend any time at all with that woman.” Valerie Moravio’s Texas drawl startled her.
    Beverly turned to face her friend and smiled. Valerie, a former Dallas Cowgirl, had a flair for the dramatic. Tonight was no exception. A fountain of blond curls cascaded from the top of her head. Heavy makeup accentuated her blue eyes. She wore a yellow sleeveless dress that clung to her ample bosom. Her neck and earlobes dripped gems. A diamond ring, easily five carats, dwarfed her long-nailed fingers. This farmgirl had struck gold when she married Luca Moravio, a sports agent, whom she met at the Super Bowl in 1978. When the Dallas Cowboys defeated the Denver Broncos, Luca turned his attention to the nineteen-year-old cheerleader performing her synchronized splits,