Read Online Elizabeth the First Wife by Lian Dolan - Free Book Online Page B

of the Showcase neighbors, who was a large donor to her husband’s campaigns. Her previous career in PR had served her well in her relatively new role as the wife of a congressman. She did a lot of the Stand & Nod and the Smile & Laugh, as well as the Stare in Adoration, all performances she had perfected while representing celebrities. Currently, as Bumble stood listening to helmet-headed Adelaide Martin, she was performing the Agree & Move On, which was executed with lot of nodding and a steady stream of “Uh-hmmns.”
    When she and Ted were first married, about seven years ago, Bumble fashioned herself after Maria Shriver, the First Lady of California at the time. So many parallels, it was eerie, Bumble used to say. (Him a Republican; her a Democrat. Him a Republican; her with good hair.) But since Arnold and Maria’s spectacular marital meltdown, she fashioned herself after Kate Middleton, which seemed a little grandiose. But what did I know about being the adoring spouse?
    I was good at being the buffer sister, though. “Hello, Mrs. Martin. It’s great to see you! Isn’t the house wonderful? I think it’salmost as big as yours, but not as stately! I hate to do this, but I have to steal Bumble away. My mother needs her. Please say hello to Betsy for me. Her Christmas card this year was beautiful. I’ve never seen white linen on children look so pressed!” I took Bumble by the elbow and led her out toward the gardens to hunt for FX, who had disappeared, and to find out why she had to talk to me.
    â€œThank you. She was going on and on about getting speed bumps put in on her street. Honestly, what does she think Ted does? Work at the Department of Public Works? The worst part of it is that because she’s such a big donor, I’m actually going to have to put in a call about the speed bumps. Let’s get a drink. I’ve talked to enough constituents tonight.”

    Bumble was working her way through the crowd with two white wines when I spotted FX on the veranda chatting up Candy McKenna. Do all famous people have some internal GPS that leads them to other famous people?
    Truthfully, Candy was only very famous in zip codes 91101 to 91107. She was a disgraced Rose Queen who lost her favored-citizen status when she posed for Playboy’s Women of the Ivy League issue in the late ’80s. An elephant never forgets and neither does a local, so Candy’s personal comeback was never as complete as Vanessa Williams’s, but her star was on the rise again. Years ago, she’d started a local gossip website called candysdish.com , a cleverly written look at the upper crust in Southern California with only a touch of snark. It started off serving, or skewering, the Pasadena community, but she soon wormed her way into Hollywood coverage, making the best use of her good looks, media savvy, and focus on celebrity charity events, as opposed to movie openings and awards shows. Now every big charity event got the candysdish treatment, complete with who was there, what they were wearing, and what was served for dinner,all wrapped in a big red feel-good bow. Somehow it humanized the celebs, making them seem just like other rich people, and they loved Candy for it.
    No doubt, FX was laying the groundwork for the Dire Necessity Oscar campaign. I’d come to know Candy a bit through Bumble, and I liked her a lot. She was one of the few people in town who really didn’t care what others thought of her.
    Personally, my favorite section on candysdish.com was called “Why the Sour Face?” It was a delicious weekly roundup of socialites and their husbands caught bickering in public at yet another fundraiser. Each week, Candy and her secret army of cell phone cameras found couples locked in marital death glares. When I was feeling down and out about being single, I’d check “Why the Sour Face?” and gloat over a snapshot of Jennifer Lewis Tanner, my swim-team