Read Online Face Time by Hank Phillippi Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Hank Phillippi Ryan
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salutes as I return a reassuring wave—I’m fine. I hope that’s true. I’ve got to go inside soon. Josh and Penny are going home.
“It’s fine, sweets,” Josh reassures me. He runs a finger down my cheek, tracing my jaw, then tilting my chin. “Got to get you another Emmy, right? And get Dorinda Sweeney out of prison. Penny and I will be fine in Truro. And you can be our special treat. Come see us whenever you can. It would be…” He pauses, cocking his head back at Penny. “Well, if someone had unjustly taken me away from her, I’d be unstoppable. Whatever. Do your stuff, Brenda Starr. Truro can wait.”
I glance into the back seat, see the child Josh loves so much. They have such a connection, a bond, a certainty. Right now, she looks sweet, clicking intently on her computer game. And loving. And eight. And what little girl wouldn’t worry about the other woman, essentially a stranger, threatening to take her dad away? How can two be three?
Reaching over, I take Josh’s hand. “I need you to understand, I’m not choosing my job over you two. It’s just—Dorinda. That videotape is a perfect alibi. She should not be spending one more day behind bars.”
Without another backward glance, Josh pulls me toward him, his eyes locked into mine. “We’ll be here for you,” he says, giving me a delicate kiss on the forehead. “Me, and even little Penny. I’m proud of you.”
The complicating combination of a stickshift and an eight-year-old means I can’t melt into his arms. Or slide my hand under his shirt. Or slide his hand under mine. But I trust him. Victoria is completely out of the picture, thousands of miles away, cruising happily with her husband. Penny will come around. And Josh would tell me, I reassure myself, if he was upset. Maybe, maybe it could work.
CHAPTER 6
“Before.” I’m peering into the oversize makeup mirror, illuminated by the unforgiving perimeter of frosted bulbs surrounding it. Maysie, ponytailed as always and hands on hips, is looking at me in the mirror, too. Since she’s the only woman working for Channel 3’s all-sports radio station, she’s claimed this fourth-floor ladies’ room as her private salon, the place where we convene for high-level gossip and general life discussions. Today, it’s face time.
“And after.” I use two fingers on each side of my face to yank up what Mom insists are my worrisomely sagging jowls. “Is it that much better? I mean, don’t I look like a lizard with blond hair and red lipstick?” My voice sounds a little lispy, since pulling on my skin spreads my mouth out of its normal range. I let my face drop back from fantasy-35 into reality-46.
“Well?” I demand, still contemplating the mirror. “Do I need a face-lift?”
Instead of answering, Maysie leans forward toward the mirror, too, trying the two-finger jowl-lift demo on her own actually-35 face. Today she’s back in her trademark black jeans. And I still can’t tell she’s pregnant. I smile at the memory. They hadn’t been trying. Apparently, the impending new kid was just as much a surprise to her and Matthew as it was to me.
“I think I look better, you know? Fixed?” Maysie’s voice now has the fake face lift lisp. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, too. After little whoever is born. Maybe get a tummy tuck, while I’m at it. Bye-bye baby fat. And I’ve got to be on TV soon, after all. My days of hiding behind radio have come to an end.” She focuses on her reflection, first tugging at the corners of her eyes, then pulling up her eyebrows. “Can’t hurt.”
“Margaret Isobel Derosiers Green,” I turn to her, my own face forgotten. “You wouldn’t. Would you?”
“You wear contacts, right? Had braces? And might I ask, in my role as your best friend forever, whether you know the true color of your hair? As my preteen queen Molly so often puts it when she’s angling for pierced ears, ‘what’s the diff, dude?’”
Maysie’s now checking for loose
“It’s fine, sweets,” Josh reassures me. He runs a finger down my cheek, tracing my jaw, then tilting my chin. “Got to get you another Emmy, right? And get Dorinda Sweeney out of prison. Penny and I will be fine in Truro. And you can be our special treat. Come see us whenever you can. It would be…” He pauses, cocking his head back at Penny. “Well, if someone had unjustly taken me away from her, I’d be unstoppable. Whatever. Do your stuff, Brenda Starr. Truro can wait.”
I glance into the back seat, see the child Josh loves so much. They have such a connection, a bond, a certainty. Right now, she looks sweet, clicking intently on her computer game. And loving. And eight. And what little girl wouldn’t worry about the other woman, essentially a stranger, threatening to take her dad away? How can two be three?
Reaching over, I take Josh’s hand. “I need you to understand, I’m not choosing my job over you two. It’s just—Dorinda. That videotape is a perfect alibi. She should not be spending one more day behind bars.”
Without another backward glance, Josh pulls me toward him, his eyes locked into mine. “We’ll be here for you,” he says, giving me a delicate kiss on the forehead. “Me, and even little Penny. I’m proud of you.”
The complicating combination of a stickshift and an eight-year-old means I can’t melt into his arms. Or slide my hand under his shirt. Or slide his hand under mine. But I trust him. Victoria is completely out of the picture, thousands of miles away, cruising happily with her husband. Penny will come around. And Josh would tell me, I reassure myself, if he was upset. Maybe, maybe it could work.
CHAPTER 6
“Before.” I’m peering into the oversize makeup mirror, illuminated by the unforgiving perimeter of frosted bulbs surrounding it. Maysie, ponytailed as always and hands on hips, is looking at me in the mirror, too. Since she’s the only woman working for Channel 3’s all-sports radio station, she’s claimed this fourth-floor ladies’ room as her private salon, the place where we convene for high-level gossip and general life discussions. Today, it’s face time.
“And after.” I use two fingers on each side of my face to yank up what Mom insists are my worrisomely sagging jowls. “Is it that much better? I mean, don’t I look like a lizard with blond hair and red lipstick?” My voice sounds a little lispy, since pulling on my skin spreads my mouth out of its normal range. I let my face drop back from fantasy-35 into reality-46.
“Well?” I demand, still contemplating the mirror. “Do I need a face-lift?”
Instead of answering, Maysie leans forward toward the mirror, too, trying the two-finger jowl-lift demo on her own actually-35 face. Today she’s back in her trademark black jeans. And I still can’t tell she’s pregnant. I smile at the memory. They hadn’t been trying. Apparently, the impending new kid was just as much a surprise to her and Matthew as it was to me.
“I think I look better, you know? Fixed?” Maysie’s voice now has the fake face lift lisp. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, too. After little whoever is born. Maybe get a tummy tuck, while I’m at it. Bye-bye baby fat. And I’ve got to be on TV soon, after all. My days of hiding behind radio have come to an end.” She focuses on her reflection, first tugging at the corners of her eyes, then pulling up her eyebrows. “Can’t hurt.”
“Margaret Isobel Derosiers Green,” I turn to her, my own face forgotten. “You wouldn’t. Would you?”
“You wear contacts, right? Had braces? And might I ask, in my role as your best friend forever, whether you know the true color of your hair? As my preteen queen Molly so often puts it when she’s angling for pierced ears, ‘what’s the diff, dude?’”
Maysie’s now checking for loose
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