fabric
would
have the desired effect.
How long have I been dating him? Seventeen months—and counting. I’m making a big investment in you, Zackery
. It hadn’t taken long for her to decide on the junior Mr. Calvin. And finding him had confirmed Santa Barbara as a logical choice, too. This coastal town was far enough north of Los Angeles to be distinct from the complex and sordid layers that made up a large city. In a population of only 100,000, a person with drive could actually be
somebody
, get noticed. Here, one could have the best of both worlds: access to the big city in two hours—depending on traffic; yet a comfortable sense remove, in a town with a culture all its own.
She imagined there would be less competition in Santa Barbara as well. Not that this town didn’t have plenty of single women. But L.A. was
full
of sexy young blondes who could distract a man’s attention. These wanna-be actresses were drawn like moths to the flame of Hollywood, and spent their youths dreaming of stardom. She considered all that to be a colossal waste of time.
I grew up with all that. My own parents fell prey to it
. Cynthia knew exactly where to focus: money and men.
So often the best of both can be found in the same place
. And this was the most important thing about the beautiful and tasteful city of Santa Barbara. There was plenty of money here. So she knew she’d find powerful and successful men.
Zackery was certainly both.
And he’s young and handsome—but that isn’t necessarily the best situation for me
. She’d generally found older men more stable professionally and more needy emotionally, which meant she didn’t have to chase
them
, because they were eagerly chasing
her
.
She’d had some success with such relationships, which often came with a bonus: generous men gave nice gifts, which she sometimes parlayed into longer-lasting resources.
Cynthia recalled the time—about three years ago now—when the South African businessman who’d been sweet on her had offered a shopping spree.
The dear man had so much money from his diamond business that he really didn’t know what to do with it all
. Though his offices were in “Jo-burg” and New York, whenever he got bored, he flew to Las Vegas to gamble away some of his surplus cash. They’d met there one night in the Palm Court Lounge, where Cynthia was singing. Cynthia’d temporarily closed her L.A. apartment to accept the four-month gig. She enjoyed his attentions, and after they dated a few times, he suggested she buy herself a new wardrobe and handed her five crisp thousand-dollar bills.
Thing is, that money came with strings: buy new clothes so I’d dress as he wanted me to; quit singing so much so I’d be available when he wanted me. But what did that mean? He wasn’t offering to pay my rent. Besides, I wanted to keep my independence
. It just wasn’t her cup of tea to be at someone’s beck and call—not with a man who only wanted a fling. Instead, she’d handed him back all but one of the bills. But to assuage his hurt feelings, she invited him to attend a showy charity ball sometime soon in Los Angeles, promising to wear something he’d enjoy.
Her life in L.A. had included membership in several high-profile charities, not so much because she loved helping others, but because she found their annual galas practical for networking. Sure enough, an invitation was waiting when she got home.
So, the day after she’d decamped Nevada and resettled herself in her Van Nuys apartment, she’d headed straight to the couturier department at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills, where she discovered the most scrumptious Fabrice gown, covered in silver bugle beads.
Much as I loved that dress, it really was too expensive. Besides, it was designed for a forty-year-old
. She tried on several others, and found a perfect black number: revealing and kicky, flirtatious and sleek. Then she thanked the frustrated sales woman, tossing her a smile as she left with a
would
have the desired effect.
How long have I been dating him? Seventeen months—and counting. I’m making a big investment in you, Zackery
. It hadn’t taken long for her to decide on the junior Mr. Calvin. And finding him had confirmed Santa Barbara as a logical choice, too. This coastal town was far enough north of Los Angeles to be distinct from the complex and sordid layers that made up a large city. In a population of only 100,000, a person with drive could actually be
somebody
, get noticed. Here, one could have the best of both worlds: access to the big city in two hours—depending on traffic; yet a comfortable sense remove, in a town with a culture all its own.
She imagined there would be less competition in Santa Barbara as well. Not that this town didn’t have plenty of single women. But L.A. was
full
of sexy young blondes who could distract a man’s attention. These wanna-be actresses were drawn like moths to the flame of Hollywood, and spent their youths dreaming of stardom. She considered all that to be a colossal waste of time.
I grew up with all that. My own parents fell prey to it
. Cynthia knew exactly where to focus: money and men.
So often the best of both can be found in the same place
. And this was the most important thing about the beautiful and tasteful city of Santa Barbara. There was plenty of money here. So she knew she’d find powerful and successful men.
Zackery was certainly both.
And he’s young and handsome—but that isn’t necessarily the best situation for me
. She’d generally found older men more stable professionally and more needy emotionally, which meant she didn’t have to chase
them
, because they were eagerly chasing
her
.
She’d had some success with such relationships, which often came with a bonus: generous men gave nice gifts, which she sometimes parlayed into longer-lasting resources.
Cynthia recalled the time—about three years ago now—when the South African businessman who’d been sweet on her had offered a shopping spree.
The dear man had so much money from his diamond business that he really didn’t know what to do with it all
. Though his offices were in “Jo-burg” and New York, whenever he got bored, he flew to Las Vegas to gamble away some of his surplus cash. They’d met there one night in the Palm Court Lounge, where Cynthia was singing. Cynthia’d temporarily closed her L.A. apartment to accept the four-month gig. She enjoyed his attentions, and after they dated a few times, he suggested she buy herself a new wardrobe and handed her five crisp thousand-dollar bills.
Thing is, that money came with strings: buy new clothes so I’d dress as he wanted me to; quit singing so much so I’d be available when he wanted me. But what did that mean? He wasn’t offering to pay my rent. Besides, I wanted to keep my independence
. It just wasn’t her cup of tea to be at someone’s beck and call—not with a man who only wanted a fling. Instead, she’d handed him back all but one of the bills. But to assuage his hurt feelings, she invited him to attend a showy charity ball sometime soon in Los Angeles, promising to wear something he’d enjoy.
Her life in L.A. had included membership in several high-profile charities, not so much because she loved helping others, but because she found their annual galas practical for networking. Sure enough, an invitation was waiting when she got home.
So, the day after she’d decamped Nevada and resettled herself in her Van Nuys apartment, she’d headed straight to the couturier department at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills, where she discovered the most scrumptious Fabrice gown, covered in silver bugle beads.
Much as I loved that dress, it really was too expensive. Besides, it was designed for a forty-year-old
. She tried on several others, and found a perfect black number: revealing and kicky, flirtatious and sleek. Then she thanked the frustrated sales woman, tossing her a smile as she left with a
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