“I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. White would’ve . . . Ugh! Yeah. You know how that would’ve gone.”
“I know. Not pretty.” White is anal, which is probably why he makes such a good producer. He’s a details man.
“We should be there shortly. Will you stay for a few minutes after I get there?” Her tone is hopeful.
“Meh. I’m really not in the mood to—”
“Katiiie!” I can almost hear Mona stomp her foot. “You’re never in the mood. Can’t you stay? Just for a little while? For me? Pleeease!”
I frown. This isn’t like Mona. Normally all she ever needs is White and she’s happy as a clam. Unless things aren’t going well. “Is something wrong?”
The long pause and her short response say it all. “It’s White.” Her voice is small and wounded, and I can hear the resignation in it.
I don’t have to ask what he’s done. It’s the only thing he ever does to hurt Mona. Unfortunately, he does it with disgusting regularity. “Who is it?”
“Peony,” she answers miserably, bringing to mind the mental image of a trashy, raven-haired beauty. She plays the resident freak on the show and she’s very convincing. Mainly, we suspect, because she’s such a freak in real life. Dark, brooding, daring. Admits to loving sadomasochism. Observes some pretty scary “personal pleasure rituals.” Thinks the devil talks to her. That kind of thing.
“Peony? Ewww. Why?”
“I know, right? White doesn’t even like brunettes. And she’s named after a stinky old flower. I just don’t . . . I can’t . . .” I hear the tremor in her voice and I know she’s about to lose it. Now is definitely not the time to tell her that peonies don’t stink. They actually smell quite good.
I hold back my sigh. My friend needs me. “Of course I’ll wait for you.”
Like a ray of sunshine breaking through thick, ominous clouds, I hear the pleasure and relief in her voice. She needs to be with someone who won’t hurt her. Someone like me. “Really? You will?”
“Really. I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“You’re the best, Kitty.”
When we hang up I turn back to Ronnie, who is just slurping the last sip from his martini glass and preparing to make another. “Why don’t you make that two?”
Ronnie smiles and whoops enthusiastically. I feel an answering smile curve my own mouth.
An hour later, I’m two drinks in, Ronnie is starting to slur and Mona still hasn’t arrived. I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed a call.
Nope. Nothing.
“Excuse me for just a second,” I tell Ronnie when he pauses in his rambling long enough for me to get a word in.
I get up and walk toward shore, scanning the dark lake horizon for the lights of an approaching yacht. I see nothing except the reflection of the dozens of flaming tiki torches that are burning to illuminate the island setting.
I turn back and slip into one of the cabanas for a little privacy as I tap Mona’s number into my phone. The way she answers, I can picture her with one finger stuffed in her other ear so she can hear me on the phone. “Don’t leave!” she says without preamble, practically screaming. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“It’s getting late. I need to get home.”
“It’s nowhere near late, Katie! Don’t you dare leave yet. I’m coming. I swear.”
“I’ll wait as long as I can, but if you’re not here in another thirty minutes, I’ll have to go.”
She huffs. “Fine. But give me thirty minutes. We aren’t that far away. We’ll be there shortly.”
“That’s what you said an hour ago.”
“Well, that’s what I thought an hour ago. Nautical . . . stuff isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
“Okay, okay,” I say in frustration. “Thirty minutes.”
“See you soon.” And then the line goes dead.
I inhale deeply and turn to find my way back to Ronnie. And run right into him. He’s standing behind me in the cabana. I grab my chest to still my runaway heart. “Ronnie! God, you scared me.”