Still reeling from the news that Charles Biggs had died, Marla ushered her friend into the sitting room off the foyer. Joanna breezed in as if she’d been inside dozens of times. A petite woman with short, streaked blond hair, dark eyes and thin lips, she was dressed in a white warm-up suit trimmed in gold, and white tennis shoes. Several gold chains circled her tanned throat and a tennis bracelet studded with hefty diamonds surrounded one slim wrist. Marla stared at the sculpted lines of Joanna’s face looking for some clue, hoping she could remember something, but it was as if she’d never seen this woman before in her life. Disappointment assailed her yet again.
Joanna plopped onto an overstuffed sofa and dropped her hands between her knees. “So, how’re you feeling?”
“Better, off and on. I still get headaches and these”—Marla drew back her lips to expose the wires—“are the pits.” She settled into a side chair.
“But necessary.” They paused in the conversation while Carmen brought in a bottle of wine, two stemmed glasses and a small tray of fruit, cheese and crackers.
“Anything else?” Carmen asked, setting the tray on the coffee table.
“This should do it. Thanks.” As Carmen eased out of the room, Marla poured them each a glass and handed one to Joanna.
“So you’ve got amnesia?”
“Big time.”
“You don’t remember me?” Arched brows lifted and as if to lighten the mood she turned her face side to side, showing off her profile. “What about now?”
“Nope, but then it’s not an exclusive club. I don’t remember anyone.”
“Gee, just when I was beginning to feel special.”
Marla couldn’t draw up a smile. “Well, don’t. I can’t even . . . even remember my own kids. Isn’t that sick?”
“Well, yes . . . that’s the whole point.”
“I know and . . .” Marla swallowed a lump in her throat and shook her head. “I keep reminding myself it’s getting better. I have flashes of things that have happened to me, some a long time ago, others more recently. But, no, I’m sorry, I wish I could say, ‘Oh, yeah, I remember you,’ but I don’t. Damn. It’s so weird. I don’t remember playing tennis at all.”
“Good. Then I can pretend that I always cleaned your clock on the court.”
“That’s a lie?”
“A major lie. You’ve got a serve that scared the devil out of me.” Sipping her chardonnay, she stared at Marla over the rim. Her dark eyes twinkled. “You should get it back.”
“Along with my face?”
“Well, at least al
ong with your hair.”
Marla laughed a little.
“As for your face . . .” She lifted a hand, spread her thumb away from her fingers as if she were an artist measuring for symmetry. “Hmm. That’ll take a little time, I suppose,” she teased. “But my husband’s a plastic surgeon, remember. Ted specializes in faces, primarily cosmetic, but he’s done some reconstruction. Let me see—remember, I used to work for him.” She paused for a second, little lines forming between her eyebrows as she thought. “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t remember. Well, good. It wasn’t a great time.” At Marla’s perplexed expression, Joanna let out a sigh. “Ted was married to his first wife then. I was the evil other woman who stole him away.” Joanna lifted her eyebrows and smiled as if a little proud of herself for sneaking a prize from a competitor.
“Oh.”
“That was twelve years ago. Water under the bridge.”
She placed her finger under Marla’s chin and cocked her own head to one side. “You look so different, and my guess—now that’s an educated guess, mind you—says that you’re going to look great once the swelling and bruises disappear, but you’re going to look different.”
“Maybe better?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know why you’d want to be. You had more male attention than you could handle as it was.”
“What?” This was news. And yet she had a vague sense that it was true.
“Oh, yeah, you were always . . . well, you know, men noticed you.” Joanna said it with a touch of acrimony, a hint of jealousy, and Marla wondered what kind of friends she and Joanna had been.
Or what kind of woman you were. Joanna isn’t saying it, but she’s hinting that you basked in the male attention lavished your way, even maybe went out seeking it. That particular thought made her stomach turn sour.