Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty Read Free Book Online Page B

movie.” He could see straight down the huge chasm of her cleavage; he couldn’t help it, there was literally nowhere else to look. It wasn’t bad , but she was old, so it wasn’t good either. She wore red lipstick and had a lot of curly gold-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail. She reminded him of one of his mum’s tennis friends. He liked his mum’s tennis friends—they were uncomplicated and didn’t expect him to say much—but he preferred them not to have cleavage.
    â€œThanks,” he said, trying to focus on her very shiny, friendly eyes. “Nice to meet you.”
    â€œWhat sort of car is it?” asked Frances.
    â€œIt’s a Lamborghini.”
    â€œOoh la la—a Lamborghini!” She grinned up at him. “This here is a Peugeot.”
    â€œUh, yeah, I know,” he said, pained.
    â€œDon’t think much of the Peugeot?” She tilted her head to one side.
    â€œIt’s a heap of shit,” said Ben.
    â€œ Ben! ” said Jessica, but Frances laughed delightedly.
    â€œI love my little Peugeot,” purred Frances as she caressed her steering wheel.
    â€œWell,” said Ben. “Each to their own.”
    â€œFrances says nobody is answering the intercom,” said Jessica. “She’s been sitting out here waiting for twenty minutes.”
    Jessica was using her posh new voice, where she made each word sound as fat and round as an apple. She was using it almost exclusively now, except when she really lost her temper or got upset, like last night, when she forgot to be posh and yelled at him, “Why can’t you just be happy? Why are you ruining this?”
    â€œHave you phoned them?” he said now to the cleavage lady. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the intercom.”
    â€œI’ve left a message,” said Frances.
    â€œI wonder if this is like a test,” said Jessica. “Maybe it’s part of our treatment plan.” She lifted her hair up to cool her neck. Sometimes, when she spoke normally, when she was just being herself, he couldforget the frozen forehead, the blowfish lips, the puffy cheeks, the camel eyelashes (“eyelash extensions”), the fake hair (“hair extensions”) and fake boobs, and there, for just a moment, was his sweet Jessica, the Jessica he’d known since high school.
    â€œI thought that too!” said Frances.
    Ben turned to look at the intercom.
    â€œI could hardly read the instructions,” said Frances. “They were so tiny.”
    Ben could read them perfectly well. He punched in the code and pressed the green button.
    â€œI will be absolutely furious if it works for you,” said Frances.
    A tinny voice sprang from the intercom. “Namaste and welcome to Tranquillum House. How may I help you?”
    â€œWhat the hell?” Frances mouthed in comical disbelief.
    Ben shrugged. “Just needed a man’s touch.”
    â€œOh you ,” she said. She reached out of the car and flicked his arm with her hand.
    Jessica bent down next to the intercom and spoke too loudly. “We’re here to check in.” It was cute, like Ben’s grandma on the phone. “The name is Chandler, Jessica and Ben—”
    There was a burst of static from the intercom and the gate began to creak open. Jessica straightened, tucked her hair behind her ear, worried as always about her dignity. She never used to take herself so seriously.
    â€œI promise you I pressed that code correctly, or I thought I did!” said Frances, as she buckled her seatbelt and revved her tappety little engine. She gave them a little wave. “I’ll see you in there! Don’t try to race me with your fancy-schmancy Ferrari.”
    â€œIt’s a Lamborghini !” protested Ben.
    Frances winked at him, as if she knew that perfectly well, and drove off, faster than he would have expected, or recommended, on this road.
    As they walked back