School of Fortune by Amanda Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

tomorrow so will you.”
    â€œI haven’t heard from Lance in days.”
    â€œMy dear, that is completely normal. Between you and me, all men view marriage as half prison, half death sentence. You must not be simpering now. You must wait for Lance to come to you. Do not appear weak or he will despise you forever.”
    That sounded pretty asinine. “Who’s this groomsman Woody?”
    â€œMy son’s physical therapist. He has a large clientele on Fifth Avenue. Why do you ask?”
    â€œHe and Lance were shopping for cummerbunds this afternoon. That’s rather bizarre, seeing as the groomsmen already have them.”
    Rosimund’s eyes flared then went quickly still. “I asked them to purchase one for Harry, my majordomo,” she lied.
    â€œThat’s such a relief. I was thinking much darker thoughts.”
    â€œShame on you, dear.” Rosimund rose to her full six-foot-two height. “Now go make yourself beautiful for my boy. Thank you for the soup.”
    Pippa took the elevator upstairs. Stress was making her paranoid.
Of course
Rosimund would want her majordomo’s cummerbund to match the groomsmen’s.
Of course
Lance would want someone to go shopping with him.
Of course
Woody, a New Yorker, would have the most fashion sense.
    Her calm was momentary. As she opened the door of the presidential suite, Pippa heard Brent shriek, “You slut! How am I supposed to make that gopher fur into a French twist? How how HOW?”
    Pippa rushed inside. There stood Ginny, arms folded, calm as a Cheshire.cat while Brent ranted at her pixie. The hairdresser had had a trying afternoon. Repairing Kimberly’s split ends had put him an hour behind schedule. He had never imagined that she would be followed by six bridesmaids with long blond hair the texture of last winter’s hay. What was it with Texas girls and big blond hair? Farrah Fawcett and Linda Evans had been on the trash heap of hairdo history for almost two decades. And what was the attraction of having breasts as large as their heads? Physically and mentally these women were just one step away from mooing. He had been out of his mind to come to Dallas. To think that tomorrow he’d have to comb out the French twists and start over again!
    â€œIs this some sort of joke?” he shouted at Pippa. “Your mother’s going to pulverize me if I don’t get ten twists on that runway tonight.”
    The door swung open. In strode Thayne, dressed in a light blue cashmere suit with midnight-blue mink cuffs. Her sapphires sparkled. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Despite the maniacal glint in her eyes, she looked very attractive. “Are you ready for my comb-out, Brent?” Then she saw Ginny. “What in God’s name is
that?”
    â€œI didn’t do it!” the frazzled hairdresser shrieked.
    Thayne sighed; the gods were lobbing nonstop catastrophe at her today. “You would have had plenty of attention as you were, Ginny. That hair will look ridiculous with a large barrette.” No one even tried to refute that. “You’re fired.”
    â€œNo!” Pippa cried, grabbing the cell phone out of Thayne’s hands before she could call a replacement. “You can’t do that!”
    â€œI certainly can. We will not have a neo-Nazi in our entourage.”
    â€œGinny goes, I go!” Pippa screamed. “This is my wedding, not yours!”
    Thayne stared at her daughter, mystified by the outburst. “Honey, are you having a bad day?”
    â€œYes, I am having a Very. Bad. Day.” Pippa collapsed onto a presidential couch. “I should have stayed in Prague and become a
ménage a quatre.”
    Brent rushed over with a box of chocolate kirsch bonbons. “Take three, sweetheart.” Last thing he needed was the bride going up in smoke: Thayne had only paid him fifty percent of his fee. “I have wigs,” he announced, pulling one from a trunk.