Skinnydipping by Bethenny Frankel Read Free Book Online Page A

hair and bangs and the body of a supermodel, crossed her long legs and held out her hand to me. She wore a cocktail ring with the biggest emeraldI’d ever seen. I had a feeling it was real. “Come, sit with us,” she said, in an accent I guessed might be French.
    I sat down on the floor with them, shifting to keep my knees together in my mini dress. The French girl eased my heels off and rubbed the bottoms of my feet. I was surprised—but it felt really good. Brooke put a pink lemonade mojito in my hand and I sipped it gratefully. “I hope I made this the right way,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry about Tony. I should have done more research.”
    “It’s OK,” I said. “How would you know? I did like him. He’s actually a pretty decent guy.”
    Brooke sat down next to me and put her head on my shoulder. She was really drunk. I could smell the fumes rising off her. Or maybe it was me.
    “You’re so nice,” she said. “I wish Frank was as nice as you are.”
    “I’m really not that nice,” I assured her. “Like father, like daughter.”
    “Yes, you are!” she said, leaning back away from me and looking at me earnestly. “I feel like we’re sisters!”
    “No, I’m not nice, and we’re not sisters. I hate to even try to dissect the bizarre idea of us being sisters and what that would mean you were doing with my father. And I’m not nice because I’m going to tell you that you shouldn’t be putting up with him. He’s a jerk to you. You deserve better.”
    She looked miserable.
    “Tell me you don’t think you deserve better.”
    “Your father is … he’s everything!” she protested. “He’s a legend. Everyone knows him. Everyone admires him. Worships him!”
    “Everyone on the track worships him, I know that,” I said. “But he’s just lonely. He just wants someone around. He’s wasting your time. The world is a lot bigger than the racetrack, you know. You could do anything. You could have anyone.”
    She didn’t answer. I could tell she didn’t believe she could do anything.
    The coke was really starting to click. I couldn’t shut up now ifmy life depended on it, and as long as I’d opened this can of worms, I figured I might as well say what I’d wanted to say to her since the first day I met her. “Look, Frank Brightstone is a coldhearted man who doesn’t know how to love anyone. You’ll always be disappointed. The only thing he really wants to do when he’s not with his horses is sit in that leather chair all day. There’s a stain where the back of his head rests, he’s such a fixture there. He’s boring. He never goes out, and he doesn’t like you going out, either. What does he expect you to do all day? You’re young and beautiful and you’re giving him the best years of your life, and you’re not going to get them back. You’ll never get what you want out of him. He’s not going to marry you. You should cut yourself loose and move on to someone who can appreciate you. He just wants you because you worship him. Wouldn’t you rather be the one who’s worshipped?”
    I could tell I was talking too fast. This always happened. I’d hold it all in, then as soon as I drank too much or did any drugs, it would all come spewing out—diarrhea of the mouth. It was a chronic problem.
    She started to cry.
    “Oh God, don’t do that,” I said. “I just feel like somebody has to say this to you.”
    “How do you know he’s not going to marry me?” she sobbed.
    I just shook my head. We both deserved better. My father deserved my mother, and she deserved him, and I wished they would have stayed together and spared everyone else from their mutual dysfunction. Brooke, on the other hand, had been nice to me, and although I never would have picked her out as a friend, she was in my life now. I felt like we would probably remain friends, even if she and my father really did break up. I felt obligated to tell her the truth.
    “He’s not a total jerk to me,” she said,