than ten years. No one knew better what Brian was capable of when fully aroused.
She allowed herself to fantasize, just for a moment, what it would be like when he peeled the dress away, when his eyes roamed over her, when his slender, musician’s fingers unhooked the frilly corset.
They’d been good together, she remembered as she felt herself go damp. They would be good together again.
Bringing herself back, she picked up the brush and smoothed her hair. She had spent the last of the grocery money at the hairdresser’s getting her shoulder-length straight hair colored to match Emma’s. Turning her head, she watched it sway from side to side. After today, she wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again.
Her lips were carefully painted a pale, pale pink—the same shade she had seen on supermodel Jane Asher’s recent Vogue cover. Nervous, she picked up her black liner and added more definition near the corner of each eye.
Fascinated, Emma watched her mother. Today she smelled of Tigress cologne instead of gin. Tentatively, Emma reached out for the lipstick tube. Her hand was slapped away.
“Keep your hands off my things.” She gave Emma’s finger an extra slap. “Haven’t I told you never to touch my things?”
Emma nodded. Her eyes had already filmed over.
“And don’t start that bawling. I don’t want him seeing you for the first time with your eyes all red and your face puffy. He should have been here already.” There was an edge to Jane’s voice now, one that had Emma moving cautiously out of range. “If he doesn’t come soon …” She trailed off, going over her options as she studied herself in the glass.
She had always been a big girl, but had never run to fat. True, the dress was a little snug, but she strained against it in interesting places. Skinny might be in fashion, but she knew men preferred round, curvy women when the lights went out. She’d been making her living off her body long enough to be sure of it.
Her confidence built as she looked herself over and she fancied she resembled the pale, sulky-faced models who were the rage in London. She wasn’t wise enough to note that the new color job was unflattering or that the arrow-straight hair made the angles of her face boxy and harsh. She wanted to be in tune. She always had.
“He probably didn’t believe me. Didn’t want to. Men never want their children.” She shrugged. Her father had never wanted her—not until her breasts had begun to develop. “You remember that, Emma girl.” She cast a considering eye over Emma. “Men don’t want babies. They only want a woman for one thing, and you’ll find out what that is soon enough. When they’re done, they’re done, and you’re left with a big stomach and a broken heart.”
She picked up a cigarette and began to smoke it in quick, jerky puffs as she paced. She wished it was grass, sweet, calming grass, but she’d spent her drug money on Emma’s new dress. The sacrifices a mother made.
“Well, he may not want you, but after one look he won’t be able to deny you’re his.” Eyes narrowed against the smoke, she studied her daughter. There was another tug, almost maternal. The little tyke was certainly pretty as a picture when she was cleaned up. “You’re the goddamn image of him, Emma luv. The papers say he’s going to marry that Wilson slut—old money and fancy manners—but we’ll see, we’ll just see about that. He’ll come back to me. I always knew he’d come back.” She stubbed the cigarette in a chipped ashtray and left it smoldering. She needed a drink—just one taste of gin to calm her nerves. “You sit on the bed,” she ordered. “Sit right there and keep quiet. Mess with any of my stuff, and you’ll be sorry.”
She had two drinks before she heard the knock on the door. Her heart began to pound. Like most drunks, she felt more attractive, more in control, once she’d had the liquor. She smoothed down her hair, fixed what she thought was a sultry smile on her face, and opened the door.
He was beautiful. For a moment in the streaming summer sunlight, she saw only him, tall and slender, his wavy blond hair and full, serious mouth giving him the look of a poet or an apostle. As nearly as she was able, she loved.
“Brian. So nice of you to drop by.” Her smile faded immediately when she