we?” Everyone chuckles. “She’s spent the last several years living in the city, but she’s back home now. So let’s everybody give her a warm welcome, okay?”
“Hi, Mallory,” answers all the other thirty-some women in one breath—which isn’t creepy at all.
I wave a little nervously, then step back to hang with Angela as Christee starts chattering to the group about all the great Stella & Dot merchandise her “oldest and dearest friend Valerie” brought to share with us.
A huge “ooh” goes up from the crowd as Valerie opens her trunks. Then Christee announces that everyone gets to pick one piece to take home for free with a one-hundred-dollar purchase and, just like that, there is a high-heeled stampede to the center of the room, with Angela leading the charge. While a few toes get stepped on and more than a few elbows get thrown, it only takes about two minutes before women are settled, shoulder to shoulder, around all four of the different trunks.
I, on the other hand, ease backward a little, until I can find a place to drop my unwanted glass of wine. If I’m lucky, the riot over the jewelry will last awhile, and I can just hang here on my own and observe.
Besides, it’s a lot of fun to watch the blonde in the tiger-stripe sequins go at it against the brunette in the red sequins over a heavy gold chain necklace with a multi-stoned pendant. I’m putting my money on the brunette. She’s shorter but definitely scrappy, and—
“Looks like I’m not the only one afraid to dip my toes in the Stella and Dot pool,” says an amused voice from directly behind me. I turn to see a much younger woman with her hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail practically the same shade of brown as mine and, shockingly, there is nary a sequin to be found on any item of her clothing. In fact, she seems a little shy for this group.
“It’s a pretty intense group,” I say, and we both laugh. “My great-aunt Maggie would have loved these women, though Angela seemed to think she was taking a chance inviting me, since she said the jewelry wasn’t exactly Aunt Maggie’s style.” I thought the comment was odd at the time, but admittedly, nearly everything about Aunt Maggie was a little odd.
“Definitely an intense group. Then again, Christee is intense about everything. She always has been.” It’s said without an ounce of malice.
Considering Christee is currently involved in a tug-of-war with one of her guests over a silver necklace loaded with rhinestones, I’m not about to disagree.
“How do you know her?” I ask.
“We used to work together at the salon. She managed the place, and I do hair.”
“Oh, you’re a stylist!” I say. “I’ve just moved back to Jersey to live in my aunt’s house, and I’m definitely in need of a good salon. Plus, I’m thinking about doing something new with my hair. If you’re taking on first-time clients, that is.”
She smiles, and then a woman squeals in triumph so we both look over at the scrum. The woman raises a pair of dangly earrings above her head like a trophy, and we both chuckle. “Breakup or baby?”
I glance back at her. “I’m sorry?”
She gives me a slow up-and-down, her head slightly tilted. “Your hair looks great. It’s healthy and shiny and the style is super flattering on you. So why change it unless—”
“Breakup or baby,” I repeat, nodding slowly as realization dawns. “I get it.”
She lifts a brow. “So which is it?”
“Breakup.” I reach for my discarded wineglass and take a sip, then instantly regret it. “Divorcing my husband, actually.”
“Fuck him,” she says with surprising vehemence. “You seem like a great person, and if he let you go, then I say fuck him. He’s not worth it.”
“Oh, well…” I search for something polite to say but end up just grinning instead. “Yeah, pretty much.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a card. “I’m not taking a lot of new clients right now because I’m super booked up. But I like you, so give me a call, and we’ll work something out.”
Her card is sleek and black, with silver writing on it. “Sarah Bianchi?” I read aloud.
She raises one brow. “And you are…?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I’m Mallory Martin Bach. Well, soon to be just Mallory Martin.”
“Mallory Martin.” For a second, a look of shock flits across Sarah’s face, but then it disappears as quickly as it came. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s