always, with her perfectly dyed jet-black hair and bright red lipstick. Unfortunately, Bernice was watching June with concern.
“Why, you’ve been crying,” she barked.
“Bernice,” June scolded. “You certainly do not have to announce it.”
It was a pointless statement, as Bernice announced everything. She’d always been the loudest talker in the room. Everyone said the best way to get a good dish of Chicago gossip was to stand within twenty yards of Bernice.
“I don’t need to announce it.” Bernice tucked a strand of her perfect pageboy behind one ear and examined June. “Anyone can see that, behind that black netting, your eyes are bright red.”
“I’m sure my eyes look just fine.” As though to prove the point, June pulled her compact out of her purse and flipped it open. The rims of her eyes were lined in pink, and the tiny bags under her eyes were shining. “Well.” June snapped her compact shut. “Perhaps my eyes are not red from crying. Perhaps they are red because I’ve been smoking marijuana.”
Bernice’s brown eyes lit up. “Really? That might be a nice way to pass the time.”
“Hello, darlings. How are we this evening?” Rose Weston swooped over in a crunch of taffeta, passing air kisses like an infectious disease. Rose had worn taffeta in some form or another ever since June had known her. Today, the selection was an emerald green shirt with a ruffle along the bustline.
“Why, June.” Rose’s catlike eyes gazed at her in surprise. “Have you been smoking marijuana?”
June was starting to get annoyed. “No. But apparently, Bernice would like to.”
“Bernice, you should,” Rose cried. “Perhaps it would help you to loosen up.”
“Loosen up?” Bernice glared. “The last time I looked in the mirror, I was perfectly capable of moving my forehead and blinking my eyes. You’re the one who needs to loosen up.”
Rose was a victim of Botox, so much so that it was sometimes difficult to read her expression. June liked to joke that Rose should quit mahjong and take up poker instead. She’d be quite good.
“Honey . . .” Rose patted Bernice on the shoulder. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. And judging by those crow’s-feet, you really should.”
“I will be getting some aperitifs.” Bernice stood up from the table and stalked away. Her full hips swayed with every step.
The tension between Rose and Bernice had started fifty years ago, when they had gone head-to-head for a man. Rose tried every dirty trick in the book, even going so far as to tell him that Bernice was carrying another man’s child. It was a particularly low blow at the time and typically very effective. In the end, Rose had lost interest in the man and Bernice married him. But the battle between the two had never stopped.
Rose took a seat at their table. “Darling, do tell me before Bernice gets back. Why on earth have you been crying?”
Even though June knew better than to confide in her taffeta-clad friend, crying often took a toll on good judgment. “I’ve been having trouble with my neighbor,” June blurted out.
“Oh, dear,” Rose said, delighted. Tapping the tips of her manicure, her nails made a sound that could easily be mistaken for a torture technique. “What sort of trouble and how can I help?”
June considered. Turning rabbits loose in Charley’s garden was one thing. Adding Rose to the equation would be like injecting them with rabies.
“Don’t worry about me.” June sat up straight. “I have the situation with him under control.”
“Aha.” Rose gave a slow smile. “This mysterious neighbor is a he.” At the pronoun, at least three women glanced their way. “Now . . .” She fluffed her dyed red hair. “This wouldn’t happen to be the delicious man who was sitting outside during our Garden Club, was it?”
June forced her expression to remain blank. “Hmm. I don’t quite remember.”
“Don’t remember what?” Bernice returned to the table with a plate full of spongy macaroons. She pulled out her chair, deliberately whacking it against Rose’s leg. “Sorry,” she sang, moving to sit.
Rose was quick. Her designer pumps shot out and shifted that seat like something out of musical chairs. Bernice had to grab the table to keep from tumbling to the ground.
June chuckled. Watching their war play out never ceased to be entertaining. However, there were days that she suspected the two women wished they could get past it all and just be friends.
“Rose is speaking of my horrid neighbor. And he certainly is not handsome—”