Got Your Number

months ago, but the words had seemed forced and boring. With the exception of her engagement, her life was much the same as it had been ten years ago. Same people, same parties, same gossip. In comparison, the details she'd gleaned from Uncle Walt about Roxann's life were beyond exciting—her exotic cousin was living on the fringe of the law as some sort of top-secret bodyguard. Uncle Walt had been evasive and a little bewildered, but button-busting proud. Angora would have given her second-favorite pair of diamond stud earrings if she thought she could make her parents proud.
    Not that she actually expected Roxann to come to the wedding—she couldn't be sure, but to an outlaw, country club events were probably a bit passé . Besides, Uncle Walt said Roxann had to keep moving around, so she might not even have received the invitation. She cringed when she realized if the invitation was returned, Dee would know she'd sent it.
    "Darling, why are you frowning?"
    She rearranged her face and bugged her eyes at the lens.
    "Got it!" the photographer said.
    Oh, well, she would consider it payback for Dee insisting that she invite Darma Walker Lowe, Trenton's former girlfriend. Her mother practically fell to her knees any time one of the Walkers entered a room—their real estate empire and influence were far-reaching. Trenton and Darma had dated years ago, but she'd left him for a man higher up the food chain, a plastic surgeon. They'd been ill-suited anyway, Trenton had assured her. She believed him, because no two people could be more suited than she and Trenton. They liked the same restaurants, listened to the same music, drove the same model of BMW. They understood each other.
    "Okay, just the bride and her parents."
    The bridesmaids squeezed her hand and wished her luck. She squeezed back and kept an eye on her train to make sure it wasn't trampled. The twelve feet of crystal beads and iridescent sequins had doubled the cost of the white silk dress, but she was marrying a doctor, after all.
    "You look beautiful, sweetie," her father said, touching her tiara—the most stunning of her crowns, Miss Northwestern Baton Rouge, 1987. She only got the chance to wear it two, three times a year at the most, so her wedding was the perfect occasion to remove it from her crown case.
    "Stand up straight, dear," Dee said. "And hold in your stomach."
    Angora tilted her head to accommodate her mother's hat, an enormous fuchsia creation designed by a famous gay clothier in New Orleans. Her mother didn't mind exploiting the talents of gays, she just didn't want them in attendance at the wedding. Of course, she didn't know about Mr. Fenton and Mr. Johnston, the "widowers."
    Her engagement ring glittered from this morning's ultrasonic cleaning. One-and-a-half-carat solitaire diamond, emerald cut, platinum setting. Dee stressed that Angora let Trenton know from the start that she expected a quality lifestyle. In fact, one of Dee's shower gifts to the couple had been a subscription to the DuPont Registry, which listed only the most expensive estates in the country.
    "Not for your first home, of course," her mother had told Trenton, "but certainly the next."
    "On three, everyone."
    Angora thrust back her shoulders and sucked in her stomach to the point of pain. She'd existed on carrots and popcorn for six weeks to get into this gown, but it'd been worth it. As a bonus, the carotene had put a nice ginger cast on her skin.
    "The bride keeps closing her eyes," the photographer whined.
    Dee poked her in the ribs, causing her to exhale abruptly. "For heaven's sake, Angora, keep your eyes open. How lazy can you be?"
    "The girl is probably tired, Dixie," her father said, which elicited a glare from her mother. She hated to be called "Dixie."
    "On three," the photographer yelled.
    "Watch the laugh lines," Dee murmured in her ear.
    She inhaled, arched her back, diluted her smile, and bugged her eyes.
    "Got it!"
    "Looks like rain," her father said, nodding to the charcoal-colored clouds rolling in from the west.
    "Shush, Jackson, it simply can't rain today."
    "If you say so, dear." He winked at Angora.
    She grinned back, laugh lines or no. Her father was a saint to put up with her mother.
    "Now just the bride and the father."
    Her dad stepped in and put his arm around her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, honey, for turning out to be such a good person."
    She wasn't such a good person, but she was relieved her father thought so. Relieved and a little