Sour Grapes

is it? I told you not to call me anymore! Are you stupid or what?!”
    Atlanta continued to apply her blush, but her ears were practically standing out on stems.
    “Big deal!” Barbie continued. “Some cheap flowers. What did you do, pick them out of your mother’s backyard? Geez, you’re such a freakin’ loser. I hate you, you know that? I freakin’ hate you.”
    Atlanta glanced over at the flower arrangement that was obviously from a professional shop, and had set someone back a hundred dollars or more. Backyard flowers my eye, she thought. Some guy is treating her better than she deserves.
    Barbie clicked off the phone and began dabbing at the spilled foundation with a handful of tissues.
    Eagerly, Atlanta waited for the next scene of the Barbara Matthew’s soap opera to begin. It didn’t take long.
    Barbie tossed the soiled tissues in the general direction of the garbage can, then whirled around on her seat. “Aren’t you about done with your face there, Georgia?”
    “What’s it to you?” Atlanta replied. “I’m not escorting you to dinner, so why should you care when I’m ready?”
    “I need a little private time in my room, if that’s okay with you. Or even if it’s not.”
    Slowly, methodically, Atlanta began to replace her makeup items in her cosmetic bag. While she wouldn’t admit that she was deliberately irritating her roommate, the old metaphor, “As slow as molasses in January” did float through her mind.
    “Sorry,” Atlanta said, sounding completely remorse-free. “I’m not even dressed yet. I’ll do well to make it to dinner on time; I’m almost always late for everything. It’s part of my charm.”
    “What charm?” Barbie grumbled as she picked up the phone again and punched in some numbers.
    As Atlanta casually strolled around the room, collecting her lingerie, dress, and shoes from her assorted suitcases, she didn’t even bother to pretend that she wasn’t listening.
    Barbie’s party answered right away. ‘Yeah, it’s me,” she said. “What’s up?”
    Atlanta sat back down on the bed and began to carefully check her stockings for runs. She could see Barbie’s reflection in the mirror, and one look was enough to see that Ms. Matthews was unhappy with what she heard on the other end.
    “Well, did you... you know... have that little talk?” She paused, tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently. “Yeah, and so? That is not what I want to hear! That is so not what I want to hear!” She glanced at Atlanta in the mirror and lowered her voice a notch. “This... situation... is getting worse, not better. We know who’s going to be the sorriest in the end, and it ain’t gonna be me. Fix it, dammit! You caused it; you fix it!”
    She clicked off the phone and hurled it across the room onto her bed.
    Atlanta realized she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, so she snapped it shut. Barbie shot her a look that was so cold and full of hate it gave Atlanta the shivers. Where did she get off being so angry?
    “Plumbing problems at home,” she said. “Damned basement’s flooded.”
    Atlanta nodded. “Yeah, sure. Happens all the time. Ours floods every morning, at nine sharp, like clockwork.”
    Barbie mumbled a nonreply and returned to her toiletries.
    As appealing as the prospect was—of continuing to irritate the heck out of her roommate—Atlanta decided that she had enjoyed as much of Barbie’s scintillating company as she could stand. Besides, in spite of what she had said, Atlanta prided herself on usually being prompt, or at least, not scandalously late.
    So she quickly wriggled into the simple, white-linen dress she had brought for the occasion, slipped on sandal, strap-around-the-ankle pumps, single-stud, rhinestone earrings, and a delicate tennis bracelet.
    Barbie turned to give her a once-over. “Is that what you’re wearing, Georgia?”
    For half a second Atlanta felt a twinge of self-doubt. But just in time, the Reid Super Self-Confidence kicked in. She twisted slightly, until the side slit of her skirt showed a shapely expanse of thigh. “Yeah, eat your heart out, Miss Barbie.” She sauntered over to the door and jerked it open. “Later,” she said as stepped outside and slammed it closed behind her.
    “Ah... a breath of fresh air...,” she said as she strolled down the hallway toward the gallery, with a distinct Reid sashay to her walk.

Chapter

6

    T he moment Savannah stepped into Villa Rosa’s tasting room, she