Sally opened her window, to let in a cool winter draft. It was chillier than usual, to match her mood.
She needed a change. Desperately.
But what could she do?
And then it dawned on her. Seventeen—she was seventeen. She could
leave
school. Why not? It didn’t offer her anything. Mediocre SATs, and no money for a university. Community college—that was worthless.
Sally had no doubts. She wasn’t clever enough, or qualified enough, to go work for somebody else in some office.That way lay grunt wages and a dull life.The most she could hope for was an eventual slot in middle management, perhaps a tract home in Dallas. . . .
Hell
no. If anything was going to happen, she had to make it happen.
She felt like pacing her room, only there was no space. Sally smiled at the irony and checked herself out in the mirror. So what
did
she have? What had she got that other people couldn’t offer?
Well, beauty, of course. But Texas had lots of pretty girls. Still, there was something else. She was dressed in a sharp jacket, seamed stockings, and a pleated, swinging little skirt—about the only nice clothes at the discount store, but they fit her perfectly. Even after she’d driven to Dallas to sell all her designer outfits to an upmarket secondhand store, Sally realized with a thrill of pleasure, she’d still managed to look good. For all the “Barbie” taunts they threw at her, girls in the playground copied her style. . . .
Style. That’s what Sally Lassiter had. That’s what kept those photographers at bay. That’s what kept their heads above water, even now, when the bottom had fallen out of their world.
And if there was one thing Hartford needed, it was style. Style had kept her sane, kept her strong against the press and, later, the nasty kids at school. Style had helped her fight her mother’s descent into the pit, and if she could only slow it, at least Sally had done that. She made sure that, like it or not, Mona was washed and dressed every day. Once a week, even as her mother gazed blankly at the TV, Sally insisted on giving her a manicure.
She was fiercely determined they would be decent. And Sally Lassiter never left the house without her eyebrows styled, mascara, and a slick of lipstick—at the very least.
The kids were starting to accept her. One of her male tormentors had even asked her out the other week, this time for real. And when she’d laughingly turned him down, he hadn’t been able to shield the look of disappointment in his eyes.
What did style mean to her? Bravery and beauty. Glamour, as a weapon . . .
That thought made her wince. Just a little. A reminder of past history.When she, and Jane, and Helen, had come walking down those stairs . . .
Sally wondered if her friends ever tried to find her. Of course, she had intentionally disappeared. Put that down to style, too, if you like . . . the shame, the deep shame, that lurked around the edges of the brave face Sally put on things. She just could not bear for Jane to know how small her life was, or for Helen, kind, gentle Helen, to pity her....
And she hadn’t reached out for them. Survival, for herself and her mom, was her first priority. Of course, Sally had told herself that one day in the future, they’d be back. All of them rich. All of them on top . . . like it used to be . . . only better.
Why did I give that up? she wondered.Why did I stop thinking about it?
The fact was that small-town Texas life, with an alcoholic mom and a dwindling stack of cash, was hard. And Sal hadn’t had time for her own dreams. Or her memories. In fact, she had blocked out thoughts of Jane and Helen very deliberately.
Her friends were part of a happier time. And thinking about that hurt.
Damn. I can do better than this,
Sally thought, swallowing hard to push back the tears that were threatening.
Daddy would be proud of me for keeping it together, but survival ain’t enough. I’ve got to have more.
And style was Sally’s way out.
She had it. Hartford needed it.
Sally came to a decision. It was time for Sally Lassiter to get a job.
When Sally came downstairs the next morning, Mona was already lying in front of the TV, with the talk shows on.
“Momma? Did you wash your face?” Sally called brightly, fixing herself an orange juice.
“Yes. And I did my teeth,” Mona said, like a little girl.
“Shower?”
“I’ll do that later.”
“Okay.” Normally Sally would have argued, but today she didn’t have time. At least her mother had worked out that basic hygiene was the path of least resistance. Mona didn’t want to look after herself, but even less did she want Sally to poke around her in the bathroom. So these days, Mona was brushing her own teeth and taking care of the basics.
Sally checked; her mother was in her favorite large pair of elasticized jeans and big floppy shirt, with her house clogs on. That was fine; not the height of fashion, but at least she was dressed.
Sally ate a slice of dry toast—always watching her weight—and scurried back upstairs. This was going to take some time. First, Sally washed and blow-dried her hair—no cheating today, no ponytails—then she selected her outfit.
It had to look sexy, but demure. She knew just the thing. A dark blue pair of boot-cut jeans, spray-on tight, to show the dangerous curves rising above her slender legs. Next, a crisp white shirt, three-quarter-length sleeves, to emphasize her hand-span waist and rich, golden tan. A cute silver cuff, to show off her delicate hands and carefully manicured French nails. Next, towering high-heeled cowboy boots. PVC, because she couldn’t afford real leather.
Mmm. She smiled at her reflection.That looked fine.
Next, makeup. That was easy; she was going for healthy and young. Mascara, good and thick, on curled lashes that opened up her eyes. A sexy smudged black liner, to give her that bed-head style. A good rust-colored blush, half blusher, half bronzer—real “rose of Texas” stuff. Gold eyeshadow. Natural lip gloss, sheer with just a touch of pink, no liner. A spritz of perfume, and she was done.
Sally didn’t normally go to this much trouble but today she had pulled out all the stops. She pirouetted in the mirror, loving what she saw.Yeah. She looked like a model, or a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys; every boy would want to be with her, and every girl would want to be her.
Sally glanced at her usual school outfits, hanging neatly in the closet. She had no use for them anymore.
“ ’Bye, Mom,” she called, running down the stairs. “See you later.”
“Be good in school,” Mona called back.
Sally grinned. Well, yes. She would.
The gates of Hartford High were open—she was normally in here half an hour earlier, but that was as a pupil, on the bus.Today she had walked.
Lucy Drew, the hall monitor, was lounging about at the door. Her eyes widened.
“I have to give you a demerit for being late.Two—it’s half an hour. And what happened to your regular clothes?”
Lucy was a nice enough girl—average face, brown hair, average body. She’d been kind to Sally when she first appeared, sometimes eating lunch with her if one of her own friends was sick.
“I’m quitting.” There, that was a juicy piece of gossip. “You can feel free to tell the girls.”
“Quitting school? Why, can’t y’all afford the meals?”
Sally flinched; Lucy thought she and her mom were dirt poor. Well, the sorry truth was, with only sixteen thousand left in the bank, they were getting there.
“We’re doing fine,” she lied. “I’m just fed up with this place. Say, you know where Leo Fisk is next period?”
Lucy blushed; like every other girl in school, she was sweet on Leo. He played football, his daddy owned a chain of garages, and he drove a Porsche already. Plus, he had classic Texas good looks; clean shaven, strong jawed, slim and fit.
“Not sure,” Lucy lied, but then admitted,“but I think it might be math.”
“Cool.Thanks.”
Sally sauntered past her on her way to the principal’s office, head held high.
“But I don’t understand.” Mr. Rogers, the principal, looked dismayed. “You were doing very well in your studies, Sally.”
This was truly shocking news. Rogers liked and admired the young blonde girl, and his teachers thought of her as a ray of sunshine, determined and fierce. He personally knew folks who had lost their life savings in the Lassiter Oil collapse, and he had been almost determined to loathe the billionaire princess who had turned up out of nowhere once he realized who she was.
But it had soon become clear that there were no billions left. Whatever else the Lassiters were doing, they weren’t living high off the hog.The government had done a pretty good job wringing every last cent out of Paul Lassiter’s estate. And in Hartford, gossips soon discovered the mom had serious problems.
Sally had tussled with the press when they first found her, and then with the sneers and jibes in school. He never saw her flirt or sleep around, although clearly she wasn’t prudish—she was just too busy keeping her world together.
Prudish . . . definitely not. He was almost glad to be shocked by her news, because it was hard not to stare at the sensational young woman busting out of that shirt and jeans. Hell, she would tempt a statue. John Rogers kept his eyes determinedly above her collarbone.
“I was doing okay,” Sally corrected him. “So-so SATs.”
“You could make college.”
“I want more than a basic college education and a job as a bank clerk,” Sally replied, with a frankness that took him aback. “I have other talents. I want to go get a job, and then maybe start my own business. Doing what I’m good at.”
“And what’s that?”
Sally flashed a dazzling smile that made it somewhat hard to breathe.
“Glamour,” she said. “Style.”
He had no comeback. Undeniably, there, Sally Lassiter was a born expert.
“And where are you going to get a job?”
“At Fisk’s Beauty Parlor.”
Her principal blinked. Well, it made sense, if you considered that Elaine Fisk’s little store was the only beauty place in town. But he thought that Sally Lassiter got on badly with young Leo Fisk; she’d refused his advances, and he amused himself making sexual cracks about her, loudly, and laughing with his buddies, whenever she came into earshot.
“I wish you the best of luck, young lady.” Sally had made up her mind, and he got the sense there was no point in arguing. “And if it doesn’t work out, come back to me. There are plenty of jobs around the school. . . .”
But not, he thought, in his office. He’d been married for fifteen years, and he’d like to stay that way!
“Thanks. Same to you, Mr. Rogers.” She shook his hand, and was gone, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of jasmine.
“We-e-ell,” Leo said, giving a long, low whistle. His eyes flickered hungrily up and down Sally Lassiter’s knockout body. “Damn, baby.You look about as pretty as a peach like that.What’s up?”
Leo wasn’t too smart. A meat-and-potatoes guy, he’d hated being humiliated by the leggy blonde from California—she was supposed to be as grateful for his attentions as all the other chicks. And he’d made sure to punish her when she didn’t play ball. Rich girl on hard times? She should have been dying to lose her cherry to him.
But at least she’d come to him now. And how. Man. Sally could make just a pair of jeans like it should come with a tripleX certificate.
His buddies stood behind him, book bags over their shoulders, murmuring and ogling. Leo was pleased. The hottest chick in school had never looked hotter.There would be a special pleasure in laying her now they’d all seen what a grade-A piece of ass she was.
“Leo,” Sally said, straightening her back, “I’m fixin’ to leave school and get a job. And I’m hoping you’ll be a gentleman and won’t stand in my way.”
“Stand in your way? Why would I want to do that?”
“Wanna earn some money, baby, I can think of an easy way to go,” one of his jackass friends piped up. Leo turned and scowled at him.
“Shut it, Duane.”
“We haven’t always seen eye to eye.You know that.”
Her voice was soft as melted butter, and there was something strong and beautiful about how she carried herself. He started to think he had been dumb, that maybe she’d make a good date, as well as a good lay.
“I’d love to let bygones be bygones,” he said, his gaze traveling the entire length of her tall, delicious body. Imagine what that would be like in a see-through teddy from Victoria’s Secret....
He felt himself stirring, not good in a school corridor.
“That’s mighty good of you, Leo. Because I’d like to go work in Mrs. Fisk’s beauty parlor.”
He couldn’t stop a broad grin from spreading across his face. Perfect! The sassy little minx would be in Mom’s little shop every day, and she’d be real beholden to him. He could have her fired anytime he liked.
“You go right ahead,” he said.“I’ll put in a good word for you, too. How’s that?”
“That’d be real nice of you.”
“And maybe you’d consider stepping out with me Friday night.That new shoot-’em-up movie’s out. . . .”
“Why, that’s a very sweet offer,” Sally said, smiling at him.“But I never mix business with pleasure.”
He flushed with anger and opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but then thought better of it. As a matter of fact, he just couldn’t do it.The girl was too blindingly hot. Better to just put his time in. So she wanted to make him crawl . . . it’d be all the sweeter when she tumbled into his bed.
“I understand that,” he said slowly. “So I’ll call Mom for you. Maybe see you around.”
“Sure thing. And thank you again,” Sally said, and this time gave him a real smile, one that reached all the way to those clear blue eyes.
She knew the shop well, passed it every day. Fisk, the only beauty place in town. Really, it was drab and underused—mostly, Elaine Fisk just used it as a gossip shop. All her prosperous friends came in for manicures; Elaine employed two bored twenty-somethings to do manicures and blow-drys, with the occasional hair trim. It seemed to be well stocked but with old cosmetics, since nobody actually used the store.The ladies of Hartford preferred to drive over to Catfield, closer to Dallas and with a bunch of Korean-run manicure places.