Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

I would, but I’ve got plenty better stuff at home.”

Grace wanted to leave as badly as anybody else. But. “You really think we should just leave her like this? I mean, what if she has like, respiratory failure or something? Or chokes on her vomit or something? You read about that with celebrities.”

“You want to take her home with you, be my guest,” Ashleigh said, heading for the door. “But I bet she won’t be happy when she wakes up and figures out you people went through her purse and dragged her out of her office, unconscious.”

Camryn hurriedly stuffed the pill bottle and the billfold back in the pocketbook. “She’s got a point, you guys,” she said. “Right now, I do not need to piss Paula off and get the judge pissed off at me.” She placed the purse back in the desk drawer and quietly closed it.

“I say we leave her like she is and just go. And I don’t know about you guys, but I could definitely use a drink. Who’s in?”

“A drink sounds fabulous,” Ashleigh said, nodding vigorously. “Grace? Wyatt?” At the last minute, she included the quietest member of the group. “Suzanne?”

“I wouldn’t mind a drink,” Grace admitted. “But let’s at least put her on the sofa in the reception area, make her comfortable. If she stays like this much longer, she’s going to have a hell of a headache when she finally wakes up.”

Without saying a word, Wyatt leaned down, scooped Paula into his arms, and carried her to the outer office. He set her carefully down on the sofa cushions, placing a pillow beneath her head. She snored loudly.

Ashleigh followed him out to the reception area, watching Wyatt with an appreciative eye. “Good work,” she purred. She sat down on the edge of the sofa and unceremoniously lifted one of Paula’s eyelids. The therapist did not stir.

“Out like a trout,” Ashleigh proclaimed. “Wyatt? What about that drink?”

“I don’t know,” he said uneasily. “My day starts pretty early. And I’ve got my son tonight.”

“It’s just barely eight,” Camryn said, coming up behind him. She turned to Grace. “What about you?”

Grace did not intend to spend any more time with these people than necessary. Still, a long night stretched before her. And she was getting sick of her own company.

“Tell you what,” she said, wondering if she’d lost her mind. “We can go to my mom’s bar. The Sandbox? Do you know it? Over in Cortez?”

“Cortez?” Ashleigh wrinkled her pretty little nose. “Isn’t that kind of a dive bar?”

“Exactly,” Grace said.

“Perfect,” Camryn said. “I love a dive bar. Let’s roll.” She turned to Suzanne. “Are you coming?”

“Well…” she said, her brow furrowed. “I told my daughter, Darby, I wouldn’t be late.”

“You won’t be,” Camryn said. “One drink. Think of it as group therapy.”

“I guess one wouldn’t hurt,” Suzanne said finally. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to Cortez. Is it very far?”

“Ten minutes,” Camryn said. “I did a story over there a couple months ago. You can follow me. I’m in the white BMW sedan.”

“What do we do about locking up?” Grace asked, glancing around the room.

“Nothing,” Ashleigh declared. “What self-respecting thief would want any of this crap? Look, Paula will probably wake up in a couple hours and either sleep it off here or take herself on home. Either way, it’s her problem, not ours.”

15

It was a slow night at the Sandbox. Rochelle was seated on her stool behind the bar, halfheartedly watching Dancing with the Stars, when Grace walked in, followed by three women she’d never seen before.

Grace gestured toward a table in a darkened corner of the bar, and they all slid into the booth and gave her their drink orders.

“Margarita for me,” Ashleigh said. “On the rocks. No salt.”

“Vodka tonic, double lime,” Camryn said. “I don’t suppose you have Grey Goose?”

“Nope,” Grace said calmly.

“Stoli?”

“Nope. We’ve got any kind of vodka you want, as long as you want Smirnoff.” It was one of Butch’s favorite lame jokes, and Grace was surprised to hear herself using it.

“Suzanne?” Grace was also surprised that Suzanne Beamon had actually come along. She was seated at the far edge of the booth, anxiously checking out her surroundings, as though she’d never been in a bar before.

“Oh. Uh, just club soda, if you don’t mind.”

“Club soda?” Ashleigh gave Suzanne a playful tap on the shoulder. “Come on, Suzanne, chill out a little.”

Suzanne’s nose turned pink. “I have to drive home tonight, and I live over in Bradenton. I don’t dare risk giving my ex any more ammunition with which to torture me.”

“Good point,” Grace agreed. “Be right back.”

Rochelle raised an eyebrow as Grace approached where she was seated.

“My divorce recovery group. Paula passed out again, halfway through the session, so we decided to come over here for a drink.”

“Interesting,” Rochelle said, looking over her daughter’s head at the group arrayed around the table. “Didn’t you tell me there’s a guy in your group? Where’s he?”

“At home with his little boy,” Grace said. “Just us girls tonight.”

*   *   *

The drinks came. Ashleigh took a long sip of her margarita. “So … who’s going to go first?”

“First with what?” Grace asked.

“You know. The dish. What really happened with all of y’all’s marriages. How everybody ended up in ‘divorce recovery’ with all of us outlaws.”

“It’s not that interesting,” Suzanne said, her voice low. “We were betrayed. End of story.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Camryn said quickly. “Grace, for example, has a fascinating story.”

“You should know,” Grace put in. “Anyway, everybody already knows what I did and how I ended up as one of Paula’s people. Everybody in Florida knows, thanks to you, ‘girlfriend.’”

“Not me,” Suzanne said. When the others voiced their disbelief, she added. “I don’t watch much television. Anyway … I guess I’ve been caught up in my own drama.”

“Come on, tell it,” Ashleigh urged Grace. “We want to hear your side of the story.”

*   *   *

Grace gave a condensed version of the swimming pool story. “Afterwards, when I was driving over here, thinking about it, I