Bill’s wife, Susan Oglethorpe, materializes out of nowhere. She’s in her mid-sixties, blond, impeccable, and Botoxed to within an inch of her life. She’s wearing a camel cashmere coat over a green cocktail dress, along with a strand of pearls and the same diamond studs she has worn at every event I’ve ever seen her at.
“Cassandra, darling.” She takes me by both shoulders and kisses the air on either side of my face.
“Susan, hi. You look gorgeous.”
“Oh, please.” She pulls back and gives me an up-and-down. “Look at you. Look at this coat. It is so brave of you to wear that color.”
“Red! In January!” She pats my arm. “Most girls wouldn’t dare. But you’ve always had your own way of doing things, haven’t you?”
Forcing the smile back to my lips, I say, “You’re so sweet.”
“I mean it,” she i
