The One That Got Away Read Online Free Page B

details of an upcoming dance, Ahmed read some of the other messages on the board. He tapped me on the shoulder and ran his finger underneath the words Turkish massage. “What is this?”
    I pretended to knead invisible shoulders with my hands, though for all I knew hands and shoulders might not be involved, as the masseuse gave only a pager number.
    Ahmed nodded and smiled. “Coffee?” He pointed to me and then to himself.
    I sighed. Here I was in the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Community Center, surrounded by lesbians, and the only expression of interest had come from a man. Somehow, I knew Annalise would not approve. And I wondered what it might mean in terms of my new life as a lesbian.

Chapter 3
    By the end of October, we had managed to get Nancy to narrow her choices for a bridal gown down to eight, and we were all back at Orange Blossom Thyme so she could try them on again. Bridget had apparently decided to call in some heavy artillery, for she announced, “I asked Natalie to meet us here.”
    Nancy wavered between terror and reproach. “Oh, Bridget,” she whimpered.
    If there’d been any traffic in the shop when Natalie came through the door, she’d have drawn the attention of the drivers away from the car in front of them. From her honeyed head that had seemingly never had a bad hair minute to her thoroughbred ankles, Natalie exuded chic.
    We were a ragtag and bobtail group, greeting her. Bridget wore her usual jeans, oxford shirt, and boat mocs. The shop owner, Gloria Hewitt, looked like Cinderella before her godmother arrived, and my magenta silk blouse had creases at the elbow and waist. Only Eduardo began to approach Natalie’s elegance. He took one look at her suit and whispered, “Armani,” as though he were offering up a prayer.
    Natalie wasted little time on introductions before turning her attention to the gowns, arranged in a row like suspects in a police lineup. She gave each one the concentrated deliberation of a witness trying to identify the perpetrator. Eventually she pointed to Number Six and said, “Let me see that one on you.” Nancy scurried into the dressing room.
    Bridget and Natalie didn’t kiss or touch, but suddenly I couldn’t swallow or speak. I could, however, hear the little Topo Gigio in my head sweetly asking me why Bridget had never mentioned her girlfriend.
    Of course, I’d experienced selective omission before. Once, a man I’d been dating ate the entire dinner I’d prepared for him before he got around to mentioning that he was getting married to the former girlfriend he’d just returned from visiting.
    While all of us waited for Nancy to emerge from the dressing room, Natalie turned her attention to me. “That color looks good on you.”
    If I’d had any spunk I would have said, “I know. That’s why I’m wearing it,” but if the queen singles you out for a compliment, just say thank you.

    Nancy left, having acquiesced to Bridal Gown Number Six, and I had the satisfaction of crossing an item off our checklist. Bridget and Natalie were scarcely out the door when Eduardo proclaimed, “When God was handing out fabulous bone structure, that one snuck back in line for second and third helpings. ¡Qué divinura! She looks better without makeup than most of our clients after an hour and a half with a cosmetician.”
    â€œDon’t you think they make an odd couple, Eduardo?” I asked.
    â€œIn what way?”
    â€œWell, if they were dogs, Bridget would probably be a golden retriever. With a red bandana,” I said. “And Natalie would be a champion show dog—maybe a saluki.”
    â€œBut the saluki might be weary of the show circuit, secretly craving a bit of rough and tumble with a rambunctious retriever,” Eduardo purred. “And what a thrill for the retriever—humping a high-class, beautiful bitch. I bet those two have