The P.U.R.E. Read Online Free

already.
    “Working in politics wasn’t my style,” she said. “I needed something … a little less dramatic, a little slower, and I wanted to come home.” She smiled at Libby.
    The focal point of her smile angled away before moving down to her feet and returning her attention to me. “Gayle. You don’t have a drink, yet. Can I get you something from the bar?”
    “Thanks, Libby, but I’ll wait a bit.” I turned for one-on-one time with Marilyn just as the hostess for the evening’s command performance joined us. Leslie had come over right when I wanted to talk to Marilyn more about her work in DC.
    “Gwen, surely we can tempt you with some wine or a cocktail.” Leslie said. “If you’re a teetotaler, perhaps a Coke, juice or tea?” She wore a mantle of politeness, but I reminded myself she was still the same woman who had been rude to me because I was a nobody to her.
    “I’m good. If I start later, I last longer, otherwise I’m likely to fall asleep or embarrass myself since my alcohol tolerance is ridiculously low.” I chuckled and shrugged.
    She gave me a crisp smile that, like Marilyn’s, stopped short of her eyes. Without an ounce of sincerity, she asked Marilyn, “How’s everything going for you?”
    “Everything’s great.” Marilyn matched Leslie’s feigned politeness. “Her name is Gayle, by the way, not Gwen.” She took a sip of her drink but held Leslie’s gaze.
    “Your home is gorgeous,” I said to break the crust of ice that formed.
    “Thank you … Gayle . Would you like a mini tour?”
    “I’d love one.”
    Marilyn escaped to the bar, where Libby stood speaking with Bob.
    As Leslie turned to lead me through the living room, we nearly collided with Jon and Nicky.
    Jon directed an SOS glance my way.
    “Leslie’s giving me a tour. You guys want to join us?” I asked.
    “Absolutely,” Jon said far too eagerly for a straight guy.
    “Me too!” Nicky echoed.
    “House tour if anyone wants to tag along!” Leslie’s announcement went out to the whole room.
    Our group swelled with the addition of Kenneth and his wife, Darla, plus Scarlett, Jayna, and others. After a few introductions, we headed upstairs.
    The Turners had nine-year-old twin daughters, who had bedrooms fit for the princesses they no doubt were. One room was pink, the other lilac, and each boasted hand-painted murals on the walls. The girls were conveniently at a sleepover, but there were plenty of pictures of them to serve as proxy.
    A third girl’s room belonged to Bob’s sixteen-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. With its elegant knick-knacks and artwork and the notable absence of anything teen, it would have more aptly been described as a guest bedroom.
    Leslie next led us to the master suite.
    Only in my dreams could I have imagined a bedroom so large and a bathroom so grand. It could have been lifted from a Texas bordello with its deep red walls and gold accents. Everyone except Kenneth ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over it. He seemed more interested in peering into the odd nooks and crannies than in the room itself.
    Typical detail-oriented accountant, probably checking to make sure the walls are at precise right angles.
    “What do you think of this suite?” Jon whispered in my ear.
    “I’m wondering where the ceiling mirror is.” I hadn’t noticed him make his way over to me until he spoke. “Where’s Nicky?”
    “Checking out the bathroom. She’s never seen a bidet or a multi-station shower before. Please help me get away from her.” His forlorn expression would have won any woman’s heart.
    I chuckled and patted him on the arm. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll protect you.”
    Leslie shuffled the group into an adjoining home gym, where cardio and weight machines took one side with a wall of mirrors and ballet barre on the other.
    “Did you know Leslie was a prima ballerina?” I whispered to Jon.
    He coughed, covering a chuckle.
    Leslie spoke fondly of the room as we lingered. No