Nope. I’d wear my Prada suit, the one I wore to my bank interviews. It wasn’t formal, but it would have to do. After all, I told myself, it was Prada. It had style. It had class. And—omigod!—it had a grease stain the size of New Jersey on the front of the jacket. Where the heck did that come from? And then I remembered. It must be from that damn burrito I ate after my lunch with Andrew and Sam.

I would’ve burst into tears, but I didn’t have time to cry. I’d wasted so much time ironing, it was already almost six o’clock! There was no way out of it. I was going to have to wear the cursed bridesmaid dress. I threw on an ancient strapless bra left over from my honeymoon, and my waist-nipper pantyhose.

Then I took a deep breath and put on the dress. Or tried to. The zipper simply refused to budge. Either the dress had shrunk in my closet, or I’d gained weight since the last fitting. Why the heck did Pam and I have to order both the flourless chocolate cake and the brownie à la mode at lunch? Couldn’t we have shared a single dessert like normal women do?

After much grunting and cursing, I managed to jam myself into it. I felt like a sausage about to burst from its casing.

How was I ever going to survive this torture? I’d just have to hope for the best. If I didn’t breathe or laugh or eat anything more than a celery stick, I might make it through the night.

I checked my watch. Acck! 6:05. I was supposed to be there five minutes ago! I lassoed my curls into a velvet scrunchy, hoping I could pass off the resulting mess as a sophisticated upswept hairdo. No time to put on my makeup; I’d have to do it in the car.

I grabbed my purse and was halfway out the door when I realized I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Damn. I raced back to my closet and put on a pair of Reeboks. What the heck. No one was going to see them under all those mountains of chiffon. The rest of me was in such pain; at least my feet would be comfortable.

Then I headed out into the night in my Cinderella ball gown. Too bad my Fairy Godmother was taking the night off.

Chapter 24

Traffic was a nightmare. Traffic is always a nightmare in L.A. Dinosaurs were probably backed up on the Santa Monica Freeway in the Mesozoic era. Which means I had plenty of time to put on my makeup. Heck, I had enough time to do the makeup for the cast of Phantom of the Opera.

Needless to say, my good mood was history.