“Dear, I’m on your side, but honestly,” his words were cottony and slurred, “I think the dress is fucking cute.”

“I’m not wearing the dress, Edward,” I retorted, yanking at the stuck zipper. “Aggh!”

I heard the sound of the front door closing. Brett was home. Good. He’d handle this.

“Honey?” I called out. “Can you join us please?”

Edward got up ungracefully and put a hand on my shoulder for balance. He bent into my ear. “You’re being difficult sweetums.”

Nicole entered. She wore dark glasses and her lips had that swollen, post-therapy look they got when she’d been crying.

“Oh hi,” I said, disappointed. “I thought you were Brett.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” She started back down the hall.

“No, no, wait!” I pulled her back into the room. “What do you think of this dress? Be honest.”

She took a few steps back, pushed her glasses up for an instant, then lowered them.

“Dreadful.”

I spun to face the group. “See?”

“Allez!” Jean-Marc announced.

“We are packing up!” Evette commanded, leading the group out the door.

“Fine,” I shot back. I was done being friendly. I’d had enough of Jean-Marc and his snotty attitude.

“Nice job, Jackie,” Edward spat. “Do you know how hard it was to get you that shoot?”

“Fuck off, Edward,” I yelled as he headed out the door.

Nicole turned to me. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Not a thing,” I said sarcastically, “except I blew the shoot and I’m fat and no one will ever hire me again.” I opened my arms. “Look.” The dress had split all the way down the side.

“Oh, Jax.”

“What? You’re not going to start in on me, are you?”

Nicole grabbed my hand and pulled me outside.

“What? What are you doing?”

In the driveway, Jean-Marc and his crew had finished loading and were getting into their van.

“Hey, arrêtez! Wait!” Nicole called out. “Attendez s’il vous plait!”

Jean-Marc leaned out the passenger window and regarded us coldly. “Oui?”

Nicole took a deep breath. “Jackie a dit…a dit qu’elle est très très…sorry…um…désolée pour tout qui a passé.”

“When the hell did you learn French?” I whispered.

“High school, duh,” she whispered back.

Jean-Marc pursed his lips. “Non je ne sais pas…”

“What is he saying? I’m not wearing that dress!” I hissed to Nicole.

“Cool your jets and smile.” Nicole turned back to Jean-Marc. “Ce n’était pas sa faute c’était la faute d’ Edward.”

That part I understood. “Oui!” I nodded. “It’s Edward’s fault!”

Jean-Marc blew air out through pursed lips. “Elle est une prima donna.”

Nicole leaned closer. “Oui c’est vrai.” They both looked at me shaking their heads.

“Mais elle aime votre art beaucoup et elle vous respecte.”

“Nicole?” I asked. “What did you say?”

“I said you are a huge fan of his work.”