So Pretty It Hurts

the mood for?” she said. “Pool. Who wants to take me on?”

“I’d love a game, actually,” Tommy said. “But you’ll have to play fair and keep your clothes on.”

The two of them walked across a large wooden plankway to the other side of the barn’s upper level, where there was a billiard table and a small bar. Tory hesitated a moment and then followed after them, her strides as wide as an ostrich’s. At the same time, Sandy announced that dinner for Jessie and me was ready. I glanced back at the island and discovered that she had set out two dinner plates heaped with the ragout and separate plates with a simple salad. There was also a basket overflowing with corn muffins.

“You don’t mind eating here, do you?” Scott asked us. “We already spent two hours at the dining table, and I’m afraid if I sat down there again, I’d never get up.”

“Not at all,” Jessie said. “It looks wonderful.”

“Whitney has given it her full blessing,” Scott said.

“Do you like to cook?” Jessie asked.

“I’ve just finished a cookbook, actually,” she said. “Texas food—but not the whole Tex-Mex or barbeque- and-chicken-fried-steak sort of thing. I’m focusing on the kind of elegant Texas food you’re served in the best homes there.”

“Oh, describe a few dishes to me, will you?” Christian demanded. “At First Models we’re never allowed to talk about food during the day.”

“Why not?” I asked, my fork poised.

“There are always models dropping by the agency, and they can’t bear it if you mention food,” he said, slowly sweeping his fingers back and forth along the collar of his shirt. “They’re always hungry. They’d eat the blotter on the desk if you turned your back.”

“I can’t imagine how they resist indulging,” Jessie said. “I’m too weak to say no to anything yummy.”

“They use all these crazy ways to deal with it,” Christian said. He glanced over toward the pool table, obviously making sure Devon was out of hearing range. “There’s this girl we signed lately, and every day she buys one of those little bags of Wise potato chips, empties all the chips in the garbage, and then all day long she just sniffs the inside of the empty bag for a rush. You know how coke addicts have powder on their noses? She has potato-chip crumbs.”

“Well, at least, as we learned tonight, some models appreciate good wine,” Richard added sarcastically.

“But models weren’t always as thin as they are today, were they?” Jessie asked.

“Good God, no,” Christian said. “Just look at shots from the seventies. Christie Brinkley? I kid you not—at the height of her career, she was the size of a water buffalo.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Why the pressure to be so thin these days?”

“Runway,” he declared definitively, as if we would know exactly what he meant.

“I’m not following,” Jessie said.

“Years ago, the supermodels never did fashion shows,” Cap interjected. “There were two totally different types of models then: runway and photographic. The runway girls had to fit into the sample sizes and were supposed to be nothing more than hangers for the clothes. The photographic girls didn’t have to be that small. When they put on a size four for a photo shoot and it didn’t fit, you just slit it up the back and no one was any wiser. But then runway work started to really pay well, and the agencies pushed the photo girls to do it. Suddenly they needed to fit perfectly into the sample sizes, which by the way are even smaller today than they were ten years ago.”

“So come on, Whitney,” Christian said. “Tell us about your favorite dishes.”

As she began to elaborate on a few of the so-called standouts in her upcoming cookbook, I enjoyed the pork ragout and only half listened to the descriptions of things like oyster souffle and brownies with praline topping. I soon became aware that Richard had angled his body so that he’d boxed me out from the rest of the group and had me more or less to himself.

“So I finally get to meet Bailey Weggins,” he said as the others chatted behind us. “Famous true crime writer.” His eyes, I noticed, were heavily hooded but a nice, deep shade of blue. Whatever benefit they offered his face was unfortunately undercut by his rough, ruddy skin. He was the kind of guy you pegged for fifty but found out later was only thirty-six.

“I’m flattered you know of me,” I said, genuinely.

“And not only as a writer. You figured out who killed the lovely Mona.” He was referring to Mona Hodges, the she-devil editor in chief of Buzz who had been murdered this past summer.

“Am I to surmise that you knew Mona personally?”

“Just one encounter. After she went to Buzz and did the whole scorched-earth thing with the staff, she invited me to lunch at Michael’s—said she wanted me to write for the magazine. I’ve churned out my fair share of celebrity profiles, but as I told her, I don’t do gossip, and I certainly have no interest in issues like, ‘Is It a Bump—or Just Belly Fat?’ kinds of stories.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I’m sure it’s sooo much more intellectually invigorating to profile celebrities for magazines like Vanity Fair and coax out their views on how to bring an end to world hunger or global warming.”

“Touche,” he said, tossing his head back in laughter. “I sounded like a pompous ass just then. What I was actually going to add is that I think what you’re doing with the crime stuff is interesting. What led you to it?”

“I was a newspaper reporter for a few years, covering the police beat, and then moved to Manhattan to work in magazines. I never had any particular interest in celebrity crime, but this part-time gig at Buzz came up and I loved the idea of a regular income. You’re totally freelance, right?”

“Yes, though I did my stint on Fleet Street in my twenties.”

“I’ve read your books and thought they were terrific,” I said. “Especially the one on Hollywood agents.”

“Thank you. So how do you know Scott?”

“I don’t, actually. I’m just a tag-along with Jessie this weekend. You?”

“I’ve known him a little over the years. Then I bumped into him lately and he lured me up here to meet Devon. He’s angling for a Vanity Fair piece when her album hits.”

“You’re hogging Bailey, for God’s sake, Richard,” Scott called over to us, perhaps having overheard his name.

“She demanded I explain the thesis of my last book,” he said. “I had to oblige.”

Sandy cleared our plates and set down a wooden tray with coffee cups and a large cake iced thickly with white frosting. At the same time, the other three guests drifted back to our area.

“You have to have a slice of Sandy’s red velvet cake,” Scott announced to the group. “It’s to die for.”

Sandy pulled a large knife from a drawer and slid it silently into the cake. The four layers inside, separated by the creamy frosting, were as red as garnets. After lifting each piece onto a plate, Sandy passed them around the island. Everyone accepted a slice except Tory and Devon. Tory’s sad, sullen “No, thank you” seemed to emanate from the lips of someone whose kitty had just been crushed by a car. Devon just shook her head as if she couldn’t have cared less.

“You really wouldn’t like a piece, Miss Barr?” Sandy asked her. “You didn’t eat any dinner.”

Devon’s face formed into an expression of pure disdain. “If I wanted one, I’d say so.”

“Thank you, Sandy,” Scott said. “I can finish up here.”

I didn’t blame Scott for dismissing her. There had been something challenging about her comment to Devon. If Sandy was embarrassed about being banished, she didn’t show it. She set the knife in the sink, wiped her hands on a dishrag, and quietly made her way down the stairs.

It took a moment or two to recover from the awkward lull, but then conversation started up again with Whitney describing the origins of red velvet cake. Cap and Devon went off to shoot pool, with Tommy and Tory watching. Christian and Richard—who’d refilled his wine glass twice since I’d been there—dragged out a backgammon board. Scott, Jessie, Whitney, and I continued to hang by the island, where we lobbed questions at our host about how he’d found the property and managed to haul two different barns here. I excused myself at one point to use the powder room on the ground floor, and when I emerged a couple of minutes later, Jessie was