Faces of Fear

eyebrow lifted archly. “Trust me — my first wife taught me that you can’t have too many dresses.”

Alison was still torn, balancing the expense of the dress against the vision she had of herself wearing it. And she could see that Conrad truly did want her to have it. “Okay,” she finally said, clutching the gown to her. “I’ll be right back.”

She went into the dressing room between her bedroom and bathroom, closed the door behind her, and quickly shucked her shorts and tank top. She no longer needed a bra, thanks to Conrad’s gift of two weeks ago, so she slipped the dress over her head, letting it drop into place.

It fit perfectly.

A glance in the mirror told her the dress demanded upswept hair, so she rummaged in the bathroom for a clip and pulled her hair up into a semblance of a French twist. Then she slipped her feet into the pair of black high heels she was planning to dance in tomorrow and opened the door. “Ta da,” she said, opening her arms and slowly twirling. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s more than perfect,” Conrad said, standing up. “It’s like that dress was created for you.”

Alison grinned happily at him. “Why don’t I think Valentino’s ever even heard of me?”

“Well, if he hasn’t, he will,” Conrad declared. “How about I take a picture of you for the album at the office? We don’t have an ‘after’ shot of you, and in that dress you’ll sell my services to everyone who sees you.”

Alison hesitated. “What about my hair? And shouldn’t I be wearing makeup?”

“Not needed,” Conrad declared. “Better to see you exactly the way you are.”

“Can’t I at least comb my hair?” she asked.

“Okay, comb your hair while I get my camera,” he said. “But no makeup. I don’t want anything distracting from your figure.”

He left her room, and Alison returned to the dressing room, brushed her hair out, then swept it back up into a real twist, this time pinning it carefully in place. By the time she was finished and back in her bedroom, Conrad had returned, with a large digital single-lens-reflex camera.

“By the window,” he said, motioning her over to a spot where sunlight was flooding into the room.

She moved close to the window and leaned against the wall as Conrad focused the camera and started taking one picture after another. Like Margot, she thought. This is just how Margot must have felt.

As the shutter kept clicking, Alison wondered if Margot Dunn had felt anywhere near as uncomfortable in front of Conrad’s camera as she did right now.

In fact, the whole thing felt kind of creepy — posing for her stepfather in her own bedroom. But what could she say? Conrad had been so generous to her, done so much for her.

Besides, it would be over in a couple more minutes. What harm could there be in humoring him?

If he wanted to take her picture, who was she to say no?

24

ALISON BRUSHED A FINAL TOUCH OF GLOSS ONTO HER LIPS, THEN stood back, took a careful look at herself in the full-length mirror, and decided that Conrad’s procedure had been worth it.

And that’s all it had been, actually — just a simple procedure she recovered from so quickly that whatever discomfort she’d felt was already nothing more than a dim memory. Nothing like surgery at all. Surgery would have hurt a lot more, and would have taken a much longer time to heal. So why had she been such a baby about it? Especially now that she was seeing the results.

The difference the procedure had made was more than simply an augmentation of her breasts. It seemed as if her whole figure had changed from that of an adolescent into one of a young woman. All her curves seemed to have been accentuated by the procedure, and with her hair swept up, some of Danielle DeLorian’s incredibly expensive makeup lightly applied, and the spectacular Mandalay dress, she looked more like a sophisticated eighteen-year-old than the barely sixteen she actually was. Even more important, she looked like the kind of girl who could play hostess to the kind of party her mother and Conrad had arranged, rather than the pizza-and- games-or-a-movie birthday parties she’d had as long as she could remember. If this was how she looked with just the one procedure—

Her mother’s voice on the intercom shattered her reverie. “Alison, your guests are arriving.”

“Be right down,” she answered, then put away her cosmetics, and took one last look around her suite to make certain everything was neat and ready for inspection — every one of her friends from Santa Monica was going to want to see it.

She opened her bedroom door and started down the stairs, seeing her mother and stepfather waiting for her in the foyer as she came around the turn at the staircase’s landing.

“Alison,” Risa whispered, her eyes widening as she gazed up at her daughter. “You look beautiful — just beautiful.”

As she came to the bottom of the stairs, twinkling lights in the garden caught Alison’s eye. “But not as pretty as the garden,” she said, smiling happily.

“Nobody’s going to look at the garden once they take a look at you,” Conrad said. “You look spectacular.”

Alison felt the color rising in her cheeks. “Thank you, Conrad,” she murmured. “Thanks for all of this.”

“Happy sweet sixteen,” Conrad said, and raised the wineglass he was holding.

Before Alison could respond, the doorbell rang, and Ruffles came tumbling down the stairs, barking as loud as he could.

“And that’s our cue to vanish,” Risa said, bending down to scoop Ruffles up before he could launch himself at whoever was at the door. “We’ll be in the media room if you need us.”

“Have fun,” Conrad told her with a wink, then followed his wife down the hall.

Alison opened the front door to find Cindy Kearns, along with Lisa Hess, Anton Hoyer, and Tommy Kline, holding brightly wrapped presents while they watched one of the parking valets Conrad had hired move Tommy’s ten-year-old Honda to a nearly invisible spot next to the garage.

“Wow!” Lisa said. “Look at you!”

Alison grinned happily and hugged Lisa and Anton, but when she turned to Cindy, the girl who had always been her best friend stiffened, and Alison knew why.

Cindy Kearns still didn’t approve of what she’d had done to herself.

A little of her happiness drained away, and the lights in the garden didn’t seem quite as bright as they had a moment ago.

“Where did you get that dress?” Lisa asked.

Alison hesitated a moment too long. “Neiman’s,” she finally admitted.

“Neiman’s,” Cindy echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alison felt her face burning now as she remembered the fun she and Cindy used to make of the girls their age who bought whatever they wanted in the store. Wait’ll they have to spend their own money, Cindy had said only a few months ago. Then we’ll see how much of this stuff they buy. And now Cindy thought she had become one of those people.

But she wasn’t, was she? This was different — this was a special occasion. Her birthday party! Couldn’t Cindy understand that?

Doing her best not to let Cindy spoil her happiness, Alison ushered the group into the house. “Jesus,” Anton Hoyer breathed as he looked around the foyer, then through to the living room and the garden beyond. “What a place.”

“I want a tour!” Lisa Hess said. “Show us your room.”

Another car door slammed outside.

“In a while,” Alison said, “after everybody’s here. Come on out back.”

She led them through the house to the French doors opening onto the terrace. Spread below them were the swimming pool, which had been covered over with a dance floor, and the perfectly manicured gardens. Tommy Kline uttered a low whistle. “This isn’t like any party I’ve ever been to,” he said. “It looks more like a wedding, only not