She arrived at our apartment wearing a fitted black dress, gold earrings, and heels that made her look even taller.
“Get dressed,” she announced.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you can stop worrying about your bank balance.”
I laughed.
“That sounds suspicious.”
“Everything sounds suspicious to you. Put on something beautiful.”
I chose an elegant red dress that my mother had bought me for my birthday. I almost changed into something more modest, but Beatrice insisted that I looked wonderful.
When we arrived, I understood why she had made such a fuss.
The mansion was enormous. Luxury cars lined the driveway, music filled the gardens, and guests moved between the house and the swimming pool with drinks in their hands.
The women wore designer dresses and sparkling jewelry. The men wore tailored suits, expensive watches, and the kind of relaxed expressions that came from never having to worry about the cost of dinner.
