Free Looks to Die For by Janice Kaplan Page B

midriff (though I still wouldn’t give in on the navel piercing). In this new Goth getup, Ashley didn’t have to worry about people nattering about Dan. They’d be too busy gossiping about her.
    A few blocks before the school, I flipped off the CD. “Anything you want to discuss?” I asked. “Anything we should go over before you get to school?”
    “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go over how you can be so fucking hypocritical.”
    “Pardon?”
    “You heard me.”
    Okay, I did. Fucking. Hypocritical. I couldn’t criticize every word she said, so I went for the more offensive part.
    “How am I hypocritical?”
    “Oh God.” She rapped her black fingernails against the side window. “I get sent off to school, but you haven’t left the house all week. I’m supposed to face my friends but you can’t face yours.”
    “Of course I can,” I said.
    “Yeah, right. You get dinner delivered every night so you don’t have to see anyone at the grocery store. You skipped your stupid book club last night because you couldn’t bear people asking you questions. Your best friend Molly’s left ten messages and you haven’t answered one. Now you complain about what I’m wearing, but look at you — sunglasses and a floppy hat and huge scarf to drive to school. Since when do you wear hats?”
    “I didn’t have time to wash my hair this morning. And I haven’t said a word about what you’re wearing,” I added, wanting some credit for my restraint.
    “Bullshit,” Ashley said.
    I pulled up near the front of the school, and Ashley jumped out of the car. “This whole family is full of bullshit.”
    She disappeared into a crowd of kids hanging out in front of the school and I pulled away slowly. Maybe Ashley was angry, but she was also right. The thought of going into the grocery store and encountering anyone who knew me made my stomach turn. How the heck did you march up to the deli counter and order a half pound of smoked turkey when the guy at the slicing machine knew about your husband, the murder suspect? Was I supposed to buy meat pies and start making jokes about Sweeney Todd ?
    I had to figure it out. I made a U-turn and steered the Lexus toward my favorite gourmet-food store in Pacific Palisades. I parked around back near a row of shops just as two women I knew bounced out of the exercise studio and disappeared into Bon Delice for a post-Pilates chai tea. I ground my teeth, knowing that the minute I followed, I’d be the morning’s entertainment. I could just picture the pitying looks, patronizing comments, and supercilious offers of help. Did you see poor Lacy? So brave of her to be buying arugula, with all she’s been through.
    Who needed Bon Delice anyway? I wasn’t on the prowl for crème fraîche and brioche today. For skim milk and Arnold’s 100 percent whole wheat bread, I could zip over to the anonymous supermarket chain three miles down the road. Save face and save money at the same time. Marching through the front door at Gelsons, I grabbed a shopping cart and began checking out the Gala apples and D’anjou pears. But it didn’t take long for two women across the aisle to start checking me out. I caught one of them pointing in my direction, and then they both began whispering. Embarrassed, I quickly moved away. Over by the artichokes, I got an open stare from a voluptuous woman in a green running bra, yellow python pants, and white stilettos (talk about a scandal), and when I went to pick out a fresh, runny Brie, I caught the clerk behind the cheese counter stealing furtive glances at me. I tried to glare at her, but my oversized Christian Dior sunglasses got in the way. Heart sinking, I finished my shopping as quickly as I could and rushed over to the express checkout, getting in line behind a woman in a Juicy Couture pink running suit. She turned slightly, and I realized it was my neighbor Jane Snowdon. Jimmy and her son Jared were in the same kindergarten class, and Jane had been in my Tuesday