Burn: A Novel Read online

  “You look great, as always,” she said to Syd. “But leaving me to handle a wine-tasting on my own just isn’t right.”

  “I’d rather talk about your hair than my tardiness,” Syd replied, smiling. “I still say blond is the most flattering for you, it makes you look so alive and bright. Though the auburn was striking,” she added hastily. “And the black was very elegant. What is your natural color, anyway?”

  “Dishwater blond,” Jenner retorted. Though she hadn’t seen it in years, she recalled the exact, unexciting shade. A psychiatrist could probably have a field day on why she changed hair color so often, but it was her hair, and if she wanted to change it she could, so who cared what an analyst might think? She’d loved having black hair, loved the edgy, kick-butt feeling it gave her. The red hair had been surprisingly sexy, and she’d liked that, too. When she got bored with this pale blond, she’d probably go back to the red for a while.

  There was a signal for everyone to take their seats at the elegantly decorated banquet tables, each seating eight. By Jenner’s count, there were fifty tables, which meant four hundred people were in attendance. An orchestra, seated in the balcony, began softly playing, providing a pleasing background without being so loud they intruded on the conversation below.

  As Jenner took her seat, holding the slim skirt of her long black gown so she wouldn’t catch her heel in it and pitch face-forward into the table, she remembered her first charity dinner, almost seven years ago. She’d done her best to mingle beforehand, to introduce herself to people, but she’d felt enormously out of place and uncomfortable. No one had spat on her, but neither had she been made to feel welcome.

  At dinner, she’d found herself sitting at a table with seven strangers and a daunting array of silverware and glasses, which had all but paralyzed her with uncertainty. She’d thought, “Holy shit, five forks!” What was she supposed to do with five forks? Use a fresh one for each bite? Defend herself from the others at the table?

  Then the pretty young woman across the table had caught her eye, given her a friendly, conspiratorial smile, and very discreetly lifted the fork on the outside of the setting. There hadn’t been anything derisive in her attitude, just an honest offer of aid, which Jenner had gratefully accepted. She’d gotten through the dinner, realized that the order of utensil use was very simple, and in the course of that dinner also realized that the young woman across the table was genuinely sweet and friendly. Afterward, they had gravitated toward each other so they could really talk, and by the end of the event each had found a friend.

  Strange how much she’d changed since then, Jenner thought, and yet one thing hadn’t changed: She still didn’t truly fit in here. She’d left Chicago behind, and in truth no longer felt like the girl she’d once been, the one who had been so bitterly hurt by family and friends alike, but her sense of not belonging was as strong as ever. Here she was, thirty years old. She’d lived in Palm Beach for six years. In those six years, she’d attended a hundred or more of these charity events, gone to cocktail parties, pool parties, whatever—and to the others of this social set she was, and would always be, the working-class meat packer who’d gotten lucky and won the lottery. She would never be one of them, no matter how casually friendly they were to her. If not for Syd she probably would’ve moved on, looked for somewhere else to live, but instead she’d made a home here.

  She’d filled those seven years by staying busy. Al had warned her, years ago, that most people who win the lottery end up broke within five years. Jenner had been determined not to be one of those people. With Al to help with the investments, a good accountant, a couple of attorneys—and, oddly enough, a head for handling investments herself—Jenner was richer than she’d been the day she claimed her winnings … over twice as rich. Even with the recent stock market tumble she was financially sound, thanks to her diverse portfolio. The market might be drastically down, but her own losses were less than twenty percent. These days she even managed a portion of her investments herself, through an online account—though Al, who was now a senior partner at Payne Echols, took care of the rest.

  Managing that much money took a lot of time, much more than she’d imagined way back when she’d first picked Payne Echols out of the yellow pages. Add in the charities she supported, the ever-changing list of classes she took—in art, in gourmet cooking (French and Italian), in cake decorating, judo, skeet shooting, ballroom dancing, pottery, computers, snorkeling, even parasailing—and her days were full enough. Occasionally aimless, but full.

  She’d tried gardening and knitting as well, but she hadn’t enjoyed either of those. Though Jenner often felt as if she still didn’t know who she was or what she wanted to do, she definitely knew that she was not Suzy Homemaker. She was good in the kitchen, but she’d rather be surfing the Web. And except for the occasional lunch she’d prepared for Syd, who was she going to cook for? If she was the only one there, she’d rather pick up something from the deli down the street and save herself the trouble.

  She had a luxury condo with all the security bells and whistles, and someone to clean it. She had great clothes. She had a great car, a beautiful little BMW convertible. She dated occasionally, but not very often. If a man wasn’t in her financial league, then how could she ever truly know whether he liked her for herself or if he was just interested in her money? Her experiences with Michelle, Dylan, and her dad had definitely left emotional scars.

  She knew she was unduly critical of the people she socialized with, knew that most of her uncertainty stemmed from herself, but protecting herself by holding most people at a distance was a damn sight easier than dealing with the hurt and repairing the damage if her suspicions were proved correct.

  They were actually pretty nice people, she thought, looking around the table. They gave millions and millions to worthwhile charities every year, and it wasn’t because of tax deductions, either. Jenner had made the horrifying—to her—discovery that, at her financial level, almost nothing was deductible. She didn’t even get a personal deduction. So these people gave because they wanted to do good, to make a difference, and not because it in any way benefited them financially. That they combined social events with their giving wasn’t a horrible thing to do. Why not get together with friends before writing those huge checks?

  She liked most of them, but she wasn’t close to any of them, except for Syd. Syd also suffered from Jenner’s dilemma when it came to men; she, too, wondered if someone wanted to go out with her because of her father’s money rather than being interested in her. And regardless of how sweet Syd was, how genuinely friendly and nice, how could Jenner say she was wrong in feeling the way she did when Jenner suffered from the same doubt?

  After dinner, the auction part of the evening began. She and Syd went into the adjoining room and walked among the tables where the donated items were on display. Nothing there called to her, though she supposed she’d do her part and bid on at least a couple, whether she wanted them or not. There were small white envelopes and thick, rich paper for the attendees to use to place their silent bids. After a quick perusal of the items, Sydney bid on a facial and massage at her favorite spa—for much more than she would have paid by simply booking the services—and Jenner bid on a pair of unexciting pearl earrings. If she got them, she would donate them to a center for abused women. She passed a lot of stuff on to the center. Sometimes, even a piece of jewelry could do a lot for the self-esteem of a woman who had been beaten down to the ground.

  After the auction was over—neither of them won, but they both wrote checks anyway—there was dancing, which was as far removed from the dancing Jenner had learned at Bird’s as caviar was from tuna. As they watched the elegant couples sway and twirl, Syd asked, “Are you excited about the cruise?”

  Jenner racked her brain, but drew a blank. “What cruise?”

  “What cruise?” Syd echoed, staring at Jenner was if she were insane. “The charity cruise. Didn’t you read about it in yesterday’s paper? You are going, are