Before Hanna could suggest another day, Bette called for Vince to come over and help her with a heavy donation. As Vince wandered off, Hanna’s mind scrambled for answers. Had she done something wrong? Said something wrong? She heard a little snorting laugh emerge from the shadows. She whipped around, sure it had to be Dinah, but Dinah was nowhere to be seen.
“Ahem.” Hanna looked up and saw Yolanda, the Pilates instructor, gazing at her from the next table. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you guys talking,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t take it personally. Vince is always busy on Wednesday nights.”
Hanna blinked at her. “Where does he go?” Unsavory options came to mind. A Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting. Getting together with a bunch of guys to play EverQuest. On a date with his mail-order girlfriend, a fifty-year-old cougar with silicone boobs.
Yolanda set down the present she was wrapping and walked closer. “He carols with his church every Wednesday evening. They go door-to-door in Hollis, singing religious songs and, like, being biblical and whatever. It’s not really the kind of thing he likes talking about to girls.”
“Oh,” Hanna said quietly. Caroling with his church didn’t sound that bad.
“He’s just looking for a good Catholic girl to settle down with.” Yolanda cast a motherly glance in Vince’s direction. He was chatting with Bette and pointing to his bottle of AminoSpa.
Hanna nodded, her spirits lifting. She could be the good Catholic girl Vince was looking for—well, the good Jewish girl, but what was the difference? It was time to warm up her voice: On Wednesday, she was going caroling. And for once, Dinah wouldn’t be there to ruin the mood.
Chapter 11
I Saw Someone Kissing Santa Claus
On Wednesday afternoon after school, Hanna strutted through Devon Crest’s double doors, walked right past Otter and the evil Lauren, and marched into the upper level of Saks. If caroling tonight was her one chance to make it or break it with Vince, she needed to find the perfect outfit to win him over. Something wholesome but pretty, like a nipped-at-the-waist Diane von Furstenberg wool coat. Or maybe one of those jackets with fur on the hood and at the cuffs. Something that said holy, not slutty.
“O little town of Bethlehem,” Hanna sang quietly along with the Muzak over the speakers. Last night, she’d dug out Isabel’s most religious Christmas CDs and learned the words, including all of the verses to “Joy to the World,” the Latin version of “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and “O Christmas Tree”—what was the deal with Christmas carols starting with O?—in German. She’d also memorized the Hail Mary and the act of contrition Catholic prayers for good measure, but had stopped herself before ordering a rosary from Amazon. At one point last night, Isabel had paused in front of Hanna’s room, raising her eyebrows at the music emanating from Hanna’s stereo. “Well!” she’d said, pressing a hand to her chest. “It’s so nice that you’re getting into the spirit, Hanna!”
A fresh blast of Chanel No. 5 wafted into her nostrils as Hanna walked into the department store. A saleswoman at the MAC counter greeted her, and after giving her a perfunctory wave and then doing a once-over of the new eye shadow shades, Hanna drifted toward the clothes department. Mannequins dressed in pencil skirts and cashmere sweaters were positioned beside tables of folded tees in the softest cotton imaginable. The air smelled like Gucci Envy, and when Hanna glanced at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but notice that her butt looked smaller and her arms were definitely less puffy. The morning and evening trips to the fitness retreat were doing magic. Even Vince had commented on how great she looked this morning—then again, he’d also said that to Inez, who had linebacker shoulders, and Richard, whose stomach jiggled over the waistband of his shorts.
Her gaze clapped on an emerald-green Elizabeth and James wrap dress hanging on a rack. She breathed in, already picturing herself in it—it would make the perfect caroling outfit. The only one left on the rack was a size four, but she was sure she could fit into it. She moved toward it, but a figure stepped in front of her, grabbing it first.
“Hey!” Hanna cried. “I was going to take that!”
“Sorry,” a familiar voice said. Then the figure turned. “Hanna?”
“Dinah,” Hanna growled, taking in the dark-haired girl in the ugly fifties-style white wool coat, poodle skirt, and quilted mock-Chanel bag. It was like Dinah was her new A.
Hanna’s gaze fell to the dress in Dinah’s hands. “That isn’t your size,” she said, unable to hide the disdain in her voice. “It isn’t really your style either.”
Dinah clutched the dress to her chest. “How do you know what my style is? And I’m smaller than I look, Hanna. Not all of us have a flat ass and no boobs.”
Not all of us have a flabby waist, either, Hanna wanted to snipe. She gestured to the dress. “Where were you planning to wear it?”
A sly smile washed over Dinah’s face. “Somewhere,” she said cryptically, and instantly Hanna’s heart began to pound. Had she made a date with Vince? Were they doing another volunteer activity together?
“How do you know about Elizabeth and James, anyway?” Hanna demanded.
An exasperated snort emanated from Dinah’s nostrils. “My aunt works at Bazaar in New York. I went to the Elizabeth and James runway show at Fashion Week last year.”
“You did?” Hanna bleated before she could stop herself. She was dying to go to a 7th on Sixth show, even for one of the smaller designers—hell, even for one of the winners of Project Runway. And it must be amazing to have an aunt who worked for Bazaar.