Stilettos

By Krystal Vincent

Against the glamorous background of the big city, five beautiful women struggle to find love, acceptance, and success. As the five prepare for a wedding, they take inventory of their own lives. Has pleasure been enough? Is glamour really all they need to be happy? And is that happiness worth it—at any cost?

No matter how hard they try to deny it, beneath the glitz is an inescapable tarnish. As the five friends flirt, seduce, and entice with gossipy, scandalous verve, Stilettos explores the risks a woman must take to find herself, real love, and her place in elite society.

Samantha is a savvy businesswoman married to her first love for over ten years. Can she find that spark again? Langston is drop-dead-gorgeous, with the kind of feminine wiles made only in Italy. Will her obsession with cocaine cost her everything? Ashley, who lost it all in a brutal divorce, is desperate to make ends meet. Does she dare to hope for love again? Starr is convinced that love and sex are overrated. Could a sex-fueled adventure really solve all her problems? Maxi, who struggles with a body dismorphic disorder, can’t admit that she won’t have her pick of men forever. Is she really willing to abandon true love to gain access to medical benefits?

Stilettos is a story about freedom, having dreams, and making choices—if only those choices were always the best ones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475963359

Krystal Vincent

Krystal Vincent has been seen in Sex in the City, Saturday Night Live, and the movies Love Struck and Two Weeks Notice. A native of Pennsylvania, where she spent most of her life, Krystal now lives in Simpsonville, South Carolina. She has one grown son. Stilettos is her first novel.

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Copyright © 2010, 2013 by Krystal Vincent.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6337-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6336-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6335-9 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922655

iUniverse rev. date: 03/13/2013

Contents

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Acknowledgments

Dedicated to my son, Chris for his support, enthusiasm, and love.

Also dedicated to my darling niece, Madison.

A special thanks to my sister Joy, who endured countless hypothetical conversations about my characters and for the support of my mother, Elaine Vincent, who was always a big reader. And my loving father, who cheered me on and made this book possible. At the completion of my book my father passed on. I miss him very much.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations,

and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, is entirely coincidental.

A big thanks to all those who offered no assistance but who promised to buy a copy.

One

Cars were slowly making their way down the expressway like a small cortege. Down the street, a strong gust of wind ripped an umbrella out of the hands of a business man, turning it inside out. It scuttled across the pavement, coming to rest on the hood of a shiny blue Lincoln that had just parked at the entrance to a five-star restaurant.

An endless stream of cars jammed up in front of Maxi on the expressway. She felt it was so passé to be stuck in traffic on the way to the Waterport, a night-club which filled up with anyone who was someone.

Maxi was infamous for leaning out of her car window causing neck pain beyond imagining, screaming foul words at passers-bys to get where she is going. The physical pain she inflicted on herself was a perverse way of controlling the emotional pain the world had inflicted on her. Getting nicotine coursing through her veins as quickly as possible was of utmost urgency.

Maxi’s cell phone rang unexpectedly, to the tune of Sex and the City. She did not think, Gee, I wonder who that could be. She thought, crap, go away.

The girls had stopped asking for Friday night plans at the end of the nineties, her grandmother struggled through one night a week without picking up the phone to call, finally accepting after all these years that she wouldn’t hear from Maxi until Saturday morning no matter how many times she hit redial, which is precisely why it was so incredible that her cell phone had just rung-incredible and panic-inducing.

She tried to breathe slowly, but her exhales were short and raspy, punctuated by little guppy gasps. She examined her pale complexion in the rearview mirror and a thin sheen of perspiration dampened her forehead.

In an ineffective attempt to dispel the panic, Maxi raised and lowered her eyebrows repeatedly and stretched her neck from side to side, neither which did a damn thing. It felt like her lungs could reach only five percent capacity, and just as she considered who would find her body-and when-she heard another ring of her cell phone. Fumbling in her bag for a few moments, she pulled the phone to her ear. The words came out in a frantic jumble as Maxi popped Nicorette squares into her mouth directly from the foil wrapper. She forgot about her imminent death by disease or homicide and turned the phone on speaker to hear Langston sobbing so hard her tiny body had to be trembling. Maxi ran through the possibilities of what could cause such pain. Is it your mother? Did something happen between you and your mother? Did something happen to your son? Langston continued to sob. Talk to me, Langston, is everything ok with your boyfriend? This elicited a wall so plaintive it hurt Langston to hear it.

I’m afraid I’m going to find my boyfriend dead one of these days, Langston cried, her voice catching in her throat. It’s over for good.

Langston had made this pronouncement no fewer than twelve times in the four years she and her boyfriend had been dating, but something about tonight seemed different.

It’s the drugs, Langston muttered.

What? Maxi replied with surprise.

I’m sorry, let me rephrase: I believe it is drugs.

What on earth are you talking about?

I decided to come home early last night and found him in a different form.

I think I can see where this is going, said Maxi.

He is just a junky, Langston laughed mirthlessly.

It sometimes surprised people to hear Langston trash-talk with such ferocity-she was, after all, only five-two and looked no older than a teenager-but Maxi barely even noticed anymore.

It is so much worse than that, said Langston.

That sounds bad enough, sweetie. All out love and support were the best she could offer, but Langston didn’t appear comforted.

You probably wonder how it could get worse, right. Well let me tell you how. He didn’t just take the powder-I could maybe deal with that, no, not my boyfriend. He fell in love with the stuff, Langston sniffled. Oh, God, I forgot… . it’s Friday. I don’t want to interrupt. I’ll be fine…

Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t even doing anything, Maxi lied.

How could someone possibly be that beautiful but so naïve? Maxi wondered for the hundred thousandth time. What higher power orchestrated such a perfect union of genes? Who decided that one single solitary soul deserved skin like that? It was so fundamentally unfair.

Langston sighed and for the first time since she called, seemed cried out.

Maxi threw her hands up in exasperation. Come on. Langston, tell me what else is wrong with him. It’ll make you feel better. Tell me what is wrong with him. Drug addiction? Violent drunk? Gambling addiction?

There was something I always thought was a little peculiar… Langston said.

Maxi listened intently for the explanation. This just got a lot more interesting, Maxi thought.

Blurt it out, Langston, Maxi said, You’ll feel better.

She coughed and cleared her throat. He, uh… . We didn’t really talk about it, but he, uh, sometimes wears my pantyhose to work.

Maxi yearned to laugh but she resisted. Instead she popped another piece of Nicorette in her mouth.

The disclosure was enough to silence both girls who considered themselves professional talkers. They talked their way through doctor appointments, out of traffic tickets, and into fully reserved restaurants, but for a second-neither could produce a remotely logical or rational response to this information.

Maxi recovered first. Pantyhose is a vile word, she said.

Langston responded, I just told you my boyfriend likes wearing my pantyhose, and your biggest issue is with the word?

Maxi replied, I know, trust me, I heard you. Do you find it repulsive?

Langston paused for a moment, Yeah, I guess I do. But that is not really the take away here, The fact that he put on a suit every day and went to the office and he was wearing pantyhose. Doesn’t that freak you out more than the word pantyhose? Maxi replied, That was so insensitive of me.

Langston replied wickedly smiling, He sure did seem to love my thongs too. You are fine now, Maxi said, snapping shut her cell phone and shoving it into the cell phone pocket of her bag. She lit her cigarette without thinking and held the wheel with her left hand continuing her drive down the expressway to her destination.

Maxi had just taken a few puffs when her phone rang. She answered her phone reluctantly and said in a whisper, Samantha.

Hey, what’s up? she demanded. Samantha had a slight New York accent, little more than soft, sexy lilting when she was calm which made Maxi feel almost unintelligible when she felt passionate about someone which was pretty much always.

I’m driving through traffic to the Club. You do remember it is Friday night, Maxi stated.

Right, right, Samantha replied. Samantha paused and continued her conversation. I’m having a small gathering of people at my house and I’d like you to be one of my guests.

Sure, Maxi replied, Do I know any of these invited guests? You may or may not know these girls but it will give you a chance to meet and greet, Samantha replied.

Well, what are their names, may I ask? questioned Maxi.

Of course, I don’t mind telling you, replied Samantha, a savvy business woman in her forties. Starr is a friend of mine for a few years. We met while shopping at an upscale consignment shop. She is a very independent woman, witty and fun loving. She usually wears her navy blazer-the only article of haute couture she owns-it makes her look like a linebacker, she paused.

Yes, yes, answered Maxi. What about the other women, she asked anxiously.

Well, Samantha continued, Langston of course will be coming and do you know Ashley?

Well, Samantha said, You will love her for her dry sense of humor and she has a childlike magic about her. Unfortunately she had her finances vaporized by divorce and like Starr becomes desperate to make ends meet.

How could she let that happen? questioned Maxi with little interest.

I don’t know, Samantha replied uncaringly. I do know her favorite color is lavender and her favorite book is Trading Up and she adores chocolate chip cookies and fireplaces. Oh, and she needs at least eight hours of sleep or she becomes cranky. What else do you want to know?

Maxi roared in laughter and Samantha chimed in as the conversation ended.

The party sounds like it will be fun and thank you for inviting me and I’ll see you at your party. You can call me with the date and the time of your party. I’m driving to the club now.

I’d love that, replied Samantha.

Maxi snapped her cell phone closed and placed it in the bag along side of her. She was dressed in her black Prada dress with a plunging neckline and cap sleeves, carrying her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag and wearing four inch heel Jimmy Choos. The problem was, no matter how successful you thought you were, there was always someone who was richer, more successful, more famous or more beautiful… . the idea of it was enough to make you give up. But glancing down at her designer clothes and her newly purchased vehicle equipped with leather seats and a navigator, reminded her at this point in her life there was every reason to press on. This is Maxi. No one has claimed more victims than fashion. Is investment dressing really worth the investment? Maxi is about to find out.

Parking was never an issue for Maxi. She pulled into any available space whether there were parking lines or not.

As Maxi approached the Metro Club, she was careful as not to bemoan her Jimmy Choos in the rain puddles, however, she took every opportunity to see her reflection which never failed to satisfy her. She was one for whom the superficial comfortably masks an inner void, and yet if anyone had called her shallow she would have been insulted. She felt she had great reserves of untapped talents and under her someday, perfect exterior, lied a genius who would someday make a difference. There was, sadly enough to say, no evidence to support this hope and she believed herself equal to anyone. Was it her naivety that gave her every reason to believe that had she met Billy Graham, he would immediately embrace her as a kindred spirit? Or was it a plea of insanity? She is mesmerized by the glamorous world of six-figure cars, hunky tennis instructors and media moguls. A world in which a girl can never be rich enough, well dressed enough, or high enough in the social pecking order. She is one of those women who are great at getting men but lousy at keeping them. When it came to basic human emotion she was not so sophisticated. Refusing to give into lower expectations, she sets out to find power, money and her pecking order in society.

The Club is located in the metro area and has a design with a New York Bistro in mind. Contemporary murals cover the walls in subtle colors. The lights hung from elongated black wires and black and silver speckled granite cover the bar counters. The waiters were young and gay and wore tuxedo shirts with the bow tie. Once inside the club, Maxi worked her way around, hoping just to catch a glimpse of the renowned Dr. Solon who was known for his expertise in town, which by the way, is plastic surgery. The word was out on the town he is a greedy man. Everyone knew Dr. Solon or knew someone he had cheated. Maxi had staked him when he first frequented the club, which is a Bar and Grille on the Westside of town, where if anyone wanted to be seen that was the place to be. She envied his wife, who was adorned in fabulous jewelry that shone throughout the club. He had everything she dreamed of and never had. Maxi always had a plan. She had plan A and she had plan B. And then she had plans in case Plan A or Plan B failed. Her plan was to barter with the plastic surgeon and bartering was something Maxi knew she did best. As so many women believe, Maxi believed beauty is power. She consoled herself with the fact that she was sure the doctor had instantly fallen in love with her during her initial consultation. Her friend Remington was sitting in the far end of the club with a few acquaintances surrounding him, he had offered to help Maxi in any way to aid in her success of her career. The fact was, Maxi could never hold a job long enough to climb the corporate ladder. How do I mingle where everyone knows everyone? she thought. This is something Maxi had to evaluate and approach in a careful manner.

As usual, the club consisted exclusively of women. Maxi had expertly scanned the bar upon entering and, after determining herself the most fit and attractive woman in attendance, made her way to seating near Remington. She felt proud that in this club of beautiful women-all in their twenties or early thirties, all but one at or under their ideal body weight and all well-groomed-she was the most beautiful. This realization no longer surprised or delighted her the way it had when she was younger. Remington Carter was her soulmate and a friend of a friend indeed. Yes, you all guessed,