Read Between the Lies

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

Genres: African American; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Step into the world of New York fashion and into the lives of three ambitious women, each of whom has a secret to hide.

Gabrielle Donovan is a stunning and feisty nineteen-year-old who comes to New York hoping to realize her dream of becoming a supermodel. Gabrielle quickly takes the fashion industry by storm, but just as her celebrity begins to soar, her past threatens to catch up with her.

Felicia Wilcot is a successful black woman from a privileged background whose hot public relations firm is responsible for Gabrielle's instant success. At home, however, Felicia is struggling to keep her troubled marriage intact, despite the temptation of an intense attraction to a downtown movie director.

Stephanie Bancroft always dreamed of being a rich and famous writer. In New York, while trying to realize her dream, she meets her nemesis--the beautiful Gabrielle Donovan. As a publicist at Felicia's firm, Stephanie helps prop up Gabrielle's image publicly while secretly trying to tear it down, vowing to let nothing stand in the way of the success she's determined to have.

With a good dose of Olivia Goldsmith and a splash of Bebe Moore Campbell, Read Between the Lies is the irresistible story of three captivating women who find themselves forced to risk everything in the name of love, power, greed, and survival.

Release date: August 21, 2013

Publisher: Doubleday

Print pages: 464

Sample

"Today I will find a job. Today I will find a job." Gabrielle repeated her mantra as she turned the corner of Fifty-fourth Street and walked up Sixth Avenue. It was early, and most of the shops along the street were still closed. Gabrielle's empty stomach directed her into Muffin Mania, where she gazed hungrily into a glass case filled with a mountain of bakery delights.

"What will it be?"

"A blueberry muffin and a small coffee."

"That'll be three fifty-seven."

Three dollars and fifty-seven cents for a muffin and coffee? Gabrielle wanted to tell her to forget it, but she was too embarrassed. She paid the cashier and sat down at one of the small tables by the window.

This was not turning out to be such a great day. After more than a week of successfully dodging the hotel staff, she'd almost been caught. Shortly after six this morning, while retrieving the OUT OF ORDER sign from outside the bathroom door, she saw the cleaning woman approaching and barely had time to grab her bag and hide in one of the toilet stalls. Once the woman gathered her cleaning paraphernalia from the storage closet and left, Gabrielle quickly dressed and slipped out of the bathroom. Hotel workers were busy setting up for morning meetings and men and women in business suits sat coffee-klatching in various corners of the floor. And now, because she hadn't been able to grab a roll from one of the catering tables, she'd been forced to spend nearly all of her daily food allowance on a bitter cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. Plus her back and neck were killing her. She had to find a job today. She could not continue sleeping on the bathroom sofa in the New York Hilton H
otel.

"Is the manager in?" Gabrielle asked.

"Louie, somebody's looking for you."

Gabrielle stood at the counter silently repeating her mantra--Today I will find a job, today I will find a job--until the manager stepped out from the back office.

"Who's looking for me?" he challenged.

"Hi, Louie. I'm Gabrielle Donovan," she said arming herself with a foolproof, buttery smile.

Every bone in Louie's body told him that this girl wanted something. They also insisted that he give it to her.

"I need a job."

"Who doesn't these days? You ever worked a cash register before?" he asked, surveying her body. Gabrielle had the distinct impression that he was judging much more than her ability to sell muffins.

Gabrielle simply shook her head no while biting her bottom lip in an irresistible and vintage show of "damsel in distress."

"Do you have any retail experience?" Louie asked, after nervously clearing his throat.

"No, I haven't. But I know, with someone like you teaching me the ropes, I'll learn very fast," she answered, slowly lowering her eyelashes before looking Louie straight in the eye.

"Well, you seem like an all-right enough kid. Okay, I'll give you a try behind the counter. You've got one week. If things work out, the job's yours."

"Thank you, Louie. Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a saint," Louie responded, blushing slightly. "You start Monday. Be here at seven-thirty sharp. Don't be late. And you need to fill this out," he said, handing her a job application.

"Now?"

"Yeah, now. You can't work till I get all your particulars--address, phone, age. You are eighteen, aren't you?"

"Nineteen. Can I take this and drop it back by this afternoon? I'm late for another appointment."

"Yeah, okay, but you don't work till I get your information."

"No problem, I'll see you later. Thanks again, Louie." She smiled as she took the application and headed out the door. Everywhere you go somebody's handing you a stupid piece of paper, Gabrielle thought as she walked back toward the hotel.


"Okay, looks like I have two possibilities here," she murmured to herself as she canvassed the crowded eatery. Gabrielle wanted to sit and get the paperwork for Louie done, but with the lunch hour in full swing, only two seats were available. One was located across from a young man whose entire face was punched full of holes and adorned with a variety of hoops, rings, and studs. Her only other option was to sit at the table situated in a cramped little corner by the kitchen. The heavyset woman sitting there looked perfectly normal; it was just that Gabrielle was carrying her luggage, and the path was narrow and winding.

Slowly she made her way to the back, her progress punctuated by the steady screech of chairs sliding across the floor to accommodate her baggage. "May I?" Gabrielle asked, pointing to the empty seat with her right hand, revealing a thumb splinted and bandaged with white gauze.

Beatrice Braidburn smiled, indicating her approval. She watched as Gabrielle settled into her chair before pulling a pen and form of some sort from her leather-look handbag. After several attempts to put pen to paper, it was obvious to Beatrice that the girl was having trouble maneuvering the pen with her left hand.

"It looks like you could use some help," Beatrice offered. "Would you like me to fill that out for you?"

"Would you mind? I slammed my thumb in the bathroom door. It really hurts."

"Not at all. In fact, I used to be a pretty good secretary in my day. I just retired a few years ago. I'm Beatrice Braidburn. My friends call me Bea."

"I'm Gabrielle Donovan."

"Is that two L's or one?" she asked, jotting down Gabrielle's name on the application.

"Two."

"Date of birth?"

"March eleventh, 1975."

"A Pisces. Happy belated birthday. My late sister, Helen, bless her soul, was a Pisces."

"My mom's name was Helen--well, really Helene."

"Where is your mother, dear?"

"She died recently," Gabrielle answered softly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Are you from New York?"

"No, I came here from Terre Haute, Indiana, after she died."

"What's your address, dear?" Bea asked, filling in the silence.

"I'm at the Hilton Hotel."

Beatrice gave Gabrielle a quick once-over. Judging from her neat but inexpensive attire and tattered bag, the New York Hilton Hotel seemed beyond her price range.

"Maybe we should list your room number," she suggested.

Gabrielle took a good look at the woman sitting across from her. She had a protective, grandmotherly presence about her. Maybe she should tell her the truth. Maybe Beatrice could help. Maybe Gabrielle had no other choice.

"I'm living in the bathroom on the third floor," she answered softly.

"We can't have that," Bea declared. For the next few minutes Gabrielle watched Beatrice complete the rest of the application without asking her a single question. "There you go," she said, smiling and very pleased with herself. "You have an address, phone number, and reference--mine. Now, gather your belongings. You're coming home with me."

"But you don't even know me."

"Sure I do. You're from Indiana, you're a Pisces, and you're alone. What more do I need to know?"

Nothing. But I can't keep this secret forever. If I move in with you, you're bound to find out. But what other option do I have? she asked herself as she reached for her bag.


"And this, my dear, is your room," Bea announced at the final stop of their tour.

Gabrielle stepped into the room and glanced around. It was sparsely furnished, with a twin bed covered in a yellow flowered spread and an old bureau taking up the majority of space. A table and stuffed chair sat in the corner. It was simple and small, but who cared? This morning she'd been living in a bathroom. This afternoon she had a home.

"I love it. Thank you. There's just one thing. I won't be able to pay you for a while, not until I start my job."

"Honey, don't you worry about that. This house is bought and paid for. When you can afford it, we'll talk. Now, you get settled in. I'm going downstairs to finish writing some letters. If you get hungry, help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen. Stephanie Bancroft, the girl that stays in the room next door, should be home soon. She's rather quirky, but she's okay."

It didn't take Gabrielle long to unpack. Besides her clothes, she'd brought few personal items. On top of the table she placed a picture of herself and Helene, taken on a merry-go-round when Gabrielle was four. Gabrielle placed a Raggedy Ann doll in the chair and threw her mom's favorite shawl across the back. She put the box containing the pieces to her favorite jigsaw puzzle--the New York skyline--in the bottom drawer of her dresser. The last thing she unwrapped was a cheap dime-store snow globe. She shook the globe and watched the plastic snow fall around the feet of the Wizard of Oz characters. She'd debated over bringing it. The memories it evoked were strong and painful. It reminded her of Tommy, and no matter how desperately she wanted to forget, he'd always be a part of her.

The rumbling in her stomach reminded Gabrielle that she hadn't eaten since this morning's muffin. She headed down to the kitchen for a late lunch. She hit pay dirt in the first cabinet she tried, pulling from it a small can of tuna. She opened the tin and spooned its contents into a bowl. Gabrielle looked into the refrigerator and located some mayonnaise and relish. Before she had a chance to mix the ingredients, the front door opened and a large cat darted into the kitchen, hopped up onto the counter, and began eating Gabrielle's lunch.

"I swear, that cat can smell an Amoré tuna dinner a block away," Stephanie informed her. "Who are you?"

"Gabrielle. I'm the new boarder," she explained weakly. Gabrielle felt like vomiting. She'd been making tuna salad out of cat food.

"Thanks for feeding Barclay. Usually I get stuck doing it," Stephanie said, curiously examining the condiments lined up on the counter. It looked as if the girl was making lunch. Nah, it couldn't be, Stephanie thought, dismissing the notion from her mind. She couldn't help staring at Gabrielle through skeptical eyes. The woman had a body like a centerfold and a face that could stop rush-hour traffic. And in all probability her eyes were truly blue. "By the way, his bowl is out by the back door."

"Ah, my cat . . . back home . . . ate tuna . . . the way we did," Gabrielle explained weakly.

Why aren't you here to help me? Gabrielle screamed in her head at her mother. You promised you'd always be here to take care of me. I almost ate cat food. There was no cat on the label, only words. How was I supposed to know? Why did you leave me?

"So, where did Beatrice find you?" Stephanie asked. "Hello. Gaby? Anybody home?"

"What?" She hadn't heard a word.

"I asked you where you met Beatrice."

"I--we-- I'm sorry," she cried as she ran out of the room.

"Oh, great," Stephanie said to the cat. "Beautiful and flaky."