The Smart One and the Pretty One

by Claire LaZebnik

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

In this "witty and stylish" novel, two sisters take on modern relationships -- and find a suitor in a jokingly arranged marriage (Holly Peterson, bestselling author of The Manny). When Ava Nickerson was a child, her mother jokingly betrothed her to a friend's son, and the contract the parents made has stayed safely buried for years. Now that still-single Ava is closing in on thirty, no one even remembers she was once "engaged" to the Markowitz boy. But when their mother is diagnosed with cancer, Ava's prodigal little sister Lauren comes home to Los Angeles where she stumbles across the decades-old document. Frustrated and embarrassed by Ava's constant lectures about financial responsibility (all because she's in a little debt. Okay, a lot of debt), Lauren decides to do some sisterly interfering of her own and tracks down her sister's childhood fiance. When she finds him, the highly inappropriate, twice-divorced, but incredibly charming Russell Markowitz is all too happy to re-enter the Nickerson sisters' lives, and always-accountable Ava is forced to consider just how binding a contract really is . . .

Release date: September 10, 2008

Publisher: 5 Spot

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter 1

Your sister is on the phone,” Jeremy said as Ava approached his desk and snagged a Hershey’s Kiss out of his candy dish. Jeremy was a perfectly good assistant in other ways, but his endless supply of chocolates made him an indispensable one, in Ava’s opinion.

Ava looked at her watch. “She wants to talk now?”

“Should I tell her you’ll call back?” he asked. Jeremy had sweet big brown eyes and thick, tousled hair. There was something slightly babyish about his round chin and full lips that made Ava feel mildly maternal toward him, though he was only a few years younger than her.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll take it.” Ava went into her office, shut the door, and punched the speaker button on her phone.

“Transferring,” Jeremy’s voice said, and then there was a beep and Lauren’s voice came out of the speaker. “Ava? Are you there?”

“Yep. Just got here.” She shrugged off her coat.

“Really? So late?” Lauren’s voice had the breathy quality of a young girl, but she lingered on her s’s in a way that was oddly sultry. The combination suited her: in person she managed to be simultaneously childlike and alluring, with wildly curly dark hair, big eyes, a pointed chin, and a small, curvy figure.

In theory, she and Ava resembled each other—they were both small and dark-haired and anyone could immediately identify them as siblings—but Ava, whose hair was straight and who knew herself to be neither childlike nor alluring, didn’t see it at all.

“It’s nine a.m.,” Ava said. She hoisted her heavy briefcase onto her desk. “Three-hour time difference—remember?” She extracted her laptop and a few folders, which she arranged in a neat pile on her desk, squaring the corners.

“Yeah, I know. I just figured you got up with the sun and made it to the office by six. Hey, A?”

“What?”

“How seriously do you have to take letters from a collection agency?”

Ava digested that for a moment and then the weight of it made her sink into her desk chair. “You want to start at the beginning?”

“Not really.”

A pause. “Okay, then it depends a little on how many you’ve gotten and how much time has passed since the initial notice, but . . . I’d certainly take them pretty seriously. Who’s sending you the letters?”

“Who isn’t?” Lauren said with a little laugh. “I’m up to my ass in debt, Ava. No, deeper. Up to my ears.”

“Why?” Ava said. “I mean, you rent your apartment, you have a job, you don’t have kids—”

“My job is the problem,” Lauren said. “I can’t go out there and buy stuff for the boutique without seeing things I want for myself.”

“Wanting something and having to own it are two different things.”

“Not for me.”

“Well, that explains why you’re up to your earholes in debt,” Ava said. “So do you need me to lend you some money?”

“No, no,” Lauren said. “I don’t want your money. Unless, you know . . . you feel like you want to—” She cut herself off. “No, really, I don’t. But I thought maybe if you wrote some of these debt collectors—you know, on your letterhead—maybe used some legalese, sounded official—”

“And tell them what exactly?” Ava said. “That you’re above the law and shouldn’t have to pay money you owe?”

“Would that work?” said Lauren with a hopeful little laugh.

“You need to talk to a debt counselor, Lauren. Someone who’ll contact your creditors, consolidate all your debts, and set up a payment schedule for you. Do you want me to get some names for you?”

“Would I still have to pay it all back?”

“Of course.”

“What about declaring bankruptcy? Don’t people do that all the time?”

“It’s a morally corrupt way to avoid accountability,” Ava said seriously.

Another little laugh. “But besides that—”

“It should only ever be a last resort,” Ava said. She stood up, which made her notice a small stain at the bottom of her sweater that hadn’t been visible in the mirror of her badly lit bedroom that morning. “I’ll e-mail you about the debt counselors as soon as I get some references. In the meantime, cancel all your credit cards and stop buying stuff. Make yourself a strict budget and stick to it. And if you can’t stand being around beautiful, expensive things, get a different job. Did I mention that you should stop buying stuff?”

“I get it,” Lauren said. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Ava said. “I got my TiVo fixed.”

“Woo-hoo. It’s an exciting life you lead.”

There was a knock on the office door and Ava walked over and opened it. “It had been broken for a while,” she said, raising her voice so Lauren could still hear her. “I was missing all my favorite shows.” Jeremy was waiting outside the door, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. She mouthed her thanks as she took the cup, then said out loud, “I need to get to work, Lauren.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lauren said. “Bye. Oh, wait—one last question. I almost forgot.”

“What?”

“Hypothetically . . . A landlord can’t just suddenly evict you for not paying your rent, right?”

Ava groaned.

Lauren’s boss had asked her to cover the boutique that afternoon. Normally Lauren was the one who went to trunk shows and designer showrooms while her boss manned the store, but Saralyn had promised a friend with a new handbag line that she would check it out herself. Lauren didn’t mind. She liked working with customers. She knew what looked good on people and enjoyed creating outfits for them. And once she had put them in something really spectacular, she was often inspired to try on something similar, so she frequently ended a day in the store with a bag of her own purchases—bought, of course, with her employee discount.

It was a fairly slow weekday, and after she had helped a preteen and her mother find something they could agree on for the girl’s first middle school dance—the girl wanted it to look sexy, the mother didn’t, and Lauren got them to compromise on a tube dress that was form-hugging but didn’t actually reveal anything—she was all alone in the store until a young man entered.

He was probably about twenty-eight, in good shape, and wearing a blue wool suit and a dark red tie. He could have wandered in from any of the financial or legal offices that surrounded their downtown store. She wasn’t crazy about his goatee, but it didn’t matter: any guy who came into their store was taken, or he wouldn’t be shopping there.

“Hi there,” she said, looking up from the sweaters she was refolding and stacking. “How are you doing?”

“Great.” He studied her briefly. Lauren was wearing a very short skirt with go-go boots and a tight heather-brown cropped sweater that was much shorter than the crimson tissue tee she wore underneath. “I have a feeling you’ll be a big help,” he said with a pleasant nod. “You’re so stylish. I need a present for my girlfriend.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Birthday,” he said. “It’s today, actually.”

“Today?” Lauren said. “You sure put it off till the last minute, didn’t you?”

“I kind of forgot.” He gave a sheepish smile. “She had to remind me this morning.”

“Ouch,” she said. “That’s why BirthdayAlarm-dot-com was invented, you know.”

He held out his hands in a gesture of supplication. “So long as I get it in before midnight, I’m okay, right?”

“Don’t worry—we’ll find her something fantastic. Did you have anything in mind?”

He indicated her outfit. “How about that sweater you’re wearing? I wouldn’t mind seeing her in that.”

She adjusted the sweater slightly. It was one of her favorites. For that month. But she hadn’t bought it at the boutique. “You sure you don’t want to go with jewelry? You don’t have to worry about size and everyone loves to get it.”

“You know best.”

“Let me show you what we’ve got.” She circled around behind the jewelry counter, which was also the cash register stand, and sorted through the necklaces hanging on the wooden display tree. She slid a long silver link chain off a branch and held it up. “This is really popular right now. It’s extra-long, but it can be doubled up if she wants to wear it choker-length. I bought one myself a couple of weeks ago.”

“How much?” he said.

She squinted at the tag. “A hundred and twenty-nine dollars.”

He gave a low whistle. “That’s a little more than I was hoping to spend.”

That was actually fairly inexpensive for their store. “Okay,” Lauren said, slipping the necklace back into place. “We’ll find something else.” She poked through the other necklaces, checking the price tags, and then pounced on one that was less than a hundred dollars and very simple, just a teardrop red stone hanging from a delicate silver chain. It wasn’t exciting but it was completely unobjectionable.

She slid the necklace off the post and laid the stone across the palm of her hand. “This is it,” she said. “This is the one you want.” Men shopping for gifts liked to be led to a decision—that much she had learned from her years of selling to them.

“It’s pretty,” he said obediently. “How much?”

“Eighty-nine.”

“You know what would help?” he said. “If you put it on. So I could see what it looks like. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Lauren said, but the clasp was a tricky one and the little hook kept slipping out of the link.

The guy said, “Let me help,” so she handed the necklace to him and gathered her long hair in one hand to bare her neck as she turned her back to him. He leaned over the counter that was between them and strung the chain out above her chest, then brought it around to the nape of her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin—possibly more than was necessary, but she wasn’t sure and decided to ignore it.

Once it was fastened, she turned again with a bright smile, letting her hair drop back into place. She touched the necklace to reassure herself that the stone hit just below the hollow at the base of her neck. “There,” she said. “How beautiful is that? If you don’t buy it for your girlfriend, I might have to buy it for myself. And I can’t afford to go around buying myself any more jewelry, so you’d better take it.”

“It looks great,” he said. “But I’m not sure the necklace can take the credit. I bet everything looks good on you.”

“Hardly.” She reached up behind her neck again. Fortunately, it was easier to undo the clasp than to fasten it. “Shall I wrap it?”

“It’s a go,” he said with a nod.

While she was tying a ribbon around the box, another customer walked in. Lauren looked up and said, “Hi—be right with you,” and the woman said “Take your time” and wandered over to the sweaters.

“There you are!” Lauren said, slipping the box into a bag and handing it to the guy. “I hope she enjoys it.”

“Me too,” he said and took the box out of the bag and held it out to her. Lauren stared at it uncomprehendingly. Then he said, “It’s for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“It looked so good on you,” he said. “I think you should have it.”

“You’re so funny,” Lauren said, trying to pass it off as a joke, give them both an out. Flirting with a male customer was one thing—it was practically in her job description—but the flirting was supposed to end as soon as the charge was approved.

Apparently he hadn’t read the rulebook. “No, really. Take it.” He put the box on the counter between them and pushed it toward her.

“I can’t.” She folded her arms. “Take it home and give it to your girlfriend. She’s going to love it.”

“If you’re not comfortable taking a gift from a stranger, then give me a chance to get to know you. Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I doubt there’ll be enough birthday cake for all three of us,” Lauren said.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“I know.” She gave the box a backhanded slap. It flew across the counter and the guy had to make a dive for it before it hit the floor. She took advantage of the moment to escape from behind the counter and quickly hail the new customer, who had some question about hat sizes.

The guy lingered for a little while longer, trying to catch her eye, but she pointedly ignored him, and eventually he gave up and left, carrying the little box with him.

At least his girlfriend would get a pretty necklace, Lauren thought, though she suspected it might get thrown back in his face sometime in the not too distant future.

A few weeks later, Ava returned to her office from a meeting to find that her father had sent her and Lauren a joint e-mail. The subject line said, “Serious news.”

The entire body of the e-mail read “Your mother has cancer. Call home.”

“Oh my God,” she said out loud and grabbed the phone. Her parents’ line was busy: her father refused to get call waiting because he thought clicking over to a new call was disrespectful to the original caller.

She kept trying, dialing with trembling fingers that fumbled and hit the wrong buttons, but the line stayed busy. After a few minutes of this, Jeremy buzzed in to tell her that she had a call.

It was Lauren, who didn’t bother to greet her, just said, “Have you spoken to Mom and Dad yet?”

“Not yet. I was in a meeting and only just got Dad’s e-mail. My God, Lauren, Mom . . .”

“I know, I was freaking out, too, but it’s okay.” The normalness of Lauren’s voice was the most reassuring thing Ava had ever heard. “I can’t believe Dad told us like that. The man is insane. Mom’s fine, Ava. They just found a few cancer cells in one of her breasts—I mean, literally, we’re talking a few cells. They’ll blast them with some mild chemotherapy and she’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I talked to Mom about it. She was actually laughing at me for being so upset. Dad sent that e-mail without even asking her. Anyway, you should call them, of course, but don’t worry. Everything’s okay.” Her voice broke on the last word and there were little sighing sounds. It took Ava a few seconds to realize that her sister was crying. “I’m sorry,” Lauren said, her voice thick. “I’ve been doing this ever since I got the e-mail, even though I know everything’s fine. I think it was the shock of thinking Mom could be that sick.”

“I know what you mean,” Ava said. “But she’s not, right?”

“But what if something goes wrong? Or there’s a next time and it’s more serious? They’re getting old, Ava.” She took an audible deep breath. “Anyway, you should call Mom now. But remember—don’t overreact.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ava said. She hung up on Lauren and called home.

Her father answered. “Finally you call.”

“I only just got your e-mail a few minutes ago,” she said. “But I spoke to Lauren and—”

“You called her before you called us?”

“Your line was busy,” Ava said. “And she called me, which by the way is what normal people do when they have to give scary bad news. They pick up the phone—they don’t send mass e-mails telling people their mother has cancer.”

“I had to do it by e-mail,” he said. “You know how touchy you girls are. No matter who I called first, the other one would have been hurt.”

“That’s not true,” Ava said.

“It is true,” he said. “Lauren called us right away, you know.”

Ava let out a slow breath between her teeth. “May I talk to Mom?”

“I think you should,” he said seriously and put her mother on the phone.

Her mother sounded oddly cheerful. “It’s good to hear from you, sweetie!” she said. “How are things at work?”

“Fine,” Ava said. “How are you?”

“I’m so fine it’s embarrassing,” Nancy said. “I’m sorry about that e-mail. Your father wanted you girls to know as soon as possible that I’m dealing with this thing, but it’s really nothing all that serious.”

“Tell me exactly what the doctor said.”

“He said I have a few cancerous cells in my breast. It’s hardly even a lump—just the beginning of one.”

“How’d they find it?”

“Oh, something showed up on a mammogram and then they did a biopsy and it came back positive.”

Ava felt vaguely that a good daughter would have already known that her mother was having breast cells biopsied, but she hadn’t. She wondered if Lauren had.

Her mother was still talking. “—the thing about this family,” she said. “I love you all dearly, but little things become big ones. First your dad with that over-the-top e-mail, and then Lauren calling up sobbing as though the world had ended and insisting on coming home—”

“She’s coming home?” Ava said. “She didn’t tell me that.”

“Day after tomorrow. I told her not to, but she insisted. She’s been living across the country from us for years and suddenly she can’t be apart from me for one more day. She can be so melodramatic.”

“Yeah,” Ava said. “I’ve met her.”

“But since she is coming, I thought we could all have dinner together Friday night. Can you make it?”

“I’ve got to check,” Ava said, pulling her keyboard closer so she could get to her online calendar.

“You have to come,” her mother said. “It’s my dying wish. You have to honor your mother’s dying wish to get her family together.”

“That’s not funny,” Ava said.

“It’s a little bit funny,” her mother said. “See you on Friday.”

Chapter 2

Time for a toast,” Lauren said, standing up. She was wearing a silk slip dress, which she had layered over a pair of wool and silk capri leggings, a look that practically screamed “autumn in L.A.” to her—which is why she had bought the whole outfit right before flying back home. She raised her glass to Nancy. “To our mommy. Because we love her and should remember to tell her so even when she’s not sick.”

“Hear, hear,” Ava said, raising her own glass to her lips.

“To my wife,” said their father. “Whose health is precious to us all.” He drank.

“Had to rewrite me, didn’t you, Dad?” Lauren said.

“She’s not my mommy,” he said.

“I liked both versions,” Nancy said.

Lauren looked at her mother’s familiar, very pretty face, framed by fire-red hair (L’Oréal Preference Intense Dark Red, she knew now as she hadn’t as a child), and felt a sudden ache. She had barely seen her mother in the last few years, hardly spent any time with her since going off to college in New York. Once she had moved across the country, she pretty much only ever bothered to call home when she was walking somewhere, which meant she was usually distracted and in a rush. But that fear she had felt when she read the e-mail her father sent, the fear that had sent her flying across the country to see her mother immediately—that had shaken her up, made her realize that knowing her mother was always waiting for her back home was what allowed her to roam freely, and that if she ever lost that base, she would come crashing down, alone and scared.

The doorbell rang as they set their glasses down. “Who would come by now?” Jimmy said. “It’s dinnertime.”

“Probably a solicitor.” Nancy pushed her chair back.

“I’ll take care of it,” Lauren said. “You sit.” She ran to the front door and threw it open. A young Asian girl stood alone there, wearing what was unmistakably a school uniform: a blue and white plaid jumper and a white polo shirt. She had long straight black hair pulled back by a matching plaid headband. “Hey, who ordered the little girl?” Lauren called out.

Nancy emerged from the dining room. “Oh, hi, Kayla!” she said. “How are you? Kayla lives next door,” she said to Lauren, gesturing toward the south side of the house.

“I’m very well, thank you,” the little girl said. She spoke very gravely and precisely. She held up a large yellow envelope. “My mother said I could come ask you about this. My school is doing a walkathon. Would you be willing to sponsor me? It’s for a good cause.”

“Of course,” Nancy said. “Let me just get my purse.” While she went to get it, Lauren and Kayla were left alone again.

“It’s a good thing to do,” Lauren said, feeling that, as the adult, she was responsible for making conversation. “Raising money for charity.”

“Uh-huh,” Kayla said.

“What is the cause?”

Kayla stole a glance down at the big yellow envelope she held in her hand. “Cerebral palsy?” she said.

Nancy returned with her purse. As she opened it and pulled out her wallet, Lauren said to her, “I thought the whatstheirnames lived next door. You know. The ones who had that yearly Halloween party.”

“They haven’t lived there for years,” Nancy said. She handed Kayla a couple of bills. “Here’s twenty dollars, sweetie.”

“Thank you.” Kayla carefully tucked the money into her envelope.

“I want to sponsor you too,” Lauren said with sudden conviction. “Just let me get some money.” She ran to the family room to get her purse. She took out her wallet and opened it up—and realized she only had two dollars left.

“Shit!” she said out loud, desperately searching through all the folds of the wallet, hoping she would find a twenty hidden and forgotten somewhere. But those two dollars were it. She could write a check, but her checking account was completely depleted and bouncing a check to a charitable organization probably guaranteed you a seat by the fire in hell. Lately she had been charging everything—she would deal with the repercussions later—but she doubted Kayla could accept a credit card.

She threw her purse on the sofa, angry at it. She had wanted to make the little girl like her, and now she was going to look like an idiot.

Then she spotted Ava’s handbag.

“Here!” she said, running back into the foyer a minute later. “Take this.” She thrust thirty dollars at Kayla.

“Wow, thanks,” Kayla said and put it in the envelope. Then Nancy told her to say hi to her parents and they watched as Kayla crossed their front yard and was safely welcomed back inside her house.

“Man, she’s cute,” Lauren said as Nancy closed the door.

“You should see her little brother. I may have to steal him one day and raise him as my own. We lent them our power drill once, so I think it’s fair.”

“What was all that about?” Ava asked as they returned to the dining room. She had stacked a bunch of dishes while they were gone and was on her feet, about to carry them into the kitchen. Jimmy was still sitting at the head of the table, sipping his wine. Lauren had never seen him clear a dish in her life.

“The little girl next door was collecting for some charity,” Lauren said.

“Kayla?” Ava asked Nancy, who nodded. “I love that kid,” Ava said. “She’s like a forty-year-old CEO in an eight-year-old’s body.”

“Oh, I had to raid your wallet, A,” Lauren said.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have any cash, so I borrowed thirty bucks from you.”

“Borrowed?” Ava repeated. “As in you’ll pay it back?”

“One hopes,” Lauren said cheerfully. “You should have seen her earnest little face—I had to give her something.”

“It’s easy to be generous when it’s not your money,” Ava said.

“I would have been generous with m. . .