Yes, she sighed, with a huff of breath-having spied an old woman with her jaw hanging down-the Emma Sutton, she thought, coveting the attention and feeling pestered by it both. Her allure had always been easy to see: she was just like you, only better-which was somewhat at odds with the latest feather in her cap, a conviction for tax evasion and lying under oath, complete with a stay in the federal pen. And she had been for fifteen years-thanks to her regular appearances on Oprah-with a sea of magazine spreads and a mountain of books, an endless stream of television segments on the best daytime shows, and a petrified forest of Emma-branded furniture, all dedicated to the stylish American home. She was a regal brunette of sixty-odd, who’d parlayed a small career as an interior decorator into an enormous one as media darling Emma was a household name, in fact. Monday Lunch: Beef Lung and Anise BiscuitsĮMMA SUTTON CLICKED AND CLACKED ALL AROUND the auction house, her sharp heels tapping just as quietly as she could manage. Monday Morning: Milky Cereal and Cookie Crumbs Sunday Supper: Pork Roast and Cardamom Chutney Saturday Morning: Black Coffee and a Pinch of Brown SugarĪ Mid-Morning Snack: Eight Slim Carrot Sticks
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |