"Why, you could be Lisa’s date!"
"Er" Jennie cast a frantic glance Lisa's way at her mother's suggestion, only to find her sitting with eyes closed, a pained expression on her face. She suspected she was begging for the floor to open up and swallow her whole, or even to swallow her in pieces, so long as it swallowed her. It almost made Jennie feel better. It was nice to know that she wasn't the only one with parents who managed to humiliate her at every opportunity.
Still, Dara was really something else. Jennie had spent the better part of the half hour since the woman's arrival merely gaping at her. This exotic and beautiful creature was Lisa's mother? Oh, certainly, the resemblance was there. And she was equal to her in looks, but Dara Manoban didn't look a day over thirty herself. How could she possibly be Lisa's or Lis, as everyone seemed to call her mom?
"Good genes, dear," had been the woman's answer when Jennie had commented.
Jennie had sighed miserably, wondering why such genes couldn't run in her family, too. After that, she'd merely stared at the woman, nodding absently at everything said, while trying to spot signs of a face lift. She obviously should have been paying more attention to what Dara was burbling on about. Lisa's sister's wedding had been the topic of conversation. Jennie wasn't quite sure how that had led to the last comment she had heard.
"Date?" she repeated blankly.
"Yes, dear. For the wedding."
"Mother." Lisa's voice was a warning growl, and Jennie peered over to see that her eyes were open and sharply focused on her mother.
"Well, Lis darling. You can hardly leave the poor girl here alone tomorrow night while you attend." Dara laughed, apparently oblivious to her daughter's fury.
"Jennie has to return to Seoul," Lisa said firmly. "She won't be here tomorrow ni"
"That sounds like fun!" Jennie blurted. Lisa fell silent and aimed her gimlet eye at her, but she ignored her. There was no way she was leaving without first gaining her agreement to at least an interview with one of the newspapers clamoring to speak to her. And falling in with Dara's suggestion meant that not only could she not force her on a plane back to Seoul, but by the time the wedding party was over, it would be too late for Jennie to fly home the next night as well. Which gave her until Sunday to work on the woman. That thought made her beam happily, and she silently thanked Lisa's mother.
The only thing that worried her was that Dara Manoban was looking rather pleased in return. Jennie had the sudden anxious feeling that she'd stepped neatly into a trap. She hoped to God that the woman didn't have any matchmaking ideas about her and Lisa. Surely Dara realized what a cantankerous lout her daughter was and that she wasn't Jennie's type at all!
"Well, wonderful!" the woman said. Ignoring her daughter's scowl, Dara smiled like the cat who got the cream, then asked, "Do you have something to wear to the wedding, dear?"
"Oh." Jennie's smile faltered. She'd packed something for every possible occasion except a wedding. There'd been no way to see that coming, and Jennie didn't think the slinky black dress she'd brought to cover the possibility of an evening out would work.
"Ah-ha!" Lisa was now the one looking pleased. "She hasn't anything to wear, Mother. She can't"
"A quick trip to my modiste, I think," Dara cut her off. Then she confided to Jennie, "She always has something for just such an emergency. And a visit with my hairdresser will work magic on your hair, and we'll be set."
Jennie felt herself relax, and could have hugged the woman. Dara was wonderful. Much too good to have a daughter like Lisa. The woman was clever, charming and a pleasure to be around. Unlike a certain surly woman. Jennie's gaze slid to Lisa, and she almost grinned at the misery on her face. She supposed she should feel guilty for forcing herself into her home and staying there, but she didn't. she was in serious need of assistance. She was terribly lacking in social skills and obviously spent way too much time alone. She was good for her she was sure of it.
