Read Goddess of Light for Free Online Page A

than what she’d already seen.
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œSAY again, Pammy, I couldn’t have heard you right.”
    â€œYou heard me right, V. The horrid thing talks. And lights up in honest-to-God neon colors. And he wants one like it in his courtyard.” Sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed in her opulent suite, Pamela pulled off one of her stiletto pumps and rubbed the arch of her foot.
    â€œThe courtyard in the gorgeous Italian villa-like home?”
    â€œThe very same.”
    â€œBloody buggering hell.”
    â€œMy thoughts exactly,” Pamela said.
    â€œIt’s worse than Venus rising.” V snorted. “Silly tripod.”
    The term made Pamela laugh, as it always did. Tripod, Vernelle had explained to her when they had begun working together three years ago, was a lesbian slang word for a man. V was most definitely a lesbian. Not a man-hating, cynical lesbian. Vernelle Wilson liked men. She just didn’t like sleeping with them. She had explained it to Pamela like this: “Men bore me. After I’ve been with one for a little while I think I’d rather blow my brains out than wake up next to him and listen to his inane, manly blather for the rest of my life. Now women . . .” Her hazel eyes had sparkled and her grin had turned her face pixielike. “Women I can listen to forever.”
    And that was one of Vernelle’s many strengths: listening to women. She never rushed a decision from any female client, and she seemed to innately understand exactly what one meant when she wanted “that purpley-blue shade somewhere between the night sky and a pansy.”
    Although not formally educated in interior design, Vernelle was a professional artist and graphic designer—as Ruby Slipper’s amazing Web site and unique logo could attest to. She had an eye for color and texture; she was also a sharp businesswoman. Hiring V as her assistant had been the first of many savvy decisions Pamela had made when she began her own business. V liked to say that it showed how highly evolved Pamela was that she had chosen her over the bevy of gay guys who had applied for the job.
    Pamela stifled her laughter before it became hysterical. “I don’t know, V. This may be the job that I can’t turn tasteful. I mean, please. He wants Roman Liberace. Totally tacky.”
    â€œHey, it’s too early to give up. And remember, it’s Friday night, and you’re in Vegas.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. More importantly, how is the Katherine Graham project coming? You’re obviously still breathing, so she must not have driven you to suicide yet.”
    â€œHey, give me some credit. I like the old broad.”
    â€œSure, like as in you like going to the dentist,” Pamela said.
    V laughed. “No, really. She’s growing on me. I still hate her zillions of cats, and I have no idea how a woman who chain smokes and drinks brandy like it’s water can still be alive and kicking at eighty-seven, but her raunchy sense of humor has become almost charming.”
    â€œAnd her color scheme is . . .”
    â€œI’ve talked her out of the purples and pinks. We’ve practically decided on yellow, sage green, and a hint of red. When we get done with the exterior, that gihugic Victorian will look like it’s ten years old rather than one hundred and ten.”
    â€œThen we’ll get to work on the inside.”
    Together, Pamela and Vernelle sighed.
    â€œSo, that’s going well. How about the Starnes reupholster job?”
    â€œIt’s fine, Pamela. And so is the flooring for the Bates formal living room and the window treatments for the Thackerys. Would you please not worry about work? You tied up all the loose ends before you left—and I can take care of the ongoing jobs. If I get stuck on anything new, I’ll call you.”
    â€œPromise?”
    â€œAbsolutely. And hey, here’s a thought. How about you take some