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a two-for-one special at the plastic surgeon’s.
    “Patti and I are the same size,” she said to me with no small amount of pride. “People are always mistaking us for sisters.”
    “Only the ones who can’t see the scars behind your ears,” Patti sneered.
    At that, her mom’s face clouded over, and with jaw tightly clenched, she spun around and headed back to the house, her heels clacking angrily on the patio flagstones. Clearly there was not a heck of a lot of love lost in this mother–daughter relationship.
    “I’ll be with you in a minute, Jaine,” Patti said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “As soon as I’m finished with the caterer.”
    I cooled my heels as she bit into a scrumptious-looking shrimp concoction, which she pronounced “too fishy.” She worked her way through the rest of the hors d’oeuvres (I was so glad I’d busted a gut racing over), finding fault with most of them.
    With each bite she took, the caterer’s smile grew stiffer.
    At last, Patti was through and the poor caterer got up to go.
    “You remember everything I want?” Patti asked.
    “Yes,” the woman said, her smile now so brittle I was afraid her cheeks were going to crack.
    “The lamb not so lamby, the shrimp not so fishy, 40
    Laura Levine
    the quiche a tad less eggy, and a scooch more peanut in the satay sauce.”
    “Perfect!” Patti chirped.
    As the caterer gathered up her platter, Patti summoned me over with a flick of her wrist.
    “Jaine, you remember Veronica from Hermosa, don’t you?”
    I looked at the attractive woman with chestnut hair and beautiful green eyes, but I had no idea who she was.
    “Jaine Austen!” The woman grinned, her smile at last genuine. “It’s Veronica. Veronica Hubbard.”
    “Veronica?” I blinked.
    Good heavens. What a change from the last time I’d seen her. Back in high school, Veronica had been a rebel grunger with spiky purple hair, decked out in black leather, her eyes rimmed with raccoon circles of mascara.
    “It’s me, all right.”
    I took in her glossy hair, fresh-scrubbed complexion, and immaculate cashmere sweater and slacks.
    She sure cleaned up pretty.
    “Veronica owns Hubbard’s Cupboard. She caters all the stars’ weddings.”
    First Denise, the high-powered attorney, now Veronica, Caterer to the Stars. Was I the only Hermosa High alum who was scrambling to pay the rent?
    “So good to see you, Jaine. How’ve you been?”
    “Oh, Jaine’s been fabulous,” Patti said with a sly grin. “Not only is she a successful writer, but she’s engaged to be married to a French neurosurgeon! I can’t wait to introduce him to the French ambassador. He’s coming to the wedding.”

    KILLING BRIDEZILLA
    41
    “Oh, Francois doesn’t speak French,” I said, determined to nip this foreign language thing in the bud. “He’s of French descent, that’s all. In fact, he doesn’t speak a word of it.”
    “I’ll bet,” Patti smirked.
    I felt like ramming a baby lamb chop up her nose.
    “Well, it’s great seeing you again, Jaine,” Veronica said, then turned to Patti. “I’ll just stop by the kitchen and check out the ovens before I go.”
    She shot me a sympathetic smile and scampered off to freedom.
    Oh, how I envied her.
    “Grab a seat,” Patti said, motioning me to Veronica’s recently vacated chair, “and I’ll tell you about the exciting new direction I want the script to take.”
    I lowered myself into the hot seat, but before Patti could share her exciting new direction, the French doors opened, and her mom came out onto the patio, clearly still miffed over their earlier exchange.
    “The models are here to interview for the part of your bridesmaid.”
    “Would you believe I have to hire somebody to be my bridesmaid?” Patti said with a put-upon sigh. “I could just kill Cheryl for gaining so much weight. Take down their names, Mom. And make sure they’re all size 2.”
    “Do it yourself, Patti. I’m not your secretary.
    And from now on, answer