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was the quiet one, Miranda the outgoing one. Claire smart, Miranda funny. She winced when she thought of the other distinction. Back then, Miranda was referred to as the tomboy, and Claire was the pretty one.
    The same people who’d once said it was lucky that the awkwardly teenage Miranda had such a fun personality were now falling all over themselves to say they always knew what a beauty she’d grow up to be. Grateful that people had finally stopped comparing her to Miranda, Claire never paid any attention to her appearance at all, except for availing herself of the opportunity to blend inwith the walls whenever possible. She knew that drove Allie crazy.
    “It’s not enough to keep your hair clean, Claire,” Allie said. “You need a style.”
    Claire made a face at her in the mirror. Allie’s idea of a hairstyle inevitably involved hot rollers, cases of hair spray and at least two hours of labor each morning. No thanks.
    “I have bangs,” she said.
    “Bangs are not a style.”
    “I can’t fit complicated hair into my life,” she said, as the stylist snipped her split ends with an expert hand.
    Allie snorted. “I know what your life involves, Claire. Going to movies by yourself and sitting at home writing. You could hang out in curlers all day and no one would notice.”
    “Thanks,” Claire said. It was true that she’d spent as little time in the office as possible this week, trying to avoid Alec. Since she’d stood up to him about the invitation, she hadn’t exactly been the same quivering mass of jelly he knew and disdained. It would be great if she could keep up the act, but she didn’t trust her new composure. Look at that embarrassing minibreakdown she’d had after talking to Barbara Craig. She didn’t want to be in the middle of some brave speech to Alec, then start to stammer and stumble at the crucial point.
    Allie looked at her with a critical eye. “At least let’s give your hair a little color. Something that will bring out the copper glints that are already there.”
    Claire lifted a lock of hair and looked at it. “I’m just grateful it isn’t gray.”
    “Gray hair should be the least of your worries,” Allie said in the conspiratorial stage whisper she used before she launched into an especially choice piece of gossip. “I heard that Miranda got so stressed out on the set of her last movie that her hair fell out and she had to use falls.”
    “Where did you hear that?” Claire asked.
    “From her cousin, Chris. I saw him at the grocery store.”
    She should have guessed. Every time Claire ran into Chris, he had a new revelation. “I’m surprised anyone buys those gossip mags at all,” Claire said. “With him stationed by the impulse rack, waiting to tell people what he’s already spilled to them.”
    Allie acted as though she didn’t hear her. “He also said she’s throwing this big Miranda lovefest on the lake, for her friends and family, and that Christine Colby is going to film and air the thing. She’s invited a bunch of people there to say how wonderful she is for the cameras.”
    Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “That sounds interesting,” she said. But even though she’d successfully fibbed to Barbara Craig days before, that had been over the telephone, and Barbara’s limited skill for seeking out scandal was no match for Allie’s.
    “You’re going, aren’t you? That’s why you made this appointment.” Claire nodded. “If I have to handcuff you to this chair with spiral rollers, you’re getting some red in your hair.”
    Allie had to be filled in on all the details of the trip. Although she and Claire had been close friends in high school, she and Miranda had never gotten along, probably because it was hard for two people to share center stage gracefully. As Claire told Allie the story of the invitation, she realized how ridiculous it all sounded. Allie, in her inimitable way, got straight to the heart of it.
    “You have a crush on this guy,