She Wanted It All - Kathryn Casey [121]
Throughout that fall and winter, Donna, who had just turned thirty-nine to Celeste’s thirty-seven, had been a sympathetic voice. When the girls came into Studio 29, she’d told them to give her best wishes to their mom and to watch over her so Celeste didn’t become depressed. The girls passed her kind words on. In February, Jennifer came into Studio 29 and said, “Donna, we’re going to the Houston rodeo for our mom’s birthday. My mom wants to know if you want to come along.”
“Sure,” Donna said.
That Friday, February 11, Celeste arrived at Studio 29 ready to go, and they were off, leaving Donna’s 1998 Buick Regal in the salon parking lot.
The drive from Austin to Houston in Celeste’s bronze mist Cadillac was anything but leisurely. The kids drove behind in one of the Cateras, and they talked back and forth between the cars on walkie-talkies. At times Donna held on to the dashboard to keep from sliding out of her seat as Celeste, smoking a cigarette and talking on the telephone, wove in and out of traffic, setting such a frantic pace that they covered the 160 miles in less than two hours. On the way, Celeste talked about her marriage, bragging about the money Steve spent on her. When it came to the shooting, Donna was surprised when Celeste admitted she’d told the teens not to mention Tracey to the police.
“Why’d you do that?” Donna asked.
“I couldn’t imagine Tracey did it,” Celeste said.
In Houston, they pulled into the circular drive of the Doubletree Galleria Hotel, a curved edifice that overlooks Post Oak Drive, one of the most exclusive shopping districts in the country. On their way up in the elevator Celeste turned and grinned at Donna. With pride, she said, “You’re with a woman who fucked her way to the top.”
When a guy named Bubba called the suite, Donna realized Celeste had plans for that night. Someone Celeste had met at the lake, Bubba was supposed to bring a date for Donna, but his friend had backed out. Celeste appeared annoyed but said little when Bubba picked them up that night and drove them to Sullivan’s, an art deco chophouse. There, they met Bubba’s friend George and his girlfriend. Donna, not interested in a blind date, was relieved.
George’s girlfriend said she was sorry about Steve’s death and she asked Celeste, “How are you doing?”
“You don’t look like you’re letting it slow you down,” George observed.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” Celeste snapped back with a wide grin, forming a pistol with her fingers and pretending to pull back the trigger.
The others groaned. “That’s pretty cold,” Bubba said.
“You need not to say things like that,” Donna said.
But Celeste just laughed.
Next, they drove to a hole-in-the-wall bar in Bubba’s Jaguar. Celeste whispered to Donna, “Bubba’s got more money than Steve. You’re looking at my next husband.”
On the dance floor, Bubba and Celeste held each other and kissed.
Near closing time, Donna left. At the hotel, Kristina and Justin slept in the pull-out couch, and Donna bedded down in one of the two double beds with Jennifer, leaving the other open for Celeste. Before long she was asleep.
Sometime later Jennifer awoke—to the sound of Celeste undressing Bubba.
“No,” he whispered. But Celeste pulled at his clothes, unzipping his pants, and then her face disappeared between his legs.
Angry, Jennifer elbowed Donna.
Startled, Donna bellowed, “What’s going on?” She opened her eyes just in time to see Bubba grab his clothes and run to the bathroom. Jennifer switched the lights on.
Drunk, Celeste giggled. Minutes later Bubba emerged and quickly left.
The next morning, Jennifer and Kristina were angry. “I can’t believe you did that,” Kristina said.
“So what?” Celeste shouted, going on the offensive. “It’s none of your business.”
That afternoon, Donna and Celeste headed to Saks Fifth Avenue, to have their hair brushed into curls. Twice they missed their appointments, but the hairdresser didn’t complain when Celeste handed her a hundred dollar tip. In the store, Celeste bought a fringed cowgirl outfit she wore