She’d changed her clothes four times in the last hour. Frustrated by her own vanity, she refused to look in the mirror again or second-guess what she was wearing now. She grabbed her slim black purse and headed down the stairs. Roxie was at the bar polishing glasses. “Sounded like a hurricane upstairs. What’s going on?” The place was filling up with customers, and Roxie was at the bar mixing a Tom Collins and a pink lady. She handed the drink order to her waitress Martha, a University of Boston student who worked full-time and carried a full premed schedule. Martha had brown hair that brushed her jawline and pale skin. She wasn’t a great beauty, but to call her just average would have been unjust. Martha tossed a grin at Tara as she loaded up her drinks. “Hey, girl.” She took a long second look at Tara. “Wow, you look nice.” Tara glanced down at the simple black sheath dress. It was a top-of-the-line designer piece that she’d bought on sale a couple of years ago in Washington.
