SEVEN
The two women were squabbling as they entered Rachel’s office, hardly paying attention to where they were.
“I don’t care what your color preference is, I’m the one doing the choosing,” said Ruby Moskowitz, her voice full of indignation. “Who was the model? Me! I know what I’m doing.” Her bright red chignon bounced on top of her head as the skinny woman waved her hands in the air as if she were conducting a church choir on Sunday morning.
“I was merely mentioning that green doesn’t look good with my skin tone,” Loretta Keyes said.
“Ladies! It’s too early in the morning to be having an argument,” Rachel said. “You two buried the hatchet, remember? What’s all the fuss about?”
“Loretta thinks she should tell me, a former model, about what colors to use in a wedding,” Ruby said, poin
