A fling for fling

A fling for fling

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Gigi Engle By GigiEngle Updated Apr 17, 2012

It was a sunny afternoon in the early childhood of the Engle family, when money was for spending, and not saving, and the Adler mansion was a color aquatic reef of temporary friends, swimming in and out at their leisure. The backdoor served, as a concierge desk to Siobhan Calmine's numerous chic houseguests.

Ronnie was standing in the back office that stood to the right of the back entrance. She was just tall enough so that her chin just overreached the edge of the round, wooden table in the middle of the room. It was devoid of chairs.

In waltzed Sugar Rutherland: tall, impossibly blonde, and erupting with the fragrance of Au de Perfume. She was decked out in a full, pale blue, cashmere pant suit; a shining monument to Chicago's elegant society life. She looked like Donatella Versace, fresh from the swarming beehive of fashion week. Her bosom busted from her decadent sweater, the way her air of fabulousness busted from her every pore. In the crook of her arm rested the $5,000 Louis d...