by Jane Green
“And women,” I added.
“Oh, they’ll be introducing themselves to me,” Gwen said.
Reilly chimed in. “So it sounds like everyone has met someone they like for Prudence. The question is, how do we get them—and us—to Chad and Daniel’s party on New Year’s Eve to meet her?”
“Reilly, you’ve been to their parties before,” Sophie reminded him. “You know security is not a big issue. Chad and Daniel don’t even know most of the people there. Last year, there were about two hundred people at their New Year’s party, remember? We’ll just bring them.”
“Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?” I asked.
“Those two queens opened their gallery to hundreds of women who came to see an exhibit of me,” Reilly said, laughing at the memory. “Prudence used their place as a storage facility for my stuff so when her boyfriend came to visit, it looked like she lived there alone. I’d say Chad and Daniel owe me one.”
“Better yet, why don’t I just call and tell them what we’re up to?” Sophie suggested.
“Oh,” Reilly said, disappointed. “We could go that way if you want.” I think he was enjoying the prospect of mischievousness.
New Year’s Eve arrived. Reilly approached me from behind as I fastened my earrings and kissed my neck. “You know where I was last year at this time?” he asked. I shook my head. “On my way to Chad and Daniel’s party with my wife who was having an affair and secretly trying to find a new wife for me. This year, I’m off to the same party with my new wife who was having a clandestine online relationship with a therapist while trying to find a new husband for my ex-wife.” I laughed. “Without my wives, my life would be very boring.”
The doorbell rang before I could respond, which was a good thing. As I scanned my mind for a witty retort, I came up blank. It was the baby-sitter, Megan, a freckle-faced teen with a mop of brown hair burying her face down to the retainer.
Chad and Daniel’s apartment was a shrine to pop culture with their images morphed into well-known artwork. There was the Chad and Daniel American Gothic; Chad as “The Scream,” with the background transformed into the Barneys half-yearly sale; and a Lichtensteinesque image of Daniel, with a dialogue bubble reading, “What would Judy do?” There were the hanging and pregnant Chad mosaics made from colored card stock and a three-foot wire sculpture of a woman wielding a hanger overhead. I can only assume this was Joan Crawford as captured by Prudence. My favorite, though, was Chad and Daniel’s bedroom, which was decorated like the inside of Jeannie’s bottle with pink sashes fanning from the center of the ceiling to the corners of the floor. The round pink bed was too perfect, but I wasn’t sure I understood how the statue of the short, fat Indian guy fit into the theme.
When I say a garage band was playing music, I don’t mean a group of kids who practice in the garages of their suburban homes. These guys played car parts as instruments. A guy beat dip sticks against hub caps resting inside tires. A woman played several different car horns as a third member plucked away at fan belts. It didn’t seem possible that these thick, cloth belts could be pulled so taut that they could be plucked like guitar strings, but somehow it worked. Personally, I think they had a track playing in the background and just toyed with the car parts as a gimmick.
“What do you think?” I asked Jason, as we looked around.
Before he could answer, Chad approached us with champagne and wishes for a happy new year. “Reilly, good to see you,” he said. “The second wife of Reilly,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. Looking at Jason, he said, “And you must be Bachelor Number Two? Sophie and Brad got here about an hour ago.” Sophie saw us and waved, darting her eyes as if to ask us to check out her escort. Chad stage-whispered, “Brad is a sweetie, but I think Jason here is going to smoke him in the swimsuit competition.”
With that, Gwen opened the door with a six-foot Adonis on her arm. He had a superhero jaw and dark brown hair that would cooperate with any weather. “Wow,” we all said together, even Reilly.
“He’s probably dumber than toast,” I said, trying to make Jason feel better.
“Orthopedic surgeon,” Chad corrected. “For the New York Giants. He was a wide receiver in the eighties.”
On cue, Daniel approached our group and quipped, “Weren’t we all?” He extended his hand to Reilly. “Good to see you again. You must be Sarah,” he said to me.
“And this is Jason,” I said, gesturing to him. “Our pick for Prudence.”
Jason was awkward in his role. “I want to say for the record that I’m only here because I made a deal with Sarah. Normally, I wouldn’t allow myself to be shopped around like this.”
“Oh,” Daniel said, with exaggerated disappointment. “Didn’t Sarah tell you that our little Prudence has a habit of doing just that?”
“Did I hear my name?” And there she was.
Prudence Malone.
The first wife of Reilly. The one to whom I owe my marriage. The one I’d spent a month thinking about, instead of myself. I exhaled thirty days’ worth of tension when I saw her. She was nothing. I don’t mean to sound as though I disregarded her as a person, or that she was so unattractive as to be written off without thought. When I say she was nothing, what I mean is that in my mind she’d reached iconic levels of threat to me and my marriage. But here she was standing before me with her soft leather pants and a black, sequined button-down top, brushing her shoulder-length shag from her eyes, and she was just a woman. She smiled and said hello, flashing bright eyes and pearly teeth at me. With that small gesture I realized that Prudence Malone was a happy woman. And happy women don’t tread on other women’s marriages.
“Prudence, I don’t think you’ve met Jason,” I said, introducing the two. “He’s a therapist.”
“Really? How fascinating,” Sophie chimed in immediately. “You’re in the perfect city for it. Tell me, when you meet people socially, do you find yourself analyzing them?”
What was she talking about?
I told Sophie last week that Jason is a therapist. Why was she cutting in to the conversation with her silly little questions? By running off at the mouth, Sophie was siphoning precious time for Jason and Prudence to get to know each other. Just as Prudence turned to speak to Adonis the surgeon, Gwen possessively linked her arm through his. Brad walked away to get a drink, and Jason was fully immersed in conversation with Sophie. Chad shot me a look as if to agree that this wasn’t going according to my plan.
Jennifer and her husband arrived just before midnight. She was wearing Harvey Fierstein’s gown from Hairspray, which posed a stark contrast to her conservatively casual clad spouse. I watched her kiss Prudence on both cheeks and laugh about something. Jason and Sophie had disappeared. Gwen scurried me off into the bathroom to tell me she planned to keep Adonis. “If nothing else, he’s fabulous advertising for my matchmaking skills,” she said, referring to her new business endeavor.
“Ah, the second wife of Reilly,” Jennifer said, as she approached me. “How’s it going?”
“Not so well,” I confided. “So far, all of our eligible bachelors have disappeared and Prudence doesn’t seem to care a bit.”
“Care about what?” Prudence asked, appearing from nowhere.
Jennifer kept cool, but I was visibly shaken. “About nothing,” I said, my eyes darting around the room searching for Reilly to help bail me out. He was chatting with Jen’s husband, Adrian. As I scanned the room, I also caught a glance of Sophie making out with Jason. It seemed as if we were not only going to fail to find Prudence a new husband by the stroke of midnight, but we were also about to get caught.
“Sarah, what’s the matter with you?” Prudence asked. “You just said ‘Prudence doesn’t seem to care.’ Care about what?”
Jennifer took control. “Sarah was just saying how lovely it is that you’re not bothered by her being here.”
“No, not at all, why would I?” Prudence said.
“Well, it’s not every current and ex-wife who could be at the same
party together,” Jennifer commented.
“True,” Prudence dismissed, with a smile. “So, Sarah, how is your son?”
“Hunter?” I beamed, just to say his name. Who else could she mean? “He’s wonderful. And Reilly is a terrific father to him. And how are you adjusting to single life, Prudence? I heard you had a real adventure in Italy this summer. Did you meet anyone?”
“I did,” she said serenely. “Myself.”
Patting her on the back playfully, Jennifer added, “Prudence hasn’t had so much as a collagen injection since she started with the sculptures.”
“Oh, yes,” I said, “Gwen said they were remarkable. I’d like to come see your next show, if that’s okay.”
“I’d like that,” Prudence said.
“And I hope you’ll come to my first poetry reading,” I offered.
“Sure,” they both answered together. “When is it?” Jennifer asked.
“I’m not sure. I have to write the poetry first.” I giggled a bit nervously. “But some time next year, that’s for sure.”
“Okay, sounds good,” Prudence said.
Glancing over at Reilly, I had a spectacular idea. As much as I was enjoying the party, I realized I didn’t need to wait until midnight to start the new year.
“Prudence, Jennifer, it was great catching up with you both, but I think we’re going to head out,” I explained to my husband’s ex-wife and her friend.
Jennifer urged me to stay. “Oh, no! The ball’s going to drop in forty minutes. Stay till the New Year, won’t you?”
“Let her go,” Prudence said. “Not that we aren’t enjoying your company, but I know how it goes when you’re tired. Who cares where she is when the silly ball drops, Jen?”
“Thanks for understanding,” I said. “Please send me an invitation to your next show. Really.”
“Okay, I will,” she promised. “And you let me know when that poetry reading of yours is.”
And that was it. She was nothing more than a lovely woman who was once married to my husband. She wasn’t a threat. And she certainly didn’t need my help. But I did.
Ever the easygoing husband, Reilly agreed to leave Chad and Daniel’s party, and with it, my plans to find someone new for Prudence. I looked for Jason, but someone said that he and Sophie had locked themselves in the pantry, so I figured he was in good hands. I waved at Gwen, who winked to acknowledge me, then turned back to Adonis, who was regaling a group with NFL stories.
“Chad, Daniel, we’re going to get going now,” I told our hosts. Chad kissed me and said he hoped I wasn’t too disappointed by the way things turned out. “Not at all,” I assured him. “I think Prudence is happy being single, and I’m happy being married.”
“And I’m happy being gay,” said Daniel, leaning in for his good-night kiss.
“So, it all worked out for the best,” I said.
“I hope this isn’t the last we’ll see of you, Sarah,” Chad said.
“It won’t be,” I assured them. “I can see why Prudence and Sophie are so fond of you both. We’ll get together soon.”
As Reilly and I stood on the sidewalk, waiting to hail a taxi, I winked at Reilly. “Good party, but I have a much better way for us to ring in the New Year,” I said.
“Sarah Peterson, have I told you lately how happy I am to be married to you?”
“Reilly, have I told you how lucky I am to be married to you?”
He squeezed my hand three times and winked at me.
“Reilly, there’s a taxi!” I shouted, excited by our good fortune.
“He’s off duty,” Reilly said.
My hand shot up. “Let’s see if he’ll take us anyway.”
The driver pulled over and rolled his window down. Leaning toward us, he said he would only take a fare uptown.
“West Seventy-fourth?” I said, smiling hopefully.
“Perfect,” he replied.
As we settle into the back seat of the taxi, Reilly looked at me a little longer than he usually did. “Sarah,” he began, “I have a feeling this is going to be the best year of our lives.”
“I do too, Reilly.” At the stroke of midnight, I leaned in to kiss my husband and wished him a happy new year, then sat back and enjoyed the rest of the taxi ride home.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Jennifer Coburn’s
THE WIFE OF REILLY
now on sale at bookstores everywhere!
TAKE MY HUSBAND, PLEASE….
Okay, here’s how it happened. I went to my college reunion and hooked up with Matt, the love of my life, my soul mate, the one who got away. After the most wonderful weekend together, he said something like, “I love you; let’s get married,” and I could swear I heard myself say “Yes!” Maybe that would have been a good time to tell him about Reilly—my husband….
Honeslty, I’m not a bad person. Just crazy in love. And temporarily insane. Or maybe permanently selfish. The truth is that Reilly’s a great guy but our marriage has been over for a while. Before you ask, it just fizzled between us. So what’s a girl to do? Find him a new wife, that’s what.
Place an ad—wife wanted. Easy as that. Everybody gets a happy ending…
…Or life becomes a dizzying train wreck of continual catastrophe. Finding the perfect replacement for myself isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Sorting through the weirdos, nymphos, gold diggers, man-haters, and just plain desperate (I thought I had issues!) while balancing a husband in New York and a fiancé in L.A. is enough to make me go stark raving mad. I’ve got a forty-word personals ad running, an unstoppable American Express card, and just a few months to find my replacement and make things all right. With a little help from my friends and a bit of luck, I just might find the next wife of Reilly…
Finding a new wife for my husband was not going to be an easy task. Keeping Reilly a secret from my new fiancé was going to be an even greater one. This sounds just awful, I’m sure. While it’s true I’ve gotten myself in a rather sticky situation juggling a husband and boyfriend, it doesn’t automatically make me a bad person. I’ll be the first to admit I handled things poorly last weekend. I plead temporary stupidity. All right, permanent selfishness. But all I have is today, and today this is the reality I’m dealing with. I could dwell in regret over my mistake, which does no one any good. Or I can do something to repair the damage I’ve done.
I read somewhere that forty percent of married women cheat on their husbands. Nowhere have I ever heard of a soon-to-be ex-wife finding her own replacement so her husband isn’t lonely after the divorce. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?
I knew my plan was a bit unusual. The good news was that so were the three friends I would enlist in my mission. Jennifer, Sophie and Chad would surely understand why finding a new wife for Reilly was something I needed to do.
My friends in Ann Arbor had a hard time accepting that I’d fallen in love with my college boyfriend over the course of one homecoming weekend. Cindy was morally outraged by my infidelity, as if it were her I cheated on. Eve was more demure in her contempt, but she was equally disappointed by my transgression. Both were too busy judging me to bother asking how I felt about the whole thing. As the cheater, the only feeling I was apparently entitled to was guilt; of this, I had plenty. But along with my remorse, I had an intense need for a friend to ask me how I was doing. How I felt about the fact that my marriage had became a straw house. If I had any conflicted feelings over divorcing Reilly. Or marrying Matt.
As I walked in the door of the Monkey Bar, our favorite midtown lunch spot, Jennifer’s cab pulled up to the curbside and I watched her long brown legs make their exit. A full minute later, Jennifer followed. Even at noon, wherever she went, it was evening. Jennifer was the kind of woman who seemed to be always accompanied by a sultry saxophone soundtrack written just for her. Jennifer gets out of cab. Jennifer walking. Prelude to Jennifer. She would’ve been great as one of those femme fatales in a film noir flick if only the
y were casting black folks as leads in those days. She was sexy, powerful and, oddly enough at six feet tall, dainty.
Chad and Sophie were already inside exchanging stories over stubby glasses. Both elbows of Chad’s powder blue suede jacket rested on the table as he whispered to Sophie, conspiratorially. Sophie threw back her head of wavy black hair as she laughed, then softly patted Chad’s hand. I felt like I was missing something.
Sophie moved to New York last year after her divorce. Last year, she sold her house in the suburbs, packed up her kids and drove five days straight from San Diego. She no longer works thanks to a case she won representing eighty-four plaintiffs in a class action lawsuit against a chain of Chinese restaurants in Southern California called Lo Fats. The cooks put quite a bit more fat into the recipes than the calorie count indicated on the menu. Sophie was able to convince a jury that the misrepresentation of calories and fat grams contributed to four fatal heart attacks among cardiac patients who thought they were eating light, and eighty cases of depression among women who couldn’t understand why they weren’t losing weight on their strict Lo Fats diet. She won a $49 million verdict, and was able to collect half for her clients before the chain ultimately filed bankruptcy.
Jennifer raised her eyebrows as if to cue my announcement. “So what’s your big news?” she asked.
She’s the creative director for Ogilvy and fancies herself the queen of marketing. Over the years, she’s gotten me into the annoying habit of comparing things to advertisements. She shops at Off Broadway’s Back, a boutique in the theatre district that sells used costumes from shows. Usually, people shop there when they’re planning to attend a masquerade party, but Jennifer actually wears these getups as her everyday attire. She’s shown up at work wearing the gold-sequined top hat from A Chorus Line. She’s attended meetings with major clients dressed as Aida. Jen is attractive enough to get away with these outrageous clothes, and her agency’s clients assume that anyone who dresses this way must be some sort of mad, creative genius.