“It’s a premium cable channel,” Tiffany said, clearly holding back a smile.
“Tiffany!”
“Okay, okay.”
Loreen said, “It’s these people who are into pony play, like to dress up as horses—you know, with bridles, martingales, saddles, even synthetic tails—and have sex like that. Like horses.”
“Oh, my God. Like those clown people?” Sandra took a steadying sip of wine. She’d seen Real Sex once, and the people had dressed up as clowns—something Sandra found personally terrifying—and had indiscriminate sex with each other.
It had freaked her out.
“Exactly.” Tiffany poured herself some wine. Just half a glass. She filled it the rest of the way with seltzer. That was the kind of restraint she’d always had. “I saw that one, too.”
“So this guy . . .” Sandra thought back. He’d seemed so normal. So nice. So normal.
You just never knew.
“Total fruitcake,” Tiffany said with a nod.
“We shouldn’t have advised you to get back on the horse so fast,” Abbey said, suppressing a smile.
“Funny,” Sandra said. “Very funny. Can we talk about something else?” She looked around. “Anyone?”
Loreen sighed. “I’ve got something to say. And if you’re faint of heart, stop me now, because it ain’t pretty.” She moved her uncertain glance from Sandra to Tiffany.
“I got you started as phone sex operators,” Sandra said, reaching for one of the Thin Mint cookies Kate had sold during the Girl Scout fund-raiser. She knew once she started she couldn’t stop, but she couldn’t stop herself from starting. After what she’d been through, she deserved Thin Mints. “Is it uglier than that?”
“Hey,” Tiffany said. “You saved our butts. Don’t joke about that.”
Sandra looked at her sister. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”
“Oh, I say lots of nice things about you,” Tiffany said. “Just not to your face. Don’t want you to get bigheaded.”
“I’ve been on a date with a puppet,” Sandra said. “And a gay man, and a pony player. I don’t think I’m in any danger of becoming bigheaded. Oh, my God, did I tell you I ran into Louis at the grocery store?”
Loreen gasped. “Louis the Puppetmaster?”
“Exactly.” Sandra nodded. “It was terrifying. I went over to, I don’t know, apologize. Make nice. Whatever. But he was standing there with his fist balled up, like he was going to punch me. So the whole time he was telling me Arlon was in the hospital, he was clenching and unclenching his fist.”
“I hope you got out of there fast,” Abbey said.
“I did,” Sandra said. “But not before catching a glimpse of his fist.” She pressed her lips together and told them. “He had a face painted on it. You know, like kids do in elementary school? Where the thumb is the lower lip and you can make it talk?”
Loreen, Abbey, and Tiffany shrieked with laughter.
“I guess he was desperate for something while Arlon was gone. I’m certainly glad the fist didn’t talk to me. Sooo,” she said, wrapping up her social life in one neat finish, “that’s what my dating life’s been like this year. You can try, but it’s hard to beat.”
“I had a one-night stand with a hottie in Las Vegas,” Loreen said flatly. “Afterwards he wanted a thousand bucks for his services when I was just glad the drinks were free.”
Sandra took a moment, looked at Loreen to determine if she was serious.
Loreen nodded. “It’s true.”
“You win,” Sandra said.
“A male prostitute?” Abbey repeated incredulously. “That’s how all this started?”
Loreen stiffened visibly. “Yes. And I totally understand if you never want to talk to me again, because I drew you into this mess, which I know is sinful, and didn’t fully disclose the reason to any of you.”
Abbey laughed. “Loreen, I don’t think it’s sinful. I’m just so glad to hear you had such a good reason.”
“Good reason?” Loreen echoed dumbly.
“Well, it’s one thing to rack up a bunch of gambling debt because you’re bored. It’s a whole different thing to rack it up because you’re panicked.”
“You thought I lost all that money just because I was bored?” Loreen asked. Her expression softened. “And you still risked everything to help pay it off?”
Abbey’s face took on a slight pink hue. “I wouldn’t say I risked everything, but you were in trouble. It didn’t really matter all that much why.”
Tears filled Loreen’s eyes. “I don’t deserve friends like you guys, I really don’t.”
Tiffany put an arm around her. “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with us anyway.”
“Really stuck,” Sandra added with a laugh. “Since I’m not dating anymore.”
“Actually . . . speaking of dating and not wanting to ever date again, Robert came by last night,” Loreen said. “I don’t think we’ll be getting divorced.”
Tiffany was clearly delighted. “You’re not?”
“Well.” Loreen reached for the bowl of fruit and took a banana, peeling it deliberately as she spoke. “We were talking about getting back together, so I told him about my night in Vegas.” She bit the banana and went on, while chewing, “When I told him about that, he freaked out.”
“Naturally,” Tiffany said. “But he got over it.”
“Um-hm.” Loreen swallowed. “Go figure.”
“Look, you made a mistake,” Tiffany said. “Big deal. We all do sometimes. Frankly, I’d be disappointed if Robert couldn’t get over it.”
They pondered that for a moment.
Then Sandra’s phone rang. She took it out and looked at the caller ID, as was her habit. Just in case it was something urgent.
It was Doug, her date from Normandie Farm.
That was weird.
“Answer it,” Tiffany barked when Sandra announced the caller. “Find out what he wants!”
Sandra opened the phone. “Hello?” She held up a finger and walked a few steps away.
“Sandra?”
“Yes?”
“Doug Ladd. We met a few weeks ago?”
Like she could possibly forget. “Hi, Doug.” She made a puzzled face at the others. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks. Listen . . . do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”
He let out a short sigh. “I realize you might just not be interested in seeing me again, and if that’s the case, it’s fine. Just tell me. But I really thought we had something going when we met, and then . . . I’m not sure what happened. It turned weird.”
Of course it had turned weird. She’d asked him if he was gay. “I’m really sorry about that,” she said. “All I can say is that I’ve been burned before . . . well, actually, I’ve had a series of bad dates, one more bizarre than the last, so . . .” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m gun-shy.”
“I think I understand,” Doug said. “I got that you weren’t the most confident person in the room.”
“No, that would have been you.” She laughed.
He laughed, too. “Far from it. Anyway, look, I’ve had some bad dates, too, and I just find I keep thinking about you. I’d like to see you again.”
Her jaw dropped. “Why?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Seriously, Doug, I’d love to, but why would you want to see me again? You’re a great-looking guy. You’ve got everything going for you. Why would you want to go out with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
Did she have to say it? “I’m not exactly Cindy Crawford.”
Tiffany made an exasperated sound, and Sandra shot her a silencing look.
“So what?” Doug asked. “Neither am I.”
She laughed again, but didn’t point out that she’d stopped just short of asking him if he was. “Okay, but you’re practically George Clooney. Why would you want to go out with a fat girl?”
&nb
sp; All three of them—Tiffany, Loreen, and Abbey—made noises of objection. Sandra held up her hand and shhh’d them as she left the room for more privacy.
She found a spot in Kate’s room and sat down.
“Fat?” Doug was saying. “Give yourself a break, Sandra. You’re just . . . you’re like a luxury model of these vain skeletons I’ve been meeting. You’re real. You have an appetite for life, for food, for drink. I’m good with that.”
Hope seized her, and she immediately squelched it. It was a habit from a long time back.
“You’re not just, like, a fetishist, are you?” Because she’d met one too many of those this month.
“Jesus, Sandra, you act like you’re a circus freak or something. Give it a rest. I really liked the woman I met at Normandie Farm. I want to see her again. Is that really so surprising?”
She could have gone on arguing, but the lack of confidence would be far more unattractive than any of the things she was worried about, and besides, Doug seemed really sincere.
Both when she met him and now.
She was not going to blow this for herself by being insecure.
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s not weird at all. So. Where are we going?”
Chapter
23
Charlie was in a foul mood.
And Tiffany did not want to deal with it. Gerald Parks had called and said he had the evidence she was looking for, so she wanted to go get it, and have it in hand before potentially having another explosive conversation with Charlie.
Charlie made her feel bad. About herself, about their life, for their kids. Charlie was cranky grumpy, unhappy, domineering, and about a hundred other unpleasant adjectives.
Over the past several months he’d gone away on business more than ever before, and Tiffany had realized that she not only enjoyed the time when he was gone, but she dreaded his return. The news that he might be having an affair, in fact that the private investigator had pictures she could use against him, would have been devastating a year ago, yet today it was welcome. Cause for celebration, even.
This was not a subtle clue that something was wrong in the marriage; it was a big neon sign.
Tiffany had already asked Loreen for help in figuring out her budget, so she could take care of the kids on her own. The presumption was that, if she and Charlie divorced, she’d get child support at least, but Tiffany didn’t want to count on that. She wanted to be sure she had enough to do everything by herself.
Unfortunately she hadn’t yet had that conversation, or the one with Gerald Parks, when Charlie came in, practically breathing fire.
“I need to use your bank account,” he said—without preamble and without greeting his children—when he came into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s been a . . . a problem. Identity theft. My bank account has been cleaned out.”
There was more to the story. She’d been with him long enough to know that. “Identity theft?” she repeated.
He nodded. “It happens all the time. I’m . . . working on it. Meanwhile, I need to tap into the family account.”
“Wait a minute,” Tiffany said. “There’s your account and the family account?”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Where’s my account?”
“Where’s your income?”
In my account, she wanted to say, but she wasn’t going to tip her hand. The fact that she had a private account to pay off the PTA debt, and so on, didn’t mean he could just separate their marital finances the way he had. “I don’t think a court would see that as relevant.”
Charlie’s stance was belligerent immediately. “So now you want to take this to court?”
She straightened her back. “I’m not against it.”
He frowned at her, then turned to Andy. “Go see your sister upstairs,” he told him.
“What are you doing?” Tiffany demanded.
“We need to talk. Alone.” Charlie took Andy out of his seat and shooed him toward the hallway.
Tiffany took Andy to the stairs and called up to Kate to come get him, which she did.
Then Tiffany went back to the kitchen and asked, “What in the world did you have to do that for?”
“You two are in cahoots, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re working together. You and Marcia.”
“Marcia who?” Tiffany said. Then it dawned on her. “Marcia your secretary?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Charlie, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Marcia threatening to tell you about us, then the next thing I know my accounts are cleaned out.”
Marcia! Tiffany never would have suspected she’d do something like this! “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Are you having an affair with Marcia?”
“Like you don’t know. You weren’t behind that guy following me with a camera?” His hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second before it started to crackle with uncertainty.
“Marcia?” Tiffany demanded again.
Charlie went pale. “You didn’t know?”
Tiffany shifted her weight and stared him down. “What scares you more, the idea that I did know or the idea that I didn’t?”
“Stop playing games,” Charlie snapped. “Were you involved in cleaning out my accounts?”
“No,” Tiffany said icily. “Was your mistress?”
Charlie’s voice was tight. “I didn’t say—”
“Yes, you did,” Tiffany answered quickly. “You said your mistress cleaned out your accounts.”
He paused again, then ran his hand through his hair and took a step toward Tiffany. “Oh, baby,” he said, reaching for her and pulling her into a stiff embrace. “I’ve made such a mess of things. Can you ever forgive me?”
“For having an affair and losing all your money to her?” Tiffany asked. “Yes. Yes, I can forgive you.”
Charlie tightened his grip on her. “Oh, thank God.”
“But I can’t take you back.”
His grip tightened more still. Then he pulled back. “What?”
“I can’t take you back,” Tiffany repeated. “You’ve betrayed me too much.” She decided to go with the vague because it seemed clear now that he had betrayed her more than once.
“You were so wrapped up in the kids,” he said, but it sounded like he’d practiced it before. Like he was ready for this conversation.
But even if that weren’t the case, his contention was so laughably untrue that she couldn’t take it seriously. “So you slept with your secretary.”
“She was there,” he said. “She was responsive to my needs.”
“She took your money,” Tiffany added. “How did she do it? With your social security number?”
He nodded. “We had a joint account,” he said. “For business, but apparently she wanted to use it for more.”
“You had a joint account with your mistress but not with your wife.” Tiffany shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry.” It might have been the first time in their marriage that he’d ever apologized.
“I bet you are. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full, what with fixing your banking errors and moving out of here.”
“Moving out?”
Tiffany nodded. “Maybe Marcia will take you in.”
“But—”
“Or not. I don’t know. But all I know is that I’m not going to take the brunt of your miserable temper anymore. If you’ve got a mistress, let her deal with it. And if you don’t, get one. I’m sure it won’t take long.”
“But the money—”
“Will be sorted out in court. It’s not my fault you were stupid enough to be taken by your girlfriend. You’ll still owe child support and alimony. And heaven knows your job pays well enough to cover it.”
“But you’re my
wife!”
“You should have remembered that a long time ago,” Tiffany said heatedly; then, after waiting a moment for a response that didn’t come, she walked away.
And, actually, she felt good about it.
Because, in reflection, it wasn’t about what Charlie was doing or not doing . . . at least not entirely. The main problem with their marriage was how he made her feel. How bad he made her feel almost all the time. So she already knew that ending it was inevitable.
That he had given her such a maddening—and convenient—out was just a bonus. But she was going anyway.
And now she was gone.
Chapter
24
Tiffany pushed the grocery cart through Giant Food, talking on her new Bluetooth earpiece. She’d gotten it so she could multitask while working, but she’d found it was a miraculous little thing for driving, shopping, whatever, and now that she was single, it was even more of a bonus because she had a lot less to think about and worry about since Charlie wasn’t at the house anymore, hovering, ready to criticize her at any given moment.
Tiffany loved being wireless.
She also loved shopping for just herself and the kids. No more big old steaks. No more ten-pound bags of potatoes.
“So everything’s paid off?” she asked Loreen as she walked through the cereal aisle and opened a box of Cheerios for Andy, who was in the petri dish of a seat.
“Everything. Plus we have an extra hundred and fifty-eight in the coffers for programs.” Loreen sighed. “All we need is another four hundred and fifty.”
“Bingo the Clown is six hundred bucks?” Tiffany cried, then hushed herself. “You can’t be serious.” She handed Andy some Cheerios to munch.
“No, it’s not for Bingo. I thought we decided to go with Merle the Spelling Wizard.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Tiffany stopped in front of the coffee. She loved the General Foods International Coffees, but they were getting so expensive. “Still, six hundred bucks . . .”
“That’s with a discount,” Loreen told her.
“Ouch.” Tiffany tossed a can of Café Français into her cart. She’d work a little longer and pay off the $4.75. “I hear he’s worth it, though.”
Secrets of a Shoe Addict Page 25