by Cathy Holton
Far away, in the deepest recesses of the big house, a radio played. Eadie listened to the faint music. She stared despondently at her shot glass. She was a woman, now, without any illusions. It had felt courageous and noble to accept the fact her marriage was over in front of Trevor and the assembled elite of Ithaca. It had felt a little like the Christians facing the lions in the Coliseum. But realizing Trevor had been secretly cheating on her for years felt less like martyrdom and more like defeat. It felt . . . pathetic. “What do you have in mind?” she said to Lavonne, after a few minutes. She tapped her glass along the edge of the table. Nita stared out the bay window, watching a squirrel raid the bird feeder.
“We need to be organized about this,” Lavonne said. “But before we talk about the revenge plan, we need to be clear on something else.”
Eadie poured three more drinks. She raised her glass and Lavonne and Nita raised their glasses automatically. “Here’s to revenge,” Eadie said. They all clinked their glasses, downed their drinks, and set the empty glasses back down on the table. The tequila roared through Lavonne’s brain like a monsoon. It was true what Eadie had said. After awhile she couldn’t feel a thing. She couldn’t even feel her feet.
Lavonne shook herself. “Okay, then,” she said. Finding out her husband was a lying cheating bastard took a lot of the pressure off. It absolved her of any of the guilt she had felt over not being able to save her marriage. My sins have been washed clean, she thought. Only instead of sacrificial wine, it was tequila doing the washing. “The thing that occurred to me last night, was that our husbands have been cheating on us for fifteen years but no one’s filed for divorce yet.” She colored slightly and glanced at Eadie, but she seemed fine with this, so Lavonne went on. “I think they probably see their party in the woods as an annual transgression. They get to be bad boys once a year and the rest of the time they’re good, hard-working lawyers. At least, I think that’s how they see the whole hunting trip.”
Eadie looked at her. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about divorce. I’m talking about the fact that this cheating has been going on for fifteen years and not one of our husbands has seen fit to divorce us over it.”
“What do we have to do with it?” Eadie was getting irritated trying to follow her convoluted logic.
“What I’m saying is, our revenge doesn’t have to end in divorce. Whatever we decide to do to punish them doesn’t have to include divorce, unless we feel our marriages are over, of course. Each one of us has to decide that for herself.”
Eadie swirled her shot glass, spilling tequila on the table. It was bad enough Trevor had cheated on her openly twice, but to have cheated behind her back for fifteen years was more than Eadie could ever understand or forgive. “I think it was real apparent to ya’ll last night that my marriage is over,” Eadie said. “My marriage is so over I’m fantasizing how to have the cheating bastard killed.”
“I thought about it all last night,” Lavonne said. “And I’ve come to the conclusion my marriage was over years ago.” She had slept like a baby and awakened refreshed, transformed by dreamless sleep and the knowledge she had stayed in her marriage because of boredom and fear, and for the sake of the children. She had, in effect, become her mother. “The only thing that’s kept Leonard and me together is the girls, and they’re nearly grown. I realize that now, and I’m guessing Leonard realizes it, too, or he wouldn’t spend so much time away from home. He wouldn’t be looking forward to this damn hunting trip so much when he hasn’t been on a family vacation in five years.”
They both looked at Nita. She sat staring out the window, watching the squirrel splash at the birdbath. Nita thought about the years she had spent trying to make Charles Broadwell happy. She thought about her children who headed for their rooms the minute they heard their father’s footsteps in the hall, and she thought about the big house and the private school and the beach house and all the things her children were accustomed to having. She thought of those sad single women she had watched on afternoon TV talk shows, the ones who struggled to raise children on a secretary’s salary or worked two jobs to pay the bills. She tried to remember if anyone in her family had been through a divorce and the only one she could think of was her Aunt Effie, the black sheep of the family who had run off to Daytona Beach with a dog track gambler. Nita shook her head and looked down at her little glass, watching the way the light caught in the clear-colored liquor. “I don’t know about divorce,” she said. “I just want him punished is all.”
“We understand, Nita,” Lavonne said, drawing little Mandela symbols in her Daytimer. “You’ve got more vested in your marriage than either of us, and your children are young.” She beat the table with her pencil, flipping it between her fingers like a drumstick. “Okay, so it’s decided. Eadie and I leave our marriages—Nita, you stay.” She tapped out a sharp staccato beat on the table. “First thing is, we all have to agree to complete secrecy. We can’t let the husbands know we found out about the women. I know Little Moses won’t say anything if I ask him not to, and none of us can say a word to anyone either. We have to keep our plans for divorce and revenge secret until they leave for their hunting trip, because it won’t work if they get wind of what’s coming. I know it’s hard, but we have to go on with our lives and act like nothing’s happened. Act like we don’t know a thing. We’ve only got four weeks until they leave for Montana; whatever we decide to do, has to be done within that time frame.”
“You’re rambling,” Eadie said, pouring another round of drinks. “What has to be kept secret: the fact that we’re leaving them, or the revenge?”
“Both,” Lavonne said. “The first thing you and I have to do, Eadie, is figure out what assets we can get our hands on. Anything that doesn’t have our husbands’ name on it, bank accounts, stock certificates, you get the picture.”
“Well, there won’t be much of that,” Eadie said. “Besides, Trevor’s always been fair with me from a monetary standpoint.”
“Look, Eadie, just because Trevor’s been fair with you in the past, doesn’t mean he’ll continue to be fair. Remember, they’re good lawyers and they’ll fight us tooth and nail over any divorce settlement. I mean, eventually we’ll prevail, but they’ll tie the cases up in court so long we won’t see a penny for years. And that’s only if we can find an attorney in this town who’ll agree to represent us.”
“Rosebud Smoot will represent us,” Eadie said.
“Well, she’s the only one I know who will. You know how lawyers all stick together in times of trouble and divorce.”
“Trust me, Rosebud’s the only lawyer we’ll need.”
Rosebud Smoot was the first female attorney to practice in Ithaca. She had graduated number one in her class at Georgia forty years ago, and when she returned to town, had been offered a job as a legal secretary. Now she made a good living representing the ex-wives of corporate executives and lawyers who had a hard time finding legal representation among the closed, good ole’ boy network that was Ithaca, Georgia. If it weren’t for Rosebud, these women would have had to go all the way to Atlanta to find a lawyer.
“That’s all very well and good, Eadie, but remember, a court case could take years to settle. Meanwhile, I want to get on with my life. And I need money to do that.”
“Okay, so what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, make a list of assets. Start thinking of ways to get your hands on some quick cash.” She remembered the pretty young financial adviser she’d watched on Oprah. Lavonne wished now she’d paid more attention that day to what the woman was saying. She looked at Nita. “I know you’re not planning on divorcing Charles, but it’s probably a good idea for you to start figuring out where the marital assets are, Nita, and maybe try to move a few into your name. Just in case. Just to be on the safe side.”
Nita looked at her hands. She knew she wouldn’t find any assets with her name on them. She had to beg Charles for money if she went twenty dollars over
on the weekly grocery bill. She had to grovel and then she had to sit and listen while he lectured her on the importance of sticking to a household budget.
“We’ve got less than four weeks until our husbands leave for Montana; all this has to come together by then. If we can’t figure out how to come up with cash, if we can’t figure out how to punish them by the time they leave for Montana, then we might as well forget it. We might as well plan on staying married until we can get it all figured out, and that could take months.”
“Obviously you aren’t including me,” Eadie said. “Trevor made it pretty clear he was going to marry that idiot Tonya, which means he needs to divorce me quick.”
“Let him file the papers, Eadie. Don’t you do it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe he’ll be so busy trying to get ready for his hunting trip, he won’t have time to file. Time is on our side—up to a point.”
“I don’t like all this secretive shit,” Eadie said. “I like doing things out in the open. I like letting other people know where I stand.”
“I know,” Lavonne said. “I can barely stomach the idea of staying in the same house with Leonard for one day, much less weeks.” The difficulty of this plan was beginning to dawn on her; she’d never been one to keep her mouth shut. She’d never been one to keep her feelings hidden. How in the world was she going to live with Leonard for four weeks trying to pretend nothing was wrong? “But we have to do this if we want everything to work out.” She looked at Eadie to see if she understood. Eadie frowned and shrugged and Lavonne went on. “Okay, now that that’s settled, let’s move on to the next order of business, which is the revenge planning session.” Lavonne raised her little glass in a toast and Nita and Eadie did, too.
“Here’s to freedom,” Lavonne said.
“Here’s to revenge,” Eadie said.
“Here’s to love,” Nita said in a voice that made the hair on the back of Lavonne’s neck rise.
They tossed back their drinks and set the glasses on the table. No one bothered to pick up a lime slice anymore. “Let’s think about this a moment,” Lavonne said. “What is it these husbands all have in common?”
“They’re all assholes,” Eadie said.
“Besides that,” Lavonne said. She paused dramatically, waiting for them to catch up and when they didn’t, she said, “Pride. Male ego. They all have it in spades. That’s where we strike.”
“Look,” Eadie said. “I’ve tried sleeping around. It doesn’t work.”
“Shit, Eadie, I’m not talking about sleeping around,” Lavonne said. “We have to hit them where it hurts. We have to wound their pride.”
“I’d like to wound something else,” Eadie said.
“It’s a control issue,” Lavonne said.
“I still say we have them killed. Or at least maimed.”
Sunlight slanted through the long windows. The old floor register hummed and belched a steady stream of warm humid air.
Nita tapped her glass with one finger. She chewed her lower lip. “What’s the name of that place where they go each year?” she asked quietly.
“The Ah! Wilderness Game Ranch,” Lavonne said. “A place where men go to feed their male desire to kill something.”
The room was quiet. A tourist bus rumbled down the street. Clouds shaped like grazing sheep wandered across the blue sky.
“You’re starting to sound like a feminist,” Eadie said.
Lavonne put her pencil down. “What’s your definition of a feminist?” she asked.
“A woman who won’t take shit from anybody.”
“Okay,” Lavonne said. “I’m a feminist.”
Eadie grinned at Lavonne and poured her another drink.
“I’ve been a feminist all my life,” Lavonne said.
“Good old Ramsbottom,” Eadie said. Lamar Ramsbottom was the owner of the Ah! Wilderness Game Ranch. “I’ll bet he gets the girls. I’ll bet that’s part of the price.”
Sunlight shone through the prism of Eadie’s stained-glass window. A hummingbird hovered over the birdbath.
“You don’t think they have girlfriends, do you?” Nita asked suddently. Eadie and Lavonne looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Naw,” Lavonne said. “Leonard and Charles don’t have time for girlfriends. Those women are once-a-year prostitutes. I’m sure of it.”
“They must fill out a request form,” Eadie said, stirring her drink with her finger. She stuck the finger in her mouth, and pulled it out again. “Kind of like filling out a sushi request form. You know, a check mark next to the California Roll, or the Crab Roll or the Tofu Sushi, only this time they’re ordering women—blond, redhead, brunette.” She was getting mad just thinking about it.
Lavonne sat up suddenly and slapped the table. “That’s it!” she said. “That’s the revenge part of our plan.” It had come to her in a flash. She knew what they had to do. They would use the skills they had acquired through eighteen years of planning birthday parties, luncheons, and PTA meetings. “We’ll plan their hunting trip for them. We’ll set it all up before they even get there!”
Nita and Eadie looked at her. A muscle moved in Eadie’s cheek. Nita sucked her lower lip. “I mean, hell,” Lavonne said. “We planned the damn firm party. Why can’t we plan the hunting trip?”
“You mean,” Eadie said, beginning to catch on. “We’ll be the ones placing the sushi order?”
“Right!” Lavonne said. “We’ll put in the request for the girls.” She frowned and drummed the table with her fingers. “But how can we get Ramsbottom to go along with it?”
“Simple,” Eadie said, raising her glass. “We’ll pay him twice what they do.”
“We’ll get the prostitutes ourselves?” Nita said.
“The ugliest we can find,” Eadie said. “We’ll tell him to get ugly women.”
“Yeah. Very ugly women.”
“Women who make us look good,” Eadie said.
“Scary women,” Lavonne said, getting the hang of this.
“Biker chicks.”
“Feminists.”
“Lorena Bobbit wannabes.”
Nita lifted her drink, drained it, and then set it down. “Who says they have to be women?” she said.
LAVONNE DROVE HOME, humming softly to herself. She felt better just knowing they had a plan. She and Nita and Eadie had agreed to think about it and to meet again in a couple of days to discuss ways they could get their hands on some quick cash. Eadie had agreed to call Ramsbottom and Rosebud Smoot. Lavonne felt light on her feet, curiously elated, which was odd, she realized, for a woman who had just found out her husband had been cheating on her for years. She felt free for the first time since she quit her job and moved to Ithaca and started having children. Now she had only herself to rely on. Now she could be whomever she wanted to be. She could be an accountant or a waitress or a college student. She could be queen of the damn Kudzu Ball if she wanted to be, and no one could tell her what to do.
She drove past the Shapiro Bakery, lifting one hand to wave at Little Moses, who was hand-lettering a sign across the plate-glass window. Bodacious Brownies, the sign read. The thought of brownies made her slightly nauseous. She clenched the steering wheel and slowed for a group of tourists who ambled slowly across the street clutching brochures and bright blue bags that read I Survived Shopping in Ithaca. The bakery was closed on Saturdays and Sundays, which didn’t seem like such a good idea to Lavonne, what with the tourist business and all, but it was Mona’s store, not hers.
The girls were just getting out of bed when Lavonne arrived home. Leonard was in the family room reading the Sunday paper. He called to her as she came in. She had expected to find him sullen and angry over the catering fiasco, but he was obviously determined to keep up his cheerful front. He wasn’t letting anything spoil his upcoming hunting trip. She was sure it was hard to be angry when you were looking forward to a week of good sex and animal slaughter.
“Where’ve you been so early this morning?” he called, rattling the newspaper
.
None of your goddamned business, Lavonne thought. She sat down at the breakfast bar and poured herself a cup of coffee. A box of sweet rolls rested on the counter. Lavonne played idly with a corner of the tissue wrapping, pushing the box toward a bleary-eyed Louise as she came into the kitchen.
“Have a sweet roll,” Lavonne said.
Louise yawned, stretching her arms above her head. She was wearing an old bathrobe and a flannel nightgown with a brown stain across the bodice. “Aren’t you eating?” Louise said to her mother.
“Nope,” Lavonne said.
Louise stopped yawning. She dropped her arms. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Lavonne said, blowing on her coffee. “I feel great. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”
Louise shrugged and went to the cabinet to take down a mug. Her long ponytail hung down her back, almost to her waist. She had pretty hair like Leonard’s, auburn colored with blond streaks, but she never wore it down. With her thick glasses and severe hairstyle, she looked like a middle-aged librarian. Ashley was cute and popular at school, but Louise wanted to be a writer. She had no social life to speak of.
Leonard came into the kitchen, whistling. He smiled at Lavonne but she stiffened and lifted her coffee cup to her lips. Just don’t look at him, she told herself. Just pretend he isn’t even here.
Ashley followed her father into the kitchen, her hair standing in stiff spikes around her sullen face like whipped egg whites. “Is there any coffee?” she said, plopping herself down at the breakfast bar.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Lavonne said to Ashley.
“Good morning, Puddin’,” Leonard said.
“Don’t call me Puddin’,” Ashley said to her father.
“Don’t drink coffee,” Leonard said. “You’re only sixteen years old,” he reminded her. He was dressed in his Ralph Lauren bathrobe and slippers. He looked like the father in one of those 1950s TV shows where everyone in the family speaks politely and calls each other by pet names. “You’re too young to drink coffee.”