Read Online Curious Wine by Katherine V. Forrest - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine V. Forrest
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they’ve given you orders to do the same.”
“Jesus Christ,” Liz said, rolling her eyes upward. “Scripts. I need another drink.” She climbed to her feet. “Scripts scripts scripts,” she muttered, marching to the kitchen.
“It’s just not good to drift from one affair to another, Millie,” Chris said. “How would you know if the real thing came along?”
Lane said, “People often confuse the real thing with something that should have been an affair.”
“Lane’s right.” Millie nodded eagerly. “Look at all the divorces.”
“People should be able to handle butterfly interludes,” Lane said, smiling at Millie.
“But so many?” Chris said doubtfully.
“Butterfly interludes are very different from the real thing,” Lane said.
“But butterfly interludes are so superficial,” Diana said, disliking the term.
“They’re meant to be,” Lane said. “They shouldn’t be given any deeper significance.”
“Let’s go on,” Madge said. “It’s your turn, Chris. What would you like to see me change?”
“Well… nothing really. Well, maybe… it’s hard to get a real grip on you, that’s all. You’ve got opinions and ideas and lots of enthusiasm about what interests you, but I’m not sure I know who the real Madge is. Does that make any sense?”
Madge took a final puff from the tiny end of a joint and crushed it. She lit another as no one spoke. “Anybody agree with that? Did you hear, Liz?”
Liz took her place in the circle holding a tumblerful of bourbon in which a single ice cube floated. “I heard. And yes, since you ask. There are times I’d like to shake you till your teeth rattle and the real Madge comes out.” She swallowed some bourbon. “You jump from one crackpot idea to another and every time you say this one’s the right one, this one’s eternal truth. Then a week or a month later you’ve gone on to the next eternal truth.”
“I think every time it might be,” Madge said in a low voice. She stared at the floor. “There might be… answers.”
Diana gazed at her, stricken with pity.
“There’s a lot to you, I’m sure,” Millie said, “but sometimes you remind me of those terribly superficial women from Southern California. No offense,” she added to Diana.
“We have them,” Diana said, thinking tartly that this woman had little room to talk, this Northern California woman who drifted from one liaison to another.
Madge said, “I can’t change my—” She saw the expression on Liz’s face and amended her words, “I’m not sure how. I don’t know how to change.”
“Live your life instead of observing and analyzing it all the time.” Abruptly, Liz asked, “Where’s Arthur tonight?”
Madge blinked in surprise. “I suppose home or playing cards with his friends.”
“Why did he let you come up here for a week by yourself?”
“Liz,” Madge said, pulling at her hair, “Liz, you know very well we allow each other room to breathe.”
“Sure. Sure, Madge. You play around?”
“Of course not. You know I don’t.”
“Does Arthur?”
“I don’t have to have him at my side every minute. We agreed we both need room to breathe, to be more interesting to each other. I trust him.” Madge’s fingernails raked her hair.
“Horseshit,” Liz said, “pure horseshit. You couldn’t even trust any of us to catch you.”
“How long have you been married, Madge?” Lane asked in a quiet voice.
“Twelve years,” Madge answered in a whisper.
“I don’t see any problems with an agreement like that between people with a good long-term marriage.”
“Don’t you,” Liz said with heavy sarcasm. “How long is the longest you’ve been with a man, Miss Christiansen?”
“Two years.”
“So that makes you an expert.” She turned to Madge. “I don’t know whose idea it was, this room to breathe shit, but when you love somebody you want to share all the important things, and everything’s important. How may years do you have,
“Jesus Christ,” Liz said, rolling her eyes upward. “Scripts. I need another drink.” She climbed to her feet. “Scripts scripts scripts,” she muttered, marching to the kitchen.
“It’s just not good to drift from one affair to another, Millie,” Chris said. “How would you know if the real thing came along?”
Lane said, “People often confuse the real thing with something that should have been an affair.”
“Lane’s right.” Millie nodded eagerly. “Look at all the divorces.”
“People should be able to handle butterfly interludes,” Lane said, smiling at Millie.
“But so many?” Chris said doubtfully.
“Butterfly interludes are very different from the real thing,” Lane said.
“But butterfly interludes are so superficial,” Diana said, disliking the term.
“They’re meant to be,” Lane said. “They shouldn’t be given any deeper significance.”
“Let’s go on,” Madge said. “It’s your turn, Chris. What would you like to see me change?”
“Well… nothing really. Well, maybe… it’s hard to get a real grip on you, that’s all. You’ve got opinions and ideas and lots of enthusiasm about what interests you, but I’m not sure I know who the real Madge is. Does that make any sense?”
Madge took a final puff from the tiny end of a joint and crushed it. She lit another as no one spoke. “Anybody agree with that? Did you hear, Liz?”
Liz took her place in the circle holding a tumblerful of bourbon in which a single ice cube floated. “I heard. And yes, since you ask. There are times I’d like to shake you till your teeth rattle and the real Madge comes out.” She swallowed some bourbon. “You jump from one crackpot idea to another and every time you say this one’s the right one, this one’s eternal truth. Then a week or a month later you’ve gone on to the next eternal truth.”
“I think every time it might be,” Madge said in a low voice. She stared at the floor. “There might be… answers.”
Diana gazed at her, stricken with pity.
“There’s a lot to you, I’m sure,” Millie said, “but sometimes you remind me of those terribly superficial women from Southern California. No offense,” she added to Diana.
“We have them,” Diana said, thinking tartly that this woman had little room to talk, this Northern California woman who drifted from one liaison to another.
Madge said, “I can’t change my—” She saw the expression on Liz’s face and amended her words, “I’m not sure how. I don’t know how to change.”
“Live your life instead of observing and analyzing it all the time.” Abruptly, Liz asked, “Where’s Arthur tonight?”
Madge blinked in surprise. “I suppose home or playing cards with his friends.”
“Why did he let you come up here for a week by yourself?”
“Liz,” Madge said, pulling at her hair, “Liz, you know very well we allow each other room to breathe.”
“Sure. Sure, Madge. You play around?”
“Of course not. You know I don’t.”
“Does Arthur?”
“I don’t have to have him at my side every minute. We agreed we both need room to breathe, to be more interesting to each other. I trust him.” Madge’s fingernails raked her hair.
“Horseshit,” Liz said, “pure horseshit. You couldn’t even trust any of us to catch you.”
“How long have you been married, Madge?” Lane asked in a quiet voice.
“Twelve years,” Madge answered in a whisper.
“I don’t see any problems with an agreement like that between people with a good long-term marriage.”
“Don’t you,” Liz said with heavy sarcasm. “How long is the longest you’ve been with a man, Miss Christiansen?”
“Two years.”
“So that makes you an expert.” She turned to Madge. “I don’t know whose idea it was, this room to breathe shit, but when you love somebody you want to share all the important things, and everything’s important. How may years do you have,
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