weren’t allowed to talk to us.”
“Andre isn’t a private-school boy,” Stephanie replied quietly.
I looked at her as if she was a traitor. “But he knew how I felt about marriage. If he thought it was okay to mess around he wouldn’t have been so secretive. I didn’t hear him come out and say: ‘Amanda, would it be okay if I fucked the waitress on the side, because that is what we do in France?’” I felt all the rage welling up inside me again.
“I get it.” Stephanie put up her hand to stop my diatribe. “I’m just saying if he wanted a divorce he would have asked for one a long time ago. These other women are just foam on his cappuccino. You make him belong, you are the American Dream.”
“That is the most disgusting imagery. Our high school English teacher would flunk you.” I half-smiled.
“I don’t think he’s going to give you up without a fight.”
“I come from a family of fighters. My father fought off cancer for four years.” I couldn’t believe I was having this discussion. Twelve hours ago I thought I was happily married and my main worry was if I sold enough tickets to the Garden Party fund-raiser.
“You need to talk to him. Leave Max here for dinner. Glenn or I will run him home later.”
“I look like warmed-over death.” I studied myself in the gilt antique mirror.
“You’re right, you do. Let’s go up to my bedroom and fix you up. I’ll give you something silk to wear, and douse you with Obsession.”
“It’s three o’clock on a Tuesday,” I protested.
“You can’t be overdressed for telling your husband to fuck off. You need the highest heels I have. To kick him right in the balls.”
* * *
An hour later I left Stephanie’s feeling like a new woman. I wore a Carolina Herrera dress that managed to look sexy and sophisticated at the same time.
“You don’t want to look like one of his hussies. You want to show him what he’s missing,” Stephanie said when she picked it out of her closet. It had a floral print and was made of a gauze fabric over an ivory slip. My feet were squeezed into four-inch Manolo heels (Stephanie was one shoe size smaller than me) that made me about the same height as Andre. “You don’t want Andre to look down on you in any way. If we can make you taller than him that would be perfect.”
Stephanie had applied my makeup. She lavished black mascara on my eyelashes and lent me one of her bright red lipsticks. “I know red lipstick isn’t really you. But it makes a statement: ‘Read My Lips.’ He’ll pay attention when you talk.”
I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled at Stephanie. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“I wasn’t as smart as you, or as rich as you. I had to use my feminine wiles to get ahead.” She laughed.
“I wish I had your feminine wiles.”
“You’re going to do great. Knock him dead.” She gave me a hug, sprayed me with perfume, and pushed me out the door.
* * *
I walked back to the post office where I had left my car a lifetime ago. The doors were unlocked; my purse was still under the seat. Ross was the safest place in the world, except for tramps who stole your husband. I climbed into the car and drove the two blocks home.
Andre’s car was in the driveway. The restaurant was closed on Tuesdays, so he would have no reason to still be there, unless it was to go another round with Ursula. I took a deep breath, fixed the skirt of my dress, and walked inside.
Andre was standing in the kitchen looking out the window. He had a glass of lemonade in front of him. “You look beautiful.” He kissed my cheek. “School committee meeting?”
“I don’t have meetings on Tuesdays. I leave Tuesdays free for yoga and breakfast at the Lemon Café. Except today the Lemon Café was out of my favorite strawberry muffins. So I thought I would surprise you and we could get breakfast together. But guess who got the surprise? Me! Because it looked like you and Ursula already
“Andre isn’t a private-school boy,” Stephanie replied quietly.
I looked at her as if she was a traitor. “But he knew how I felt about marriage. If he thought it was okay to mess around he wouldn’t have been so secretive. I didn’t hear him come out and say: ‘Amanda, would it be okay if I fucked the waitress on the side, because that is what we do in France?’” I felt all the rage welling up inside me again.
“I get it.” Stephanie put up her hand to stop my diatribe. “I’m just saying if he wanted a divorce he would have asked for one a long time ago. These other women are just foam on his cappuccino. You make him belong, you are the American Dream.”
“That is the most disgusting imagery. Our high school English teacher would flunk you.” I half-smiled.
“I don’t think he’s going to give you up without a fight.”
“I come from a family of fighters. My father fought off cancer for four years.” I couldn’t believe I was having this discussion. Twelve hours ago I thought I was happily married and my main worry was if I sold enough tickets to the Garden Party fund-raiser.
“You need to talk to him. Leave Max here for dinner. Glenn or I will run him home later.”
“I look like warmed-over death.” I studied myself in the gilt antique mirror.
“You’re right, you do. Let’s go up to my bedroom and fix you up. I’ll give you something silk to wear, and douse you with Obsession.”
“It’s three o’clock on a Tuesday,” I protested.
“You can’t be overdressed for telling your husband to fuck off. You need the highest heels I have. To kick him right in the balls.”
* * *
An hour later I left Stephanie’s feeling like a new woman. I wore a Carolina Herrera dress that managed to look sexy and sophisticated at the same time.
“You don’t want to look like one of his hussies. You want to show him what he’s missing,” Stephanie said when she picked it out of her closet. It had a floral print and was made of a gauze fabric over an ivory slip. My feet were squeezed into four-inch Manolo heels (Stephanie was one shoe size smaller than me) that made me about the same height as Andre. “You don’t want Andre to look down on you in any way. If we can make you taller than him that would be perfect.”
Stephanie had applied my makeup. She lavished black mascara on my eyelashes and lent me one of her bright red lipsticks. “I know red lipstick isn’t really you. But it makes a statement: ‘Read My Lips.’ He’ll pay attention when you talk.”
I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled at Stephanie. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“I wasn’t as smart as you, or as rich as you. I had to use my feminine wiles to get ahead.” She laughed.
“I wish I had your feminine wiles.”
“You’re going to do great. Knock him dead.” She gave me a hug, sprayed me with perfume, and pushed me out the door.
* * *
I walked back to the post office where I had left my car a lifetime ago. The doors were unlocked; my purse was still under the seat. Ross was the safest place in the world, except for tramps who stole your husband. I climbed into the car and drove the two blocks home.
Andre’s car was in the driveway. The restaurant was closed on Tuesdays, so he would have no reason to still be there, unless it was to go another round with Ursula. I took a deep breath, fixed the skirt of my dress, and walked inside.
Andre was standing in the kitchen looking out the window. He had a glass of lemonade in front of him. “You look beautiful.” He kissed my cheek. “School committee meeting?”
“I don’t have meetings on Tuesdays. I leave Tuesdays free for yoga and breakfast at the Lemon Café. Except today the Lemon Café was out of my favorite strawberry muffins. So I thought I would surprise you and we could get breakfast together. But guess who got the surprise? Me! Because it looked like you and Ursula already
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