form I get it.” She waved to their waiter. When he arrived, finally bearing the chips and dip, she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t think we need those chips after all. We just need the check. I have to go punish somebody. And my two new friends are going to help me.”
They piled into Brooke’s car. Well, actually Candace and Brooke piled, Amanda sort of oozed in. She wanted to come up with something scathingly brilliant that Rob would never forget, but she had neither the resources nor, at the moment, the mental abilities required. She knew she should be worried about her lack of mental acuity, but the alcoholic fog that now enveloped her was too comforting to object to. It was warm and fuzzy inside there, like being in a big protective bubble. Amanda didn’t want to come out any time soon.
“OK, so what do we have in mind for Rob? Should we slash his tires? E-mail naked photos of him to his clients?” Candace asked.
Amanda didn’t really care what she did to him as long as she did something. For at least one moment in the midst of all this mess, she wanted to be the one acting rather than the one being acted upon. No matter how small the gesture, she simply had to make one.
Brooke put on the brakes at a stoplight and a small drugstore bag sitting on the seat beside Amanda slid to the floor. Its contents spilled out and as she picked them up, she noticed the word Trojan . “What have we here?” She giggled—her, Amanda Sheridan, who had not giggled for at least a dozen years. “We have condoms.” She stopped laughing as the realization hit her. “But I don’t need condoms.” Stricken, she held the box aloft and slid forward in her seat so that she could talk to Brooke and Candace. “I may never need condoms again.” Her eyes teared up.
“Amanda, there are plenty of other men out there. I know. I’ve been out with what feels like millions of them.” Candace’s words were slightly slurred, but they were still reassuring. “I’ll buy you some condoms for your birthday if you want. We’ll get you a whole truckload of them.” Candace smiled crookedly at her. “Because that’s what friends are for.”
Amanda smiled through her tears. “That’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Good grief,” Brooke said. “You two are completely wasted.”
“But I don’t need anyone to buy me condoms,” Amanda continued. “I’m not officially poor yet. I can buy my own condoms. And I can buy as many as I want.”
She opened the box in her hands and took one out. “I’ve always thought they looked kind of like balloons. Do you think they look like balloons, Candace?”
“Nope.”
“I wonder if they blow up like balloons.” Amanda stretched the condom several times. Drawing in a deep breath, she brought the rubber to her mouth, placed her lips over the rolled edge, and blew mightily. Only the tip expanded.
“You’re right.” She expelled the words along with the air she’d been holding. “They don’t inflate.”
“They’re thicker than balloons,” Candace said. “And, of course, they are designed for a slightly different purpose. I don’t suppose you have a bicycle pump in your car do you, Brooke?”
Even Brooke giggled. “I can’t believe you’re sitting in my backseat trying to blow up prophylactics. Which I can’t believe I left sitting where you two nutcases could play with them.”
Amanda raised the condom to her lips and made one last futile attempt to inflate the thing.
“What size are they?” Candace asked. “Not that it probably matters.”
The condom flew out of Amanda’s mouth with her laughter. “So you’re saying size is a factor?”
Candace’s tone was droll—drunk, but droll. “Well, you can bet they don’t come in small. I’ve never met a man who would admit to needing anything less than an extra large.”
“Oh God, now I’m picturing a whole row of cocktail wieners stuffed into oversized
They piled into Brooke’s car. Well, actually Candace and Brooke piled, Amanda sort of oozed in. She wanted to come up with something scathingly brilliant that Rob would never forget, but she had neither the resources nor, at the moment, the mental abilities required. She knew she should be worried about her lack of mental acuity, but the alcoholic fog that now enveloped her was too comforting to object to. It was warm and fuzzy inside there, like being in a big protective bubble. Amanda didn’t want to come out any time soon.
“OK, so what do we have in mind for Rob? Should we slash his tires? E-mail naked photos of him to his clients?” Candace asked.
Amanda didn’t really care what she did to him as long as she did something. For at least one moment in the midst of all this mess, she wanted to be the one acting rather than the one being acted upon. No matter how small the gesture, she simply had to make one.
Brooke put on the brakes at a stoplight and a small drugstore bag sitting on the seat beside Amanda slid to the floor. Its contents spilled out and as she picked them up, she noticed the word Trojan . “What have we here?” She giggled—her, Amanda Sheridan, who had not giggled for at least a dozen years. “We have condoms.” She stopped laughing as the realization hit her. “But I don’t need condoms.” Stricken, she held the box aloft and slid forward in her seat so that she could talk to Brooke and Candace. “I may never need condoms again.” Her eyes teared up.
“Amanda, there are plenty of other men out there. I know. I’ve been out with what feels like millions of them.” Candace’s words were slightly slurred, but they were still reassuring. “I’ll buy you some condoms for your birthday if you want. We’ll get you a whole truckload of them.” Candace smiled crookedly at her. “Because that’s what friends are for.”
Amanda smiled through her tears. “That’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Good grief,” Brooke said. “You two are completely wasted.”
“But I don’t need anyone to buy me condoms,” Amanda continued. “I’m not officially poor yet. I can buy my own condoms. And I can buy as many as I want.”
She opened the box in her hands and took one out. “I’ve always thought they looked kind of like balloons. Do you think they look like balloons, Candace?”
“Nope.”
“I wonder if they blow up like balloons.” Amanda stretched the condom several times. Drawing in a deep breath, she brought the rubber to her mouth, placed her lips over the rolled edge, and blew mightily. Only the tip expanded.
“You’re right.” She expelled the words along with the air she’d been holding. “They don’t inflate.”
“They’re thicker than balloons,” Candace said. “And, of course, they are designed for a slightly different purpose. I don’t suppose you have a bicycle pump in your car do you, Brooke?”
Even Brooke giggled. “I can’t believe you’re sitting in my backseat trying to blow up prophylactics. Which I can’t believe I left sitting where you two nutcases could play with them.”
Amanda raised the condom to her lips and made one last futile attempt to inflate the thing.
“What size are they?” Candace asked. “Not that it probably matters.”
The condom flew out of Amanda’s mouth with her laughter. “So you’re saying size is a factor?”
Candace’s tone was droll—drunk, but droll. “Well, you can bet they don’t come in small. I’ve never met a man who would admit to needing anything less than an extra large.”
“Oh God, now I’m picturing a whole row of cocktail wieners stuffed into oversized
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