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“Excuse me?” Alexis asks indignantly, pressing a hand over her heart.
“You heard me. Your husband is ten martinis deep, slurring his words and trying to cop a feel of Kathy Maben’s fake tits in her Wonder Woman costume a few houses down. How about you worry about your own shit instead of sticking your nose in Cindy’s?” Ariel takes a swig from her cup while still glaring at Alexis.
Alexis looks back over her shoulder and sure enough, her husband, Bob, is standing in the front yard of one of our neighbor’s houses and has his hand out toward Kathy’s chest, his body swaying from side to side.
“Hey, Alexis, I heard Bob doesn’t get enough blow jobs at home, care to comment on that?” Ariel asks in a loud voice, stopping more than a few conversations between people around us as they all look in our direction.
“How dare you?!” Alexis shouts, pointing her finger at Ariel.
“Oh, I dare. How does it feel, honey, having someone air your dirty laundry for everyone to hear?”
Alexis shoots Ariel a dirty look before turning away from us and hastily making her way down the sidewalk to her husband. Ariel and I stand there silently and watch as she marches over to Bob, grabs his arm, and drags him away from Kathy.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” I whisper, staring at Alexis when she stops, turns to face Bob, and starts wagging her finger in his face, her mouth moving so fast that I can only guess what kind of tirade she’s letting loose on him right now.
“The blow job thing? Sorry about that. I know she’s your friend, but she’s a bitch. You can tell just by looking at her that she’s never had a dick in her mouth. Poor Bob,” Ariel says with a sigh and a shake of her head.
“No, not that. I mean, I can’t believe you stuck up for me like that.”
Ariel turns to face me, perching her hip on the table next to us, causing one of the plates of cookies to tip, spilling a few of them onto the table. I quickly move forward and pile them back onto the plate.
“Look, we might have our differences, but I know what you’re going through, okay? I got fucked over by my ex-husband too. It’s not fun. Especially when you live on this street and you’re under a microscope all the time,” she says, looking right at me as she brings one hand down to the plate of cookies and flicks a few of them off the pile I just made.
With a huff, I pick them back up and restack them.
“Your ex cheated on you with God knows how many women and fled the country with someone almost half your age too?” I ask, taking a step back and admiring the nice, neat cookie pile.
“My ex is a performer for a major cruise line. Our wedding was a Phantom of the Opera theme. He cheated on me with God knows how many men. I probably should have seen it coming when he insisted on singing show tunes at our reception,” she informs me, reaching down and knocking the cookies back off the plate.
“Will you stop messing up the cookies?” I demand, pushing her away from the table.
“But it’s so fun watching you get pissed off. Sweet milk of magnesia, you’re anal. Here, drink this,” Ariel demands, shoving her red Solo cup at me.
“What is it?” I question, taking the cup from her hand and peering down into it to find it half full of clear liquid.
“Water. Just shut up and drink it.”
Feeling quite parched after what just occurred with Alexis, and with my nerves completely shot knowing everyone on this street will know about it within the next five minutes, I bring the cup to my lips and tip it back, swallowing the entire contents at once.
As soon as the liquid hits my throat, the burning I feel makes my eyes water, and I bend at the waist, coughing and sputtering as Ariel pats me on the back.
“That wasn’t water!” I yell through my coughs, pounding my fist against my chest.
“No, it was vodka on the rocks. But the ice melted, so technically there’s water in it,” Ariel says with a shrug as the burning in my throat finally goes away and I can breathe again.
“Oh, my goodness. I cannot be inebriated around my neighbors and their children,” I say, looking nervously up and down the street, hoping no one saw me just take a large shot of vodka.
“If anyone deserves to let her hair down and get piss-drunk, it’s you.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask her softly, the quiet hum of conversation and laughter floating around us.
“I told you, I’ve been where you are. Jesus, I’m still where you are, I just hide it better. At least you didn’t marry a man who, no matter how hard you tried, would never find you attractive or want you. Try living with that for the rest of your life,” Ariel says, the confidence always shining on her face slowly disappearing and a look of sadness taking its place. “Did you know I used to own an antique store? I’m kind of a hoarder when it comes to cool old shit, and when it started taking up too much of our house, my ex convinced me to open my own business and sell the stuff. I loved it. Every minute of it. From going on road trips to find more cool stuff, to working day and night in my store, I loved it. It was mine, and I was proud of it. But my piece-of-shit ex decided one day to take a cruise out of the country and never come back. And since he didn’t make jack shit for money, and my business was doing really well, I have to pay that asshole alimony. And I lost my business because of it. And now I have a month left before I’m going to lose my house as well, and I really, really don’t want to sell any more of my antiques than I already have. They’re all I’ve got. I know they’re just things, but they’re mine.”
