“Oh, I didn’t know I was speaking with my other friend, Plato.” In a higher voice, she asked, “Mrs. Philosopher, have you seen Margot? She was here a minute ago. The very tiny woman with First Lady hair who eats air now.”
I gave her an obligatory chuckle. “Funny. You’re hilarious.”
She plowed on. “If you can convince him to see a couple’s therapist with you, you might win some of your battles. Youcan’t give him whatever he wants and not get anything in return.” Erica was ignorant of my pressure-cooking salvation, which is good evidence that a big part of me knew how crazy I was being.
“I know, I know,” I said. “I don’t want to nag him about therapy yet. We’re getting better.”
“Are you? Are you really, Margot? Getting better?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of isn’t good enough for my best friend. You deserve so much better than Rory Simpson. You deserve better than I have. You’re such a catch. That’s why I don’t want you hanging around my new husband. He’ll see what hecouldhave gotten.”
“Oh, hush,” I said. “You’resucha catch.”
She fluttered her eyes. “I am, aren’t I? Please, keep going. Tell me more.”
I looked at the Vietnamese women working on us and wondered how much they could understand. They knew some English, and I could only assume they’d been listening and comprehending most of what we’d been saying for years. Needless to say, I appreciated their discretion.
The cheap wine flowed as the technicians finished our feet and started on our fingers. Erica and I laughed with each other until both our eyes were full of tears. What would I have done without her? No matter where our lives took us, she would always be my soul sister.
I eventually told her about my latest episode with the Dream Killer, adding, “I touched his ding-dong last night.”
Erica’s jaw dropped. “The Dream Killer has a ding-dong?”
I cracked up. “Believe it or not.”
Wrinkling her nose, she asked, “What does it do? Does it move? I’m imagining a kind of ferret. With red eyes.” Tapping into an evil cartoon voice, she said, “I’m coming after you, Margot.”
I laughed, because I couldn’t help it. Then, with a tone thatwould be perfect for breaking the news of a loved one’s death, I muttered, “He pushed me away.”
Erica raised her voice. “Margot Simpson, if you don’t get a handle on this marriage, I will disown you. Seriously. That ferret-dicked jackass belongs in the zoo.”
“Hold your voice down,” I said, smothering another grin but worried about a potential eavesdropper a few chairs down. She had her head buried in a magazine, but she might have been able to overhear our conversation if we weren’t careful.
As I often had to do with my loudmouth friend, I reminded her in a whisper, “We’re public figures. I don’t want to read about us in some gossip column.”
Erica lowered her voice. “You touched his ferret, and he pushed you away? That isPage Sixmaterial. I’ll tell you right now. He’s either batting for the other team, or he’s getting his knob shined by another gal. Actually, maybe he’s batting for the other teamandrunning around on you. You need to watch how he looks at other men. Look at you, Margot. You’re so hot even I could go after you, and I’m twenty miles from being a lesbian.”
“Twenty miles? What does that even mean.”
“Who knows, I’m on a roll. Anyway, what was hethinking? You’re way out of his league. He’s lucky to even breathe the same air.”
“He’s distracted, that’s all. You know, this talk of running for the senate.”
“Don’t you follow the headlines? Politicians love sex. All of them. If they’re not getting it from their wives, they’re getting it somewhere else.”
I turned toward her. “Oh, don’t be silly. Rory?”
Erica crossed her arms. “Yes, Rory. Believe it or not, there are women out there who crave being with someone in power. They want the mayor slash Dream Killer’s furry ferret inside theirbodies. They don’t care that he’s a selfish imbecile who hates chickens and B&Bs.”
“Okay, okay. Settle down. Heismy husband.”
She flapped a hand through the air, really getting amped up. “I’m sorry, Margot, but I’m serious. You need to hire a private investigator. Just see what’s going on. Unless he’s decided he likes men, there’s something going on. Men need sex. That’s it, period. End of story.”
“It’s not always as simple as that. I don’t even think he can get it up most of the time. I’m telling you, sex is not even on his mind. For him, pleasure is cleaning out his inbox or securing his next vote.”
She gave a skeptical groan. “I hope you’re right, Margot, but I don’t think men have changed since the beginning of time. I bet Adam cheated on Eve.”
