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The gated-entrance to The Garden greeted its guests with colossal erotic sculptures situated atop enormous pedestals, marbled columns, and the sounds of hummingbirds. Surrounded by lush foliage, coconut palms, waterfalls, orchids, birds-of-paradise, and tropical hibiscus, there was also a lagoon with its azure-colored water and a nine-hundred-square-foot infinity pool.
But the couples weren’t out here to enjoy the landscape. Nor were they here for the sunset. They’d been summoned to The Garden for a game of “I Know You Best.” The game was designed to see exactly how well couples knew their respective partners.
Dr. Dangerfield believed that real intimacy began with not only knowing oneself, but also knowing one’s partners. What she’d learned over the years of working with couples was that many times than not—most couples simply didn’t know their partners as well as they’d thought or believed. Sadly, but horridly true.
So, this evening, she—and each couple—would see who knew whom the best. The men were in partitioned booths, while the women sat up on stools facing their respective husbands on the other side of the garden.
And Dr. Dangerfield—who was wearing a white off-the-shoulder blouse that crisscrossed in the front and then tied in the back paired with white fitted jeans and a pair of seven-inch, salmon-colored red bottoms—was looking as flawless as ever as she stood at the podium.
Waiting.
Watching.
That bitch gives me my whole life, Brenda thought as she glanced over at the therapist, before pulling at the hem of her white mini-skirt and then crossing her thick shapely legs.
Brenda then glanced over at LaQuandra, who was sitting to the left of her. She was wearing a yellow romper and a pair of sandals. She looked cute. But her face was puffy-looking, and the way she was guzzling down bottle after bottle of Passion water—yes, the island had its own brand of water bottled straight from its springs—she was either profoundly hung over from all of her heavy drinking from the night before or somewhat still drunk from earlier today.
Either way, she looked like shit in the face.
The next stool over from LaQuandra was Krista, who was wearing a blue lotus-pattern fringed-trim skirt and long tank shirt with a wide floppy hat on her head and a pair of Birkenstock-type slides on her feet. She looked like an Amish woman gone rogue.
Brenda shook her head and then glanced back over at Dr. Dangerfield.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Dangerfield said, leaning into the microphone. “Who’s ready to play I. Know. You. Best . . .?”
The women clapped.
“Yassss, baby,”
Brenda said as she clapped. “We got this!”
“Woo-whooo!” Roselle pumped a fist in the air. And then he whistled as he, Isaiah, and Kendall clapped.
First up were the husbands.
Dr. Dangerfield would ask a series of very simple questions that the husbands were expected to know about their wives. For every correct response, that couple received two points in the first round. Round two, another set of questions would shift to the wives to see how well they knew their husbands and each correct response would be worth three points.
At the end of each round, the couple with the highest score would win a ten thousand dollar cash prize along with a seven-day, all-expenses-paid trip to the French Riviera.
The music faded.
“All right then, “Dr. Dangerfield said enthusiastically. “You know the rules. And you know what’s at stake. So. Let’s play—I. Know. You. Best. First question, gentlemen: What is your wife’s middle name?”
As the theme-music—an instrumental version of “If You Don’t Know Me By Now”—played through the speakers, each person wrote their answers on a medium-sized white erase board.
Each couple had thirty seconds to answer.
“Um. Mr. Lewis. Please. Jot down your answer, please.”
Isaiah grunted something inaudible, scribbling something down in red marker.
“Okay, gentlemen. Reveal your answers.”
The men turned their boards to face the women.
Isaiah: CHARDONNAY
Roselle: MONIQUE
