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Eventually, Melanie recovers from her laughing spell. I think she’s going to excuse herself. I’m hoping she’s going to find her way back to me. But then, she lightly touches the woman’s arm before doubling over again. I hope whatever she is laughing at was actually funny. Melanie tends to lean toward dramatics. I hope she’s smart enough to keep her energy concentrated at its strongest point. She doesn’t yet know intensity beats range every time.
I have to look away. I am considering wandering into the house, down the hall, and into our host’s study to see what kind of books he keeps shelved. One can always get an accurate picture of another by taking a gander at their reading tastes. After all, as my father used to say, if you only know yourself, then you're fated to lose every battle. You must know your enemy's intentions.
“So…how are things getting on?” Adam’s voice asks, interrupting my thoughts and subsequently my peace. I didn’t wander into the house. I felt him coming before I heard him, thanks to the shoddy music. When I look up, I’m not surprised to see he’s standing over me. The glare of the patio lights forces me to shield my eyes. “It’s a great party.”
He moves to the right so that his head is blocking the light. “Can I get you anything?” he asks, ever the gracious host. “A beer, a whiskey…cocaine?”
I hold up my glass of water to show I’m good.
Adam grins, he can’t help himself. He’s rubbing it in that he’s caught me red-handed not enjoying myself. I won’t bother to correct him. Displaying defects on occasion is important. Only God and the deceased have the liberty to appear faultless.
He shakes his own empty glass, rattling the ice. He takes another shot. “So how are things going?”
“Sorry,” I offer, rising to my feet. “Couldn’t hear over the music.”
He nods at Melanie and the others. “Such a great night.”
I cup my ear. “What was that?”
“I asked if you’re having a good time.” His voice rises as he edges closer. “I asked how married life is treating you.”
“Look at her,” I say, following his gaze. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s stunning. Young and stunning.”
I swallow hard. Secondhand opinions are my least favorite kind.
He sucks in air. “Any idea where I can find one like that?” When I glance over, he shakes his head slowly from side to side. “So pure. So uninhibited. So…fresh.”
“It requires luck,” I assure him, which is a blanket statement to avoid having to explain the truth of the matter. First of all, not that it matters, but Adam is married. But even if he were to suddenly find himself single, or let’s say if Mark’s agenda were to succeed, the odds are not in Adam’s favor of finding another wife. Particularly not one as “fresh” as Melanie. Adam has a few things working against him. There’s his age, for starters. By the time an individual turns 40, the likelihood that he or she will ever become married, if the person is single at that point in time, is slim, as the percentage hovers around 15%, and remains relatively the same up to 60 years of age. Thankfully, not only was Melanie not married previously, not only was she for the most part pure, she is also younger than the pool of women in which Adam will likely have to choose, making the odds of his success less still. Younger women do not often fall for older men unless their income level exceeds that well beyond the average. Suffice it to say, I handle Adam’s taxes.
“Remind me again.” He shifts slightly. “How’d the two of you meet?”
“I thought I told you.”
Adam shakes his head. “Uh-uh.”
“On the street. Mel bumped into me, spilled coffee on my shirt.”
His eyes widen slightly. I watch as the surprise registers in his expression. I have given him hope. I can tell by the way his bottom lip juts out. “Huh. Just like that.”
I study Adam in my peripheral vision. His posture doesn’t immediately tell me how to respond. When in doubt, a question is best. “Why do you ask?”
“She just seems familiar, that’s all.”
I press my lips to one another. “Melanie’s not from here.”
“I know. Boise
, she said.”
“Idaho, yes.”
“But I don’t know…” He shoves his hands in his pockets and then he turns to me. “I think I’ve seen her before. And I’ve sure as hell never been to Boise.”
“No?” I say, meeting his eye. “You should visit sometime.”
Adam leans back on his heel. He’s looking for a change of pace. “So who’s sponsoring her? Now that Josie is out?”
