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Ruby nods, considering the question. “Well,” she says, biting her lower lip. Her eyes skitter across the room to where Banks is standing, looking as though he’s not listening to a word that’s being said, though she’s more than certain that he is. “I think that whether I’m ready for the world to hear it all or not, they’re eventually going to. I can cooperate, or I can bury my head in the sand and have no say in what Dexter North writes about me or my husband or our life. And I don’t think I want that.”
“Exactly,” Marigold says, slapping her own thigh. “Control your own narrative, or the rest of the world will do it for you. I’m a huge proponent of not letting anyone put words in your mouth.”
Ruby shrugs. “I don’t know what I’ll say. I don’t always know what I feel…but Jack has been gone for over a year now, and it’s time for me to start untangling the mess he left behind.”
“That’s incredibly brave, Ruby.” Marigold nods as she watches Ruby’s pained expression. “You never asked to share your trauma with the world, the world just decided it had a right to know every last detail.”
Ruby gives a soft laugh. “There are plenty of things we never ask for, and unfortunately, we don’t have any say about how we work through them. I’m just one of many going through something ugly while people watch.”
“Well,” Heather says decisively, giving Marigold a quick glance. “You won’t go through it alone. We’re not a mighty book club just yet, but we are a gang of gals with some history behind us, and we’ll be right here while you sort things out--if you want us to be here.”
Ruby nods quickly and emphatically, tears filling her green eyes. “I do.” She looks at the other women, her daughters included, and thinks of Molly and the four decades she’s spent living a romance-free, no nonsense life on this island after losing her husband. The sound of Vanessa and Athena (who has gone up front to talk books with Vanessa) chatting at the computer at the front of the store filters back to her, and in that moment, there is nothing sweeter to Ruby than the sound of women’s voices. She loves seeing women work together, and she adores everything about female companionship. Her heart is warm just being surrounded by these strong, funny, interesting women. “I absolutely want you all to be here while I sort things out,” Ruby says, feeling certain that this book club is going to be the best thing that's happened to her in years. “One thousand percent.”
Ruby
Ruby is halfway through reading Dexter North’s book when her assistant gets a message from his assistant requesting a time and place to meet. Ruby has spent some time mentally preparing herself to sit down with the man who intends to turn over every leaf and look under every rock as he examines her life--or Jack’s life, rather—but in essence, what’s left of her marriage. He’s going to sift through the detritus and see what remains to find out if there’s anything worth massaging and turning into word gold.
Marigold Pim walks into Marooned With a Book, holding Dexter North’s tome under one arm.
“I finished it,” she says, slapping the hardcover book on the front counter. “And you know what? It’s damn good.”
Ruby nods. “I know. I’d be completely done with it myself, but I’ve been busy with my girls and with running the shop, and whenever I climb into bed with Dexter North—“
Marigold moans and makes a blissed-out face. “I should be so lucky.”
Ruby laughs, realizing what she’s said. “Okay, whenever I climb into bedwith his book, I pass out after a page or two. My only reading time is early in the morning over coffee.”
Marigold pulls her phone out of her crossbody bag and starts tapping away. “But have you seen this man? Good god, Ruby. He’s gorgeous.”
Naturally, Dexter North is handsome. Of course he is. She’s seen his black-and-white photo on the book jacket, and she knows he’s good looking.
“Do you think there’s any way I’ll be able to, like,” Ruby pushes the air with her hand like she’s shoving something out of the way, “just movepastthe fact that he’s extremely attractive and feel unselfconscious as he pokes and prods around in my personal life?”
Marigold frowns. She’s still holding her phone in her hand, which she turns around to show Ruby. On the screen is Dexter North in a cream-colored linen blazer and a tight black t-shirt. His sandy blonde hair is blown up and away from his chiseled face, which is covered by a dusting of five o’clock shadow. He’s standing outside on a street corner, and his eyes are focused on something in the distance.
“If you can look past this level of hotness, then you’re a stronger woman than most,” Marigold says, swiping at the phone screen and coming up with another photo, which she shows Ruby. “It’s hard to find fault with a man who looks like he’s spent time on a runway and who can sit down and write a book that keeps you up all night, turning pages.”
“Smart and attractivearequite the combo,” Ruby says, feeling her heart sink. Why can’t the person writing the book that’s going to blow the doors off her heart be a woman? Or at least a completely unappealing man? It would be so much easier to put the whole thing in a box and handle it at a distance if she wasn’t going to have to sit across from someone who looks like a young Robert Redford.
Marigold puts her phone back into her purse and leans on the counter with both elbows, leveling her gaze at Ruby. From the side of the room, Banks flicks a gaze in their direction, clearly deems this close and quiet discussion as nothing noteworthy, and continues his silent vigil.
“Listen,” Marigold says, tapping the counter with one short, red nail. “You need to stay ahead of this. Since the beginning of time, women have used their looks to cast a spell over men and get what they want. You know how that game works—you’re a stunning woman.”
Ruby starts to demur, but she knows that Marigold isn’t just blowing hot air up her skirt. Womendoknow how to use what’s been given to them, and Ruby perhaps better than most. After all, she’d parlayed sunny, all-American good looks into a career in commercials and then into a life as a First Lady, so to act like she had no awareness of her fine features, her long, graceful neck, or her innate composure would be disingenuous.
“So you’re saying I should use my looks to manipulate him?”
Marigold gives a shake of her loose, auburn hair. “No. I’m saying that you understand how the game works. Don’t lethimuse the power of his good looks to loosen your lips—either pair.”
Ruby guffaws; she wasn’t expecting Marigold to be so forward, but she’s not complaining. One of the qualities that’s served her well in every area of her life is a solid—and sometimes bawdy—sense of humor. She recalls one time in Mexico City where she and the First Lady of Mexico shared too much tequila and told the filthiest jokes they could think of. Even the Secret Service agents on duty had cracked smiles as they tried to appear detached and impartial to that conversation.
“Got it,” Ruby says, patting the counter with both hands. “Don’t tell him my secrets and don’t drop my drawers just because he’s hot.”
The women lock eyes and start giggling like teenagers.
“We’ve all been there,” Marigold says, shaking her head. “Lord have mercy. I’ve made some terrible choices in the presence of extremely fine men. And when they’re brillianton topof looking like a dessert buffet…” She drops her chin like she’s in prayer, then lifts her head quickly, tossing her hair back as she looks right into Ruby’s eyes with laser-like focus. “All I’m saying is you know his game. You’ve played it. No need to give him everything—or anything—he wants. Decide before you meet him what you’re willing to talk about, and then stick to it.”
There is a moment as Ruby stands there, listening to the ocean in the distance, which is barely audible above the 80s Spotify playlist that she has playing over the shop’s speakers, that she realizes she’s a former First Lady taking advice from a former supermodel. The whole thing tickles her that, at their age, they’re still standing around, sharing age-old wisdom like a couple of young girls. It’s one of the things she loves most and has missed the most over the past couple of decades about having a group of girlfriends, and though she and Marigold haven’t known each other long, she feels a rush of warmth towards the woman.
