Goody Two Shoes (2 page)

“Oh yeah?  Well missy, you’d lose that bet.  In fact, he approves of it with a capital A!”

“Lemme see,” I plead, struggling to sit up in my lounger to get a better view.

Patty bends over as though I’m a physician inspecting a suspicious mark.  It actually looks really sexy in the small of her back just above her bikini bottom.  A streak of jealousy shoots through me.  My hands are on either side of her ass, turning it from side to side like I’m going to give it a grade.  I even pull my reading glasses from their perch on top of my head to inspect this travesty closer.

“Tramp Stamp?  Is that what it says?  Is that like naming your cat, Cat?” I giggle; thankful I don’t have any close neighbors.  The sight of me grabbing her ass might turn heads if I lived in a traditional neighborhood.  The only ones with their eyes on us right now are the horses in the pasture and our menagerie of family dogs, and none of them will talk.  If they do, well I have a special vet for those scoundrels.

“What?  Were you, drunk?”

“I was not drunk!  And that is my
member
number!  You need to get your damn eyes checked again.”

“You might want to take it easy on the low-waisted shorts from now on.”  That was my retort to her comment on my slowly fading vision, but we all know that’s not the crux of it.  So I admit; I’m envious of Patty’s slender body.  She can eat anything she wants and not gain an ounce.  I gain weight breathing.

“Go ahead and make fun if you want, but I’m proud of it!  And Steve treats me like whipped cream with a cherry on top.  A far cry from the thirty thousand dollar divorce I was ready to write a check for.”

I lower my reading glasses down to the tip of my nose and look at her, “So the divorce is off?”

“Yep!  And instead, he bought me a new car and paid for my tattoo.  Goodies galore.”

My mouth hangs dangerously open.  It’s never been easy being best friends with the prettiest girl in town, but at least we had the misery of our marriages to talk about.  Nevertheless, I’m happy for her.  She deserves every ounce of happiness in my book.  “Tell me how you did it so I can get started!”

“Oh no,
hell
no.”

I lean back in my lounger and pout, pretending to ignore her.

“Come on don’t be that way!  It’s the rules.  I can’t screw with the rules.  Imagine what would happen if I broke one?”  Now she’s just patronizing me, but she goes on with animation, “Why by golly gee whiz, the entire sphere we lovingly call earth will surely tumble into the great abyss!”

“So you’re gonna make fun of me now?  All because you got drunk and got a tattoo and I said something about it?”

“You aren’t my Momma, Tara.  It isn’t up to you to tell me right from wrong you know,” she humphs like a spoiled little brat, and closes her eyes against the mid-morning sun.

“Somebody’s got to,” I finish, making sure to get the last word in.

But that hit a nerve and Patty sits up furiously and smacks her feet on the concrete between our chairs, “Well it ain’t gonna be you!  Fuck you, Tara, and your goody two shoes too.”

She’s leaving, but I grab her ankle to hold her still, “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean anything.  What did you expect?  You come over here flaunting a new tattoo and telling me about how perfect your marriage is.  Mine’s still shit.  There’s the update!”

“You’re jealous?”

Beyond true; I am green with envy, all shades of it.  I haven’t been this jealous since she was elected class president in eighth grade.  I could spew fire.  Instead of admitting my jealousy, I lean back and close my eyes against her.

“Tara, listen, listen to me.  I can help you now.  Let me help!  Don’t be jealous, be
with
me!”  Patty bends low beside my chair having her guilt attack.  I grin, mission accomplished.

“Sit down for God’s sake; you’re blocking the sun with that stupid hat!”  I’m still pretending to be mad at her.  “Tell me about this cult.”

She ignored me.  “Have you tried dressing up for him?”

“Tried it.  No go.  I thought he needed Viagra,” I giggle uncomfortably, “but he gets plenty hard watching porn in his office, so I can’t give him a medical pass.  And yes, to answer your question, I have worn lingerie.  Nothing happened.”

“All Steve wants is for me to be the biggest slut I can possibly be,” she mutters inconsiderately.  “What exactly
is
your idea of lingerie?”

“I’m not talking leather here, Patty.  I’m looking down the barrel at fifty, remember?  I picked out a few new nightgowns at Belk’s last year; some see through ones.”  My comfort level at discussing my sex life, or lack of it, is running on empty.  After all, ladies don’t talk of such things, do we?

“You’re kidding right?  We’re seriously going lingerie shopping next week girlfriend.”  She flips her wrist in that way only women of Gullah decent can get away with.

I admit I’m getting pretty sensitive to her attack on my lack of sexuality on the whole.  After all, it isn’t my fault that my middle-aged-middle and gray hairs have gotten in between me and Simmons.  It’s a sad fact of life; we get old and broad, hence the name ‘old broads.’  Still, I’m not some infant who needs schooling; I’m just not a desirable young woman anymore.  Big deal.  It happens to all of us sooner or later, and it will happen to Patty too… maybe when she’s eighty.  “Listen Patty, I’m real happy that you and Steve are screwing all the time, but please don’t make fun of me because my marriage isn’t like that.”

She stares at me as though my viciousness is unwarranted.  “Tara, honey, I’m not making fun of you.  I really do want to help you… in bed ya know… if I can.”

Now I can’t help but laugh, “How so?”

“No, no, no!  Maybe you should think about joining the Tramp Stamp Club with me?”

I burst out laughing, “Seriously?  And what?  Get a tattoo?  Do I have to buy a motorcycle?  Wait, do I have to be a Prospect?  I’ve washed enough damned dishes you know.”

“No motorcycle, and we don’t all wear matching jackets… just the tattoos.”

“And you think Simmons and I will suddenly screw like bunnies if I join this club?  I just don’t see it.”  Of course I don’t see it; to me it sounds like some kind of club the ladies at the beauty parlor came up with after passing around a Harlequin romance.  To go to all the trouble of acting like a harlot and dressing up for him just to see him roll over and go to sleep… nah… don’t think it’s worth it.  Humiliation just isn’t in my schedule this week.

But my friend stands fast, “Yes, I am absolutely sure you and Simmons will be fucking like bunnies.  Wild bunnies, cute white bunnies with pink noses, bunnies running around in circles beating drums, all kinds of bunnies fucking.”

I laugh, but somewhere deep in my frigid vagina something calls to me.  It’s an actual twitch, as though my genitals are telling me to listen;
perk up girl, pay attention!
  I’m startled at the forgotten sensation.  Now this isn’t the first time my privates have spoken to me.  The first time was on my wedding night, and the result was my eldest daughter Jennifer.  But she, Vagina as she likes to be called, has been quiet for a while now.  I often wondered if she hadn’t packed up and left entirely.  “Alright already, tell me how this club is gonna fix my marriage!”  I’m imagining some kind of sex pyramid promises here.  You know the deal, ‘You too can have sexual relations with this many (points to visual) people by just recruiting two of your closest friends.  As seen on TV.’

Patty’s face drops dead serious, and I can’t tell if it’s an act for affect or not.  “I’m not joking, Tara.  The Club saved my marriage.  Yeah, things get a little kinky, but I bet there’s a sliver of naughty left in you too,” she looks at me as though I’m one of the race horses she bought for studding.

“I don’t know if naughty is a word that could ever be used to describe me!” I say, too reluctant to admit that I dream of being a little wicked every once in a while.  Of course that was before Vagina stopped talking to me.  Now that I think about it, ‘wicked’ is a word that doesn’t remotely describe me.  And just because Patty’s turned into a wanton hussy doesn’t mean I’m going to furnish my house with throw pillows, buy some pot, and host orgies.

“Honey, I was raised to keep my knees together too you know!  And I can
see
that holier than thou look you’re giving me.  Look, here’s the way I see it.  I’ve only got this one chance left to have fun.  I was looking at fifty and imagining my Momma and your Momma at our age.  I’m tellin’ you darling, it wasn’t a pretty picture.”

“For the record, you
do
look like your momma.”

“Bitch.  Alright, pick on my ass if you want, but I’m not the one who’s thinking of the D word.”

“The D word?”

“Divorce, and don’t tell me you aren’t considering it.  We’ve been best friends our whole life, drop the attitude.  You and Simmons used to be all hot and heavy; those three babies weren’t immaculate conceptions.  Hell, in high school ya’ll were voted most likely to grow old together.  What happened Tara?  Do you even know?”

I shook my head.  I don’t have a clue.  “Time happened I guess.  At some point we just got too tired to try anymore.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.  What you did was load yourself up with responsibilities until you didn’t have time for each other.  That’s why I dropped the Garden Club you know?  I figured if you all couldn’t teach me how to keep a ficus alive by now then there’s no hope for me as a gardener.  I hired one, and a maid too.”

“You got a maid?” Okay, I’m green.

She nods dramatically, “Damn skippy I did.  Steve and I do all kinds of things together now.  It’s great!”

“And it’s all because of this club you joined?”

“Yep, it is.”

I’m not going to say I’m a skeptical woman by nature.  I tend to go with the more Christian stance when I can, you know, trust thy neighbor…or is it covet thy neighbor?  No, that can’t be right!  Anyway, what I’m telling you is that this sounds like a pretty hokey deal to me.  I’m waiting to be sold some skin so soft.  “Is it a sex club, Patty?” I whisper because the word ‘sex’ might offend someone… like me.

“No one’s going to come in your living room and try to sell you and your closest friends a dildo or a garlic crusher if that’s what you’re asking.  It’s not fucking Amway.  Just a group of great folks who enjoy being around each other.  There’s a business group too.  Steve’s been up to his neck in new clients.”

BFF Patty’s husband is an attorney.  An
old
Charleston attorney, and that makes him more dangerous than the spiders, stingrays and jellyfish Simmons writes about.  But she’s right, the thought of calling him and asking for a referral for a divorce attorney has crossed my mind.  It’s a plan that’s still in the infantile stage because I’m dragging my feet.  Every time I think of calling him, something in my heart pinches too painfully.  “Get to the part about how it saved your marriage.  That’s the part I want to know.”

“There were lessons.  I’m talking fairly dirty stuff here, stuff you wouldn’t try probably.  I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.  You aren’t going to try it.”

Ah the real nitty-gritty of the matter.  She’s afraid to tell me because she thinks it’ll offend my sensibilities.  But you know what?  Maybe it’s time someone offended them.  I’m only having a brave moment because Vagina’s interested in hearing the dirty stuff, but I can’t help myself; it’s a train wreck.  “Tell me.”

“Nah, I really shouldn’t.  I mean privacy is uber important here.”

I glance across the pool deck where my pit bull mix is sunning himself, “Tater?  You gonna tell?”  He lifts his head at the sound of his name, but not seeing a ball in my hand he re-joins his nap.  “See, just you and me.  You better tell me or I’ll light a candle at Mass for your Momma and tell her about your tattoo.”  I know she’ll take me seriously now.  Her Momma had that whole Geechie/Gullah/Witch doctor thing going on, and boy did she scare the hell out of us sometimes.

I can see the dilemma wearing on her.  “You have to swear on our friendship that you’ll never repeat a word?”

I cross my heart.

“Okay, but remember when your fanning yourself for air that I didn’t want to tell you.  You forced me.”

I nod.

“There are lessons; training lessons that you have to go through.  Jonathon mixes them up for everyone so I can’t tell you what you’d have to do exactly.  But I’ll tell you that mine started with sucking his cock in his office.”

I choke.  “Holy HELL!”

“See I told you.  No way you’d do that.”

And I do fan myself.  “Okay, hang on, let me catch my breath.  You’re telling me that Steve allowed you to suck some other man’s cock?”

“Steve drove me there.”

“Ugh, uh, no way.”

“Oh yeah, all this was his idea.  He met Jonathon through one of his golf buddies and Jonathon invited us to join.  But remember this is when we were just starting the divorce; I wasn’t even speaking to Steve at the time.  He was sleeping at his office until he could find a place.  But he called me and asked me to meet him to talk through some things.  I figured he meant who got the formal china kind of talk, so I agreed.”

“Who is this Jonathon guy?”  I asked, freshly skeptical.

“Jonathon does the training.  Anyway, the bottom line is that I still loved Steve.  I guess that’s the real reason I met with him that night.  But something clicked when I met Jonathon; he enlightened me… I don’t know it seemed like something I might try after all.  So I agreed to the lessons.  In my mind I was preparing for husband number two.  What I found out, is that I really want to keep husband number one.”

I laugh again, well, because it’s funny as hell to me that she had some great epiphany that suddenly made her want to suck a strange man’s penis.  For the life of me I can’t think of a single brilliant moment that I’ve ever had that made me eager to suck a penis.

“Oh right, keep on laughing.  Want me to host a bake sale to pay for your divorce?”

Sting!  So my husband isn’t a wealthy lawyer with an influx of new clients.  He has a new book he’s working on… who knows, maybe he’ll save a tree one day or something equally as important.  I’ve always had the nagging sensation that Simmons was going to do something important one day.  Up till now, we’ve done alright, considering we put three kids through college and I’ve never worked.  I glare at her because I know she’s right on the nose; a divorce would kill us financially.  “Point made.  So tell me what sucking this man’s…”