tomato-basil cream cheese, my stomach executed a quick barrel roll. Taking care not to draw attention to myself, I took up a position by the refrigeratorâjust a quick dash to the downstairs powder room if nausea struck. Emma noted my strategy with a smirk.
Fortunately, Libby didnât notice. She rooted around in a drawer to find a serrated knife and began to carefully slice a bagel. âEmma told me what happened last night, Nora. How exciting! She said youâd tell me everything else.â
âWhat happened to Zell wasnât exactly exciting.â
âI donât mean about Zell! I mean about Cupcakes! Was it very fun?â
âIt was mostly gross, Libby. Itâs somebody cashing in by coercing young girls to act very foolishly because they donât know any better.â
âIâve seen their television commercials. I love the little dances they do.â Libby gave a cowgirl shimmy. âAnd the pictures of cupcakes? With the single jelly bean on each one? So cute!â
âTwo months ago you thought selling vibrators was cute,â I said. âThen the police arrested you.â
Libby stopped dancing and frowned. âIf I had the money, Iâd hire a lawyer to get my inventory back. I kept a few items for my personal collectionâwhich is perfectly legal, by the wayâbut I wish I could get my hands on the Magic Wand again.â
âLibby!â
âWhat? I know Iâm not allowed to sell them in public places. Although I donât understand why, except that most lawmakers are prudes.â
âNot all, I hope.â I sent Emma a meaningful glance.
âWhat does that mean?â Libby asked, on alert.
Despite the glare Emma sent me to keep my mouth shut, I said, âBoy Fitch made eyes at Em yesterday.â
âHe did?â
âHe did not!â
Libby stopped slathering cream cheese on the bagel. âI used to babysit him! Oh, he was such an adorable child!â
Emma slugged coffee. âYou didnât touch him, did you, Lib? Because thatâs definitely illegal.â
âOf course I didnât touch him. Heâs at least five years younger than me. He was darling, though. Not very bright, but darling.â
âI wonder about that dim-bulb routine myself,â I murmured.
âHe could be good for you, Emma. And itâs time you had a normal relationship.â
âThere isnât going to be a relationship,â Emma said. âThe guy is dumb as dirt.â
âMaybe he has hidden depths,â Libby said. âAll you have to do is give him a little sign, Em. Not your usual sign, of course. Donât grab his butt and drag him to the nearest Motel Six.â
âI have no intention of pursuing Boykin Fitch. Heâs not my type.â
Libby aimed the tip of her knife at Emma. âAll men are your type. Especially those Dungeon ones, the submissive fellows who want to be ordered around.â She looked thoughtful. âExcept they never like being ordered to fix the leaky toilet, do they? The woman who figures out how to make chores sexy is going to outearn Bill Gates.â
âEven Bill Gates has more sex appeal than Boy Fitch. Jeez, going to bed with him would be like hitting the sheets withââ
âItâs not always about hitting the sheets!â I cried suddenly. âIs sex all anybody thinks about anymore? Whatever happened to having someone to challenge your mind? To understand you? To listen and make you feel loved and needed and appreciated? To do crossword puzzles with! Intimacy is what matters! Emotional and intellectual intimacy! Who cares about sex? Itâs meaningless!â
Emma and Libby blinked at me.
âSermon over?â Emma asked.
âIs she talking about Richard?â Libby asked. âAre you saying he likes crossword puzzles more than sex? Because thatâs just not normal.â
âHis conversation is always that egghead
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