art leaning against walls all over the house.
“You do look a little composed,” Violet says. “Did you make any sangria or what?”
“She saw Michael.”
“What? Did you finally curse him out? Did you punch him in the nose like you’ve been wanting to do all these years?” Violet never tires of animal prints, and today she’s in cheetah leggings and a tight black tank top. I’ll be glad when she realizes that animals come in solid colors, too.
“And?” Wanda asks, staring me in the eye.
“I swallowed it.”
“What’d you just say?” Violet yells from the kitchen, actually sticking her head around the corner. A giant areca palm standing in the corner makes her look like she really could be in a jungle. If only.
“You heard me,” I say as I pick up a picture and continue wrapping.
“Did he put something in your drink?” she asks as she comes back and sets a tray on the table. “Don’t tell me you slept with the son of a bitch, Georgia. But if you did, how was it?”
“Are you nuts?”
“So what if she did, Violet? It’s her damn business, and we could say a whole lot about some of the aliens
you’ve
crawled under.”
“So what’d you do with the anger?”
“I left it there.”
“Left it where?” Violet asks.
“At the restaurant,” Wanda says.
“You mean you had dinner with him?” Violet asks now that this story sounds like it’s getting interesting.
“I did.”
“I don’t know how you do that, but you should market the shit,” Violet says.
“I don’t need any details,” Wanda says, looking pleased.
“I’ll just say this. I’m glad I loved him. Glad I married him. But also glad I divorced him.”
“Where in the hell are you hiding the violins, Georgia?” Violet asks after downing what looks like a double shot.
“Why don’t you shut up and wrap something,” Wanda says, and hands her a black-and-white photograph of me at eight months old, which is what’s written on the back. I was not a cute baby, and why they tinted my lips pink I’ll never know.
“Did he happen to mention his young Asian girlfriend?”
“She’s his daughter, Violet.”
“Okay. Oh, she’s the love child. I get it.”
“Are we done with this conversation?” I look at them like I’m at a tennis match. I love them to death, but sometimes I don’t want to hear the truth. Sometimes I want them to lie. Or just agree with me. Or be neutral, though that would be asking too much. But since we’re BFFs, I suppose I’m stuck with them.
“Well, just because
you’ve
decided to let bygones be bygones, that doesn’t mean
I
have to like his ass. The only reason I spoke to him at the party was I was trying to be civilized.”
“People make mistakes,” I say.
“Mistakes can be corrected. Most men know exactly what they’re doing before they do it. And that’s called intent.”
“Okay, let’s skip the subject for real,” I say.
When we hear the beginning of a song I recognize as Lady Gaga, we know it’s Velvet calling her mama. Violet yanks her phone out of her purse, frowns, and says to us, “Lord, what does this child want now?”
Wanda and I know Velvet
always
wants something.
“What can I do for you?” she asks, listening and nodding her head as she walks around the room in those stupid stilettos.
She so thinks she’s still thirty. She presses Off and throws the phone back inside her purse.
“I don’t even want to know,” I say.
“Me either,” Wanda says.
And out she goes. We are so used to this kind of drama that we aren’t even moved.
“So,” Wanda says, “this idea is turning out to be healthy. I’m glad. I always liked Michael.”
She picks up two pieces of the packing paper and starts wrapping it around my mother and father celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
“And please don’t ask me who’s next, because I’ve got quite a few other things on my mind. I think my daughter and her husband are having major financial
“You do look a little composed,” Violet says. “Did you make any sangria or what?”
“She saw Michael.”
“What? Did you finally curse him out? Did you punch him in the nose like you’ve been wanting to do all these years?” Violet never tires of animal prints, and today she’s in cheetah leggings and a tight black tank top. I’ll be glad when she realizes that animals come in solid colors, too.
“And?” Wanda asks, staring me in the eye.
“I swallowed it.”
“What’d you just say?” Violet yells from the kitchen, actually sticking her head around the corner. A giant areca palm standing in the corner makes her look like she really could be in a jungle. If only.
“You heard me,” I say as I pick up a picture and continue wrapping.
“Did he put something in your drink?” she asks as she comes back and sets a tray on the table. “Don’t tell me you slept with the son of a bitch, Georgia. But if you did, how was it?”
“Are you nuts?”
“So what if she did, Violet? It’s her damn business, and we could say a whole lot about some of the aliens
you’ve
crawled under.”
“So what’d you do with the anger?”
“I left it there.”
“Left it where?” Violet asks.
“At the restaurant,” Wanda says.
“You mean you had dinner with him?” Violet asks now that this story sounds like it’s getting interesting.
“I did.”
“I don’t know how you do that, but you should market the shit,” Violet says.
“I don’t need any details,” Wanda says, looking pleased.
“I’ll just say this. I’m glad I loved him. Glad I married him. But also glad I divorced him.”
“Where in the hell are you hiding the violins, Georgia?” Violet asks after downing what looks like a double shot.
“Why don’t you shut up and wrap something,” Wanda says, and hands her a black-and-white photograph of me at eight months old, which is what’s written on the back. I was not a cute baby, and why they tinted my lips pink I’ll never know.
“Did he happen to mention his young Asian girlfriend?”
“She’s his daughter, Violet.”
“Okay. Oh, she’s the love child. I get it.”
“Are we done with this conversation?” I look at them like I’m at a tennis match. I love them to death, but sometimes I don’t want to hear the truth. Sometimes I want them to lie. Or just agree with me. Or be neutral, though that would be asking too much. But since we’re BFFs, I suppose I’m stuck with them.
“Well, just because
you’ve
decided to let bygones be bygones, that doesn’t mean
I
have to like his ass. The only reason I spoke to him at the party was I was trying to be civilized.”
“People make mistakes,” I say.
“Mistakes can be corrected. Most men know exactly what they’re doing before they do it. And that’s called intent.”
“Okay, let’s skip the subject for real,” I say.
When we hear the beginning of a song I recognize as Lady Gaga, we know it’s Velvet calling her mama. Violet yanks her phone out of her purse, frowns, and says to us, “Lord, what does this child want now?”
Wanda and I know Velvet
always
wants something.
“What can I do for you?” she asks, listening and nodding her head as she walks around the room in those stupid stilettos.
She so thinks she’s still thirty. She presses Off and throws the phone back inside her purse.
“I don’t even want to know,” I say.
“Me either,” Wanda says.
And out she goes. We are so used to this kind of drama that we aren’t even moved.
“So,” Wanda says, “this idea is turning out to be healthy. I’m glad. I always liked Michael.”
She picks up two pieces of the packing paper and starts wrapping it around my mother and father celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
“And please don’t ask me who’s next, because I’ve got quite a few other things on my mind. I think my daughter and her husband are having major financial
Similar Books
