that off-the-wall comment, though. I thought Randall was going to lose it.”
“Randall? He’s a big, cuddly bear,” Sharon says.
“Yeah, a grizzly,” Lynne retorts.
“Got to give the girl credit,” Candace says. “She
is
talented.”
“Would Lena be nearly as inspired without Randall’s… resources?” Sharon asks.
“Look at these orchids. And who uses their best dishes and silverware, and those tiny veggie dealies, for a casual ‘get together’?
Please.” In one soundless step, Lena traverses the sunroom’s threshold before Lynne realizes her hostess is in the room. “She’s
such a hypocrite. You see that diamond? For all she complains about being tired of material stuff, she flaunts the hell out
of it and everything else. Lena married well.”
“And what the hell does that mean?” Lena’s voice is hard, her enunciation perfect. She knows that Randall can take down a
company, make managers tremble with a simple request, control millions of dollars; he reeks of power—apparently, she is just
the woman attached to the powerful man. “If this is what you say when you
think
I’m not around, what do you say when I’m not?”
The bimbette slinks through the side door. Lena gives the young woman credit for having more smarts than she thought. Unlike
Sharon, who approaches Lena, arms extended, with concern that her face does not show.
“And you. I have no idea why you’re here.” Lena sways—from wine or words, it makes no difference to her—the wineglass slips
from her hand, sending teardrops of red wine onto the now wrinkled sabuk and across the tiled floor.
“I’m here because Randall asked me, Lena. I had no idea you’d object.”
“You need to leave. Now.” Lena points to the door through which Lynne and the bimbette exited seconds before and watches Sharon
take her time to collect her purse and pashmina and strut out of the room.
“Don’t mind her,” Candace says. Lena is unsure which
her
she refers to. “And don’t be a fool. Follow her, and I mean Sharon, and act like nothing happened. I’m telling you.” Candace
pushes a lacy handkerchief into Lena’s balled fist. “She’ll tell Randall that you asked her to leave. If you stay here, she
wins.”
f f f
The “everything is okay” smile disappears from Lena’s lips after she pays the housekeeper and turns off the lights. Within
five minutes of closing the door on their last guest, Randall lounges on the cushy chaise beyond their bed. He takes up the
entire space wide and deep enough for two. One leg stretches onto the dark hardwood floor and the Persian rug with a provenance.
He pokes between the cushions for the remote control while Lena paces, full of the energy she needed earlier.
“I told you I didn’t want to have a stupid party.”
“Lynne is too dense to have been serious. She’s jealous. More importantly, you embarrassed me in front of our friends and
my colleague.”
“I embarrassed you, Randall? You invite that… woman to my home. You don’t bother to tell me. She shows up looking like she’s
ready to eat you while I’m dressed in this”—Lena waves her hands up and down her body—“this clown suit, and you’re embarrassed?”
“You were crude. You told Sharon to leave. You owe her an apology.” Randall’s expression is somber and without a hint of sympathy.
He curls his fingers beneath his chin and looks at her in a way that says no further discussion is necessary.
“You get Charles drunk. I have to put up with his lechery. You toast someone I suspect you’re having an affair with, and you
want
me
to apologize?” Lena stands in front of Randall, looking at him looking at her like she is crazy. His eyes say he doesn’t
get it, doesn’t get her.
The only way Lena had been able to fend off her tears was with the handkerchief Candace thrust into her hand. Now, Lena twists
that handkerchief into a tight, skinny spiral and marches into
“Randall? He’s a big, cuddly bear,” Sharon says.
“Yeah, a grizzly,” Lynne retorts.
“Got to give the girl credit,” Candace says. “She
is
talented.”
“Would Lena be nearly as inspired without Randall’s… resources?” Sharon asks.
“Look at these orchids. And who uses their best dishes and silverware, and those tiny veggie dealies, for a casual ‘get together’?
Please.” In one soundless step, Lena traverses the sunroom’s threshold before Lynne realizes her hostess is in the room. “She’s
such a hypocrite. You see that diamond? For all she complains about being tired of material stuff, she flaunts the hell out
of it and everything else. Lena married well.”
“And what the hell does that mean?” Lena’s voice is hard, her enunciation perfect. She knows that Randall can take down a
company, make managers tremble with a simple request, control millions of dollars; he reeks of power—apparently, she is just
the woman attached to the powerful man. “If this is what you say when you
think
I’m not around, what do you say when I’m not?”
The bimbette slinks through the side door. Lena gives the young woman credit for having more smarts than she thought. Unlike
Sharon, who approaches Lena, arms extended, with concern that her face does not show.
“And you. I have no idea why you’re here.” Lena sways—from wine or words, it makes no difference to her—the wineglass slips
from her hand, sending teardrops of red wine onto the now wrinkled sabuk and across the tiled floor.
“I’m here because Randall asked me, Lena. I had no idea you’d object.”
“You need to leave. Now.” Lena points to the door through which Lynne and the bimbette exited seconds before and watches Sharon
take her time to collect her purse and pashmina and strut out of the room.
“Don’t mind her,” Candace says. Lena is unsure which
her
she refers to. “And don’t be a fool. Follow her, and I mean Sharon, and act like nothing happened. I’m telling you.” Candace
pushes a lacy handkerchief into Lena’s balled fist. “She’ll tell Randall that you asked her to leave. If you stay here, she
wins.”
f f f
The “everything is okay” smile disappears from Lena’s lips after she pays the housekeeper and turns off the lights. Within
five minutes of closing the door on their last guest, Randall lounges on the cushy chaise beyond their bed. He takes up the
entire space wide and deep enough for two. One leg stretches onto the dark hardwood floor and the Persian rug with a provenance.
He pokes between the cushions for the remote control while Lena paces, full of the energy she needed earlier.
“I told you I didn’t want to have a stupid party.”
“Lynne is too dense to have been serious. She’s jealous. More importantly, you embarrassed me in front of our friends and
my colleague.”
“I embarrassed you, Randall? You invite that… woman to my home. You don’t bother to tell me. She shows up looking like she’s
ready to eat you while I’m dressed in this”—Lena waves her hands up and down her body—“this clown suit, and you’re embarrassed?”
“You were crude. You told Sharon to leave. You owe her an apology.” Randall’s expression is somber and without a hint of sympathy.
He curls his fingers beneath his chin and looks at her in a way that says no further discussion is necessary.
“You get Charles drunk. I have to put up with his lechery. You toast someone I suspect you’re having an affair with, and you
want
me
to apologize?” Lena stands in front of Randall, looking at him looking at her like she is crazy. His eyes say he doesn’t
get it, doesn’t get her.
The only way Lena had been able to fend off her tears was with the handkerchief Candace thrust into her hand. Now, Lena twists
that handkerchief into a tight, skinny spiral and marches into
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