’ ve fallen into a
sinkhole of your own. ”
“ Impossible. ”
“ Really? Then
allow me to take you back to class. When women of a certain age —”
“ A certain age? ”
“ That ’ s right, a certain age. Since one can be painfully deluded when
it comes to seeing what one ’ s become in the wreckage of one ’ s
downhill slide toward the depths of death, let me just break the news gently to
you — you,
my dear, are of a certain age. When I see older women, such as yourself showing off too much d é collet é ,
as you are now, I always smell a whiff of desperation. A cougar on the prowl. And I want to weep for the world. ”
“ Save your tears, Iris. If you don ’ t, you ’ ll just salt your cocktails with
them. ”
“ Isn ’ t that clever? And news to me. Might I point out that ’ s
information only a weeping drunk would know? ”
“ I ’ m far from being a drunk, Iris. ”
“ You ’ re also far from being twenty-five,
so perhaps you should stop dressing as if you were. ”
“ I ’ m wearing Chanel. ”
“ Then the French hate you. And why shouldn ’ t
they? With all of that horse hair
on top of your head, not to mention all the whale bone and foam rubber you ’ re
using to give yourself something that resembles a figure, I don ’ t
know whether you ’ re a woman or a five-piece living room set at Frank ’ s
Warehouse. ”
“ This from a woman who typically dresses like a man, ” Blackwell said. “ Oh, how your words cut through my
heart. ”
“ And this from a woman who places her self-esteem in the
cold clutches of couture. Oh, how I
wish my words could even find your heart. ”
“ You wouldn ’ t recognize couture if it bit you on
the ass. ”
“ Maybe not all the time, but as a sensitive person who can
tap into the ethereal at a moment ’ s notice, I always can smell that
faint scent of sorrow that enters the air when one ’ s
youth has left them forever. And
that scent? Oh, it ’ s
all over you, Barbara. It ’ s
practically fumigating this place. ”
Blackwell gave a light, easy laugh at that, waved a hand in
front of her face, and glanced around at the rest of us. Did she see our mortified
expressions? If she did, I don ’ t
think she cared. And I was
confused. I thought she liked
Iris. What was their problem? Had something happened between them
before we got here? I was about to
say something — anything — to change the conversation when
Blackwell stopped me with a warning look.
“ OK, everyone. Now, tell me the truth. Don ’ t
worry — if
you don ’ t agree with me, I can take it. You won ’ t hurt my
feelings. So, I need to ask. Do I look a day over forty-five? ”
“ Oh, please, ” Iris said. “ Really? Now you ’ re just looking for
sympathy. And from your friends, no
less. Here ’ s a
tip. If you ’ re
looking for sympathy, you can look it up in the dictionary — right
along with ‘ death, ’ ‘ shit ’ and ‘ suicide. ’”
Blackwell turned back to Iris and was about to say
something when Iris lowered her gaze and bit her cheek.
“ That ’ s right, ” Blackwell said. “ Look away from me in shame like your
mother did when she gave birth to you. And while you ’ re at it, put your dentures in backwards and bite your head
off. ”
And with that, Iris ’ head snapped up, she was about to say something to
Blackwell, but then, inexplicably, the two women started to cackle with
laughter.
“ What the hell was that? ” Jennifer said.
Blackwell took a sip of water while Iris dabbed at her eyes
with her napkin. They were still
laughing.
“ The shame on my mother ’ s face when she gave birth to me! ” Iris said to
Blackwell. “ Oh,
that was priceless. ”
“ The French hate me! A five-piece living room set! ”
“ Salting my cocktails with my tears — that
has to be your best line ever. And
so off the cuff.
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