The Chosen

panties of the edible variety. “Look, I know how things can be sometimes. When you’re with someone for two years, it’s hard to let go. But you’re believing what you want to believe, Vera. That’s not going to do you any good at all. Paul cheated on you with a couple of dope-addict whores.”

Vera meandered forward, as if to make an enfeebled plea. “But he wasn’t really himself,” she attempted without much conviction. “The blonde verified it—they coerced him. They put—”

Donna sighed heavily. “The big bad prostitutes put evil drugs in poor little innocent Paulie’s beer, and the drugs just made him so confused that he couldn’t be responsible for his actions.” Donna tapped her foot, a hand on her hip. “If you believe a load of crap like that, you’re the most gullible person to ever live.”

Vera sat back down, eyes locked to the floor. “Well, I guess it is a little far-fetched.”

“A little far-fetched? Don’t make me laugh. It’s big-time primo garbage, Vera. Paul’s so full of shit he probably uses a toilet brush to clean his ears.”

Donna refaced the dressing mirror to effect some last-minute adjustments to her attire. The scarlet edible panties made for a unique clash with the black four-inch high heels and black garters, while the fishnet stockings matched perfectly with the fishnet brassiere she finally decided on. Then she pinned her hair tightly behind her head.

“Getting ready for Dan B., huh?” Vera presumed.

“Yes, and don’t change the subject. You need to get over him, Vera, and you need to do it soon. You’re letting him and his bullshit get under your skin; you’re playing right into his hands. You have to forget about him, you have to write him off. I mean, look at how he treated you. This guy’s got you so confused you’re actually thinking about forgiving him, aren’t you?”

Vera felt cornered. Was it true? “Well—”

“Well forget it,” Donna stated, misting herself with Red Door. “Is that the kind of guy you want? Someone you can never trust?”

“No,” Vera admitted.

“You deserve a lot better.”

Vera thought about that. Do I? she asked herself in remorse. Maybe I don’t deserve anything.

“All good things take time,” Donna tritely offered. “That’s cold comfort but it’s the truth. Give yourself a chance, girl; don’t mope over that dickbrain Paul. Be patient and eventually you’ll find the kind of man you really want.”

Everything Donna said, of course, made perfect sense. So what’s wrong? she wondered. Why am I so bent out of shape?

It was probably a combination of things: moving to a new place, working for a new boss, new responsibilities. Not to mention that I’m almost thirty and I haven’t had sex in months. Yes, that might have something to do with her shuffled conceptions. But had she really been thinking about giving Paul another chance? Was she that foolish to consider his story? It does sound ridiculous now, she agreed. Donna’s right. I was believing what I wanted to believe.

“And since we’re sort of on the topic of good things that take time, Dan B.’ll be off shift in a few minutes,” Donna politely urged the point. “So would you like, you know—”

“I’m leaving,” Vera said. “Have fun, but remember, don’t wear your husband out. We have twenty-five reservations tomorrow night.”