The Chosen

“I don’t know. I’m thinking that I should probably never talk about it. Why remind myself of something…like that?”

Donna continued to dawdle, inspecting the frilly garments. “Well, sometimes it’s good to talk about things that hurt. If you keep them bottled up, they can explode.”

This was true—sometimes, at least. But Vera felt differently in this case. Simply hearing his name gave her a flexing, negative spasm in her soul. Not only did it hurt, it embarrassed her, for it was embarrassing, to be with someone that long, and then to find out what kind of person he really was. It made her feel stupid, as though she possessed no manner of adult judgment at all.

Yes, the less she heard about Paul, and talked about him, the better. I’ll erase him from my memory, she vowed. I’ll banish him from my mind. Goddamn him anyway, I’m gonna pretend that he was never even born.

At least that’s what she hoped.

“What do you think?”

Vera looked up and nearly gasped. While she’d been pondering over Paul, Donna had changed into black garters and stockings, and a see-through black camisole, which left little of Donna’s bodily features to the imagination.

“Dan B.’ll have a heart attack when he sees you in that,” Vera exclaimed.

“More like a hard attack,” Donna laughed. “And that’s the idea, isn’t it?” She twirled around, giggling, then stood to appraise herself in a carven-framed wall mirror. “Yeah, this one’s really going to set him off.”

Donna’s body, Vera couldn’t help but notice, seemed as bright and robust as her newfound happiness. She was a little overweight, but in a healthy, attractive way, and the extra weight left her better proportioned with her five feet, three inches. Vera remembered how awful Donna had looked—how ragged, scrawny, and malnourished—back in the days of her alcoholism. Sobriety not only embellished her appearance but it also gave her life, energy, love. It was wonderful to see her so happy.

How happy am I? Vera thought in a sudden doldrum. Was she jealous? Donna had surfaced from the abyss, and now had quite a bit to show for it. Moreover, she had love, and a good man who loved her. And a sex life, Vera reminded herself.

Why can’t I have those things?

She frowned then, at her selfishness. She was feeling sorry for herself, and that nearly disgusted her. It was weakness. Too often it was easy to want more—there was always more—but the fact remained: she was a healthy, successful woman in a free state, and she must never forget that. Quit complaining, Vera. Most women in the world would give their right arms to have what you have. So stop being a baby.

“Do you think he’d like this better?” Donna now inquired. She held up a cupless red-leather corset lined with gold zippers and pin-stitches.

“It looks like something Marquis de Sade would want his women to wear,” Vera pointed out. “Stick with the camisole. It’s obscene but at least it’s elegant.”

“You’re such a prude, Vera,” Donna laughed. “It’s the nineteen nineties, not the eighteen nineties. You really should lighten up. Cut loose a little.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re married, you have someone to cut loose with.”

“You don’t have to be married to have a little fun. You’re a free woman now, Vera. Take advantage of it.” Donna adjusted the little black bow