“Prostitute. I heard it on TV. And a drug addict. What’s a prostitute?”
When Boo asked him questions like that, Scott was never quite sure how to answer. She always seemed to know when he wasn’t telling the whole truth, but, even though she was born twenty-five years old, he was reluctant to always tell the truth. So he answered like a lawyer. He fudged the truth.
“A personal escort.”
“What’s that?”
“She entertains men.”
“Like you entertain clients?”
A closer analogy than she knew. “Well, sort of.”
“Do you have any clients like her?”
“No, Boo, I don’t represent prostitutes and drug addicts.”
“I mean, black clients?”
“Oh. No, I’ve never had a black client.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because I represent corporations, not people.”
“What about those people who call you all the time?”
“My clients are corporations, but my contacts are executives at the corporations.”
Boo screwed her mouth up. She was thinking.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you represent corporations instead of people?”
“Because people can’t afford me. Heck, Boo, I couldn’t afford to hire myself, not at three-fifty an hour.”
Her eyes got big. “You charge three dollars and fifty cents an hour?”
Scott chuckled. “No. Three hundred and fifty dollars an hour.”
“ For real? Is that why you work so slowly?”
Nine years old and she was qualified to be the managing partner at the biggest law firm in the country.
She said, “So we’re rich because corporations can pay you three hundred fifty dollars an hour?”
“Yes…well, no, we’re not rich, Boo.”
“We live in a big house and you drive a Ferrari.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got to work to keep all this. Rich people don’t.”
“Cindy’s dad got fired and they had to sell their house.”
“Don’t worry, baby, that’ll never happen to us.”
From the Jacuzzi tub, his wife said, “You’ve got to talk to her, Scott, she’ll listen to you! How am I ever going to be selected chair of the Cattle Barons’ Ball if my daughter dresses like a boy!”
Rebecca Fenney was thirty-three, fit, and gorgeous, still the most beautiful woman in Highland Park-the perfect wife for a perfect life. And she desperately wanted to chair the next Cattle Barons’ Ball, the biggest society party put on each year in Dallas, the one night when the sophisticated men and women of Highland Park get to dress up like cowboys and cowgirls and play Texan to the hilt. The twangs become stronger, the cigars longer, the skirts shorter, and the diamonds bigger; and everyone tries to out-Texan one another, arriving in Hummer limousines, Rolls-Royces, and even helicopters at Southfork Ranch, J. R. Ewing’s home on the TV show Dallas, or another fitting venue. They drink champagne and whiskey, eat fried alligator and fajitas, ride the mechanical bucking bull, bet on the armadillo races, and dance to the likes of the Oak Ridge Boys or Dwight Yoakam or Willie Nelson.
The men compete with money, betting at the craps table in the casino or bidding at the auction offering diamonds and Porsches. The women compete with clothes. They wear black, blue, red, pink, and white cowboy boots made of lizard, ostrich, elephant, kangaroo, and suede; they wear low-cut satin bustiers, lambskin halters, leather vests, and evening gowns; they wear matching cowboy hats. Last year Rebecca wore a powder blue fringed suede miniskirt, matching cowboy boots, a low-cut pink fringed halter top, and a pink suede cowboy hat-and she was furious because no one noticed her. Scott was always amused by it all, but the Cattle Barons’ Ball was deadly serious business to the women of Highland Park, all competing to be the belle of the ball. The lucky woman who chairs the ball is forever enshrined among the society elite of Highland Park-except maybe for one former chairwoman who got nabbed for shoplifting at Neiman Marcus. Providing she kept her criminal record clean, Rebecca Fenney was the front-runner to be the chairwoman of the next Cattle Barons’ Ball.
Scott and Rebecca were in the master bathroom on the second floor; she was naked in the Jacuzzi tub, he was irritated in a robe. Scott had tried to talk to his wife about his day, but she had shown no interest at all. The McCall case had him irritated; his wife had ratcheted it up a notch. All she wanted to talk about was the Cattle Barons’ Ball and the latest Highland Park scandal, another extramarital affair, which wasn’t exactly shocking news to Scott.
Rebecca said, “Muffy, you remember her, from the last party at the club.”
Scott didn’t recall Muffy and wasn’t particularly interested in trying to recall her. He shook his head.
“Bleached blonde, boob job, acts snotty all the time…”
“Well, that narrows it down to only ninety-five percent of the women in Highland Park.”
“She’s married to Bill what’s-his-name, old, bald, fat.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember her. She was wearing that tight two-piece outfit, nice abs. She’s about twenty years younger than Bill. So she was stepping out on him?”
“He caught her in bed with the neighbor.”
“Again, not exactly shocking, Rebecca.”
She gave him a sly smile, which from prior experience told Scott that she was about to deliver the punch line.
“He didn’t catch her with the man who lives next door. He caught her with the woman who lives next door.”
“She was in bed with another woman?”
“Yes! I called to tell you, but Sue said you were busy.”
“Rebecca, don’t bother me at work with gossip.”
“It’s not gossip if it’s true, you said so yourself.”
“That’s defamation, Rebecca-truth is an absolute defense to slander and libel claims. There’s no defense for gossip.”
“Not even a lesbian affair?”
“Don’t they have a girl about Boo’s age?”
“They did. Muffy and her girlfriend ran off to California.”
“She left her kid? Why?”
Rebecca shrugged. “Everyone knows. She can’t show her face in this town again. Besides, she’s a lesbian; the child’s better off without her.”
“Rebecca, is that all you do at your lunches, gossip?”
“No…just during dessert. We call it scandal souffle.”
She seemed pleased with herself, which made one of them. The thought of his wife sitting at lunch gossiping while Boo sat at home alone jacked up Scott’s irritation level to a new high. He was about to say something guaranteed to grate on her, but seeing her slick wet body as she climbed out of the tub, her red hair stuck to her face, her full breasts pink from the hot water, her abdomen flat from hours on her Ab Master, and her firm bottom that hadn’t dropped an inch since their wedding day eleven years ago, desire drove the McCall case, the Cattle Barons’ Ball, scandal souffle, and all lingering irritation from his mind. He let his robe slip off his shoulders and looked down: he had a full erection. He went over to her, wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressed himself against her, and reached around and cupped her genitals, an act which not that long ago would have produced a soft moan leading to sex on the marble vanity. Tonight it produced only an exasperated sigh.
“Not tonight, Scott. I’m tired.”
She had been tired a lot the last six months. He released her and walked into the bedroom and over to the sitting area against the bank of windows. He sat and listened to the tak tak tak of June bugs banging against the outside glass, seeking the light like reformed sinners. He used the remote to turn on the television and then he looked down: his erection had melted away like a Popsicle on a hot summer day.
