In all the years I’d known Dave, I’d never seen him ogle a woman other than Laurie, let alone come on to them. “I agree that Dave works too much. But he isn’t the kind of man to have an affair. He loves you.”
“That’s not good enough. I need someone who’s really there, listening to me, not waiting for some phone call or fax. He’s always late—sorry, can’t make it, tied up, maybe next time—always something more important than me.”
I didn’t know what to say. For eighteen years I’d jealously watched Laurie’s lifestyle and tried to be happy for my friend’s good fortune.
Her voice dropped an octave. “There’s something else I want to tell you. Now, try not to judge me. I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I feel like I’m going to explode. Susan and Erika are way too serious. They’d give me some hysterical lecture.”
Her face took on new life, as if she were about to unveil the solution to an ancient riddle. “I met this man at the driving range a couple of weeks ago. He’s there every Wednesday when I go for my lesson. I’ve never met anyone like him before, and I can tell he likes me.”
I almost choked on my mouthful of scone, but managed to swallow it down. Every soap opera I’d ever watched spewed through my brain like water through a hose nozzle. I envisioned Laurie’s ship crashing into the rocks, sucking her family down with her. And why? Because some stranger made her feel attractive?
I needed to say something wise. Spouting ultimatums wouldn’t work. Which of my many mistakes should I use to illustrate how women mess up their own lives?
Her eyes lit up and she waved across the room. “There’s Henry Marsh with Phil.”
Please understand, before my first drawing class, Phil’s and my paths never crossed each other unless we were attending one of Rob’s school functions.
Holding full coffee mugs, the two men were searching for an empty table.
“Laurie,” I said, “let them sit somewhere else. This is serious, we need to talk.”
Ignoring me, she beckoned them over.
“Mind if we join you?” Phil said above the clatter. He pulled up a chair and parked himself across from Laurie. “Hope we’re not intruding, but there’s nowhere else to sit.”
Wishing he and Henry would disappear, I shrugged.
“Sure, no problem,” Laurie said, her voice melodic. “There’s plenty of room.” Henry found a chair and positioned it opposite me.
“I adore your class, Professor Marsh—I mean, Henry,” she said the moment he was seated. “I’d love to see your work sometime.” She looked as happy as ever.
“Oh, he’s quite a painter,” Phil said, his gaze landing on me. “You were at the opening the other night, Margo. What did you think?”
“His paintings were beautiful.” I looked at Henry straight on. I felt like adding a comment about his bad manners, but supposed it would only make me appear foolish. I would act magnanimous. If I could put up with Darla, I could tolerate anyone.
“Thank you,” Henry said, then spoke to Phil. “Your statues were excellent as well.” As he and Phil discussed the value of placing sculptures in public spaces, I scanned Henry’s face. His eyes were nutmeg brown, speckled like the chest of a wren. Laurie was right about his good looks. There was something intriguing about the man. But who needed intrigue?
During a pause in the dialogue, Laurie asked Henry, “Did you always want to be an artist?”
“Yes and no,” he said. “For as long as I can remember, I loved to paint. But my father, a cardiologist with dreams of my following in his footsteps, offered to pay my tuition if I studied biology, which I did the first two years in college. I received good grades and all, but found the subject boring. You can imagine my father’s dismay when I announced I was switching my major to art in my junior year, even if it meant getting a job and supporting myself. He was sure I’d become another hippie dropout.”
“You must admit,” Phil said. “Not all of us have been as successful as you.”
“Your time will come, my friend. Especially now that you have a day job to pay the bills.”
“Life’s getting good,” Phil said. “I even got caught up on my child-support payments.” He winked at me, as if he and I shared some amusing joke. “This woman’s been more than patient.”
“I’m not sure how patient I’ve been,” I said, recalling the threatening letters I’d sent him.
“At least you didn’t have me arrested. There were a few years when I would have deserved it.”
I slurped the last drops of my latte. This was a crazy conversation. At one time I’d hated Phil so much I wouldn’t have cared if he’d rotted in jail. Tonight we were chitchatting like old friends.
Phil checked his watch. “I’d better run, have to be at work early.” He and Henry got to their feet. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies,” Phil said, bowing slightly.
“Good night, see you next week,” Henry said, speaking mostly to Laurie.
“Bye-bye, this was fun,” she said. As the two men worked their way toward the exit, she gathered her purse. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” I said. “We need to talk.”
She stood and shoved her chair against the table. “Not now, I’m out of time.”
Outside, ominous clouds bristled just above the lampposts. We made it to Laurie’s car moments before the rain started lashing down. As we rolled through the darkened streets, I tried to rekindle our previous conversation.
“Flirting with a man, any man, other than your husband can only lead to trouble,” I said.
She cut me off. “Give me a break. If I’d wanted a lecture, I would have called my mother.”
She’d always
