When we were north of the Bath and Tennis Club and clear of Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago, I had Marty park in one of the spots next to a tiny beach bungalow, more like a cabana, on the beach side of South Ocean. I knew there was no one inside. It was only used occasionally, and even then, just as a way to shower off after swimming in the ocean. I pointed across the street to a mansion that looked like it was surrounded by a golf course.
“See that castle over there? Twenty thousand, two hundred twenty-seven square feet. I’ve measured it. To the inch. That used to be my house. That’s where I lived and planned to stay the rest of my life. I loved that place. And my dick of a husband took it away.”
“I’ve heard about your husband. Everyone on the island knows Brennan Moore.”
“Don’t get me started on that guy.” Then, without meaning to, I launched into my own imitation. I tried to put on that irritating, fake accent, as if he had gone to Yale. “This just isn’t working out, Christy, dear. I think it’s best we go our separate ways.” Then I returned to my own voice, trying to keep the bitterness out of it without much success. “That was it. No emotion, no anger. Just his assessment of what was going on and how he intended to correct it. Of course he was bold, because he knew he had a prenup and could lock me out of most of his assets. Not to mention, he had the best attorneys, who I’m sure were ready for this for some time before he said anything to me.”
“How’s it make you feel now to look up at that house?”
“Angry. Really, really fucking angry.” I thought it was best if I didn’t go on. I wasn’t proud of this side of me. But the fact was, I didn’t deserve to be in this position. I was a good wife who’d never even thought about straying and always put Brennan’s interests first. I thought that was what couples did. That each wanted the other to be happier than them. Now I was in the real world and I knew that kind of thinking was some part of a fantasy life.
I barely responded when Marty slipped his arm around me to give me a supportive hug. All I could think of was the Italian marble I’d picked out and the true craftsman I’d hired to lay it, and the bamboo wallpaper that set off the study from the rest of the house. That place was mine, and it had been stolen from me.
Chapter 7
It was a short ride back to the Brazilian Court, and Marty was in an odd mood that I couldn’t decipher. He was quiet and perhaps sullen but clearly deep in thought. I hadn’t meant to upset him by showing him the house I used to live in. Maybe he was bothered by the fact that he couldn’t pay the dinner bill. All I really wanted to do was make him feel better. I wanted to see that smile. He had one of those smiles that was so sincere it was infectious. It was like a drug, and I needed a fix.
We had a glass of wine from a bottle I had been saving. Then he pulled out a little multicolored pill and said, “Should we try something really wild?”
“What is that? Is it dangerous?” My experience with drugs consisted of trying pot a couple of times in college and hearing stories about some of my friends using cocaine.
Marty said, “It’s a new version of Ecstasy that’s supposed to completely break down your inhibitions. It’s almost like it relieves you of responsibility for your actions. But it keeps you focused and sane. It might be just what we need to take a step further away from our divorces.”
I thought about it for a minute, considering what could go wrong. Then, without saying anything, I snatched the pill out of Marty’s hand and broke it in half. I didn’t wait or think about it again as I popped my half of the pill into my mouth and took a big gulp of wine.
A smile spread across his face as he did the same thing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another pill as he said, “I have a few of them.”
Before long we were back on our favorite couch, making out. The music coming from my speaker system seemed to form colors in the room. It felt wild and natural at the same time.
The pill didn’t seem to affect my judgment, just my perception of sight, sound, and touch. The feeling of Marty’s hands across my neck and bare shoulders made me shudder with excitement. I could tell I was having the same effect on him when I slipped off his shirt and undid his belt.
That’s when there was a knock at the door. A tap at first, then a little louder, until it turned into a good, solid pounding that indicated it was an official visit and not just someone coming by to say hello.
Marty slipped his shirt back on as I stepped to the door and opened it a crack. Once again Allie was standing a few feet from the door with her hands on her hips like she was a schoolmarm about to deliver a lecture. Her long, dark hair was in a loose ponytail, and her pretty, tan face couldn’t hide her smile, despite her annoyance. This time I invited her in and introduced her to Marty.
Before she could say anything, I
