Susie is now in possession of one of the tiny vibratorsbeing sent around, and is playing with the hidden switch. “It’s kind of cute!”she says, watching it move in small circles.
Kat raises her eyebrows, turns to me, and mouths, “I mightneed one of those.”
I can only hope she’s kidding.
After twenty more minutes of pure shock value, Candystarts packing up her toys. “Well, that was sooooo much fun! I’ll be here therest of the night, in Lady Hoochie’s office, for one-on-one consultations andto take your orders. I take all major credit cards and am running a specialright now through AmEx. Double points.”
“I wonder if she accepts Saks or Neiman’s,” Kat jokes.
“Oh, by the way,” Candy adds, “lingerie is on display inLady Hoochie’s daughter’s room, just past the stairs.”
“Damn! I might have to buy something now,” Susiecomplains. She heads toward the lingerie and I follow her. “I’m close toearning two first-class airline tickets through American Express.”
“Where are Leslie’s kids?” Suze asks.
“At their grandma’s in Rye. And Steven is at a boys’ nightin AC.”
We enter baby Bethany’s room, which has now been takenover by racks of cheap lingerie.
“Baby Bethany’s Bimbo Emporium,” Kat declares, surprisingus from behind. “I really like what she’s done with the place.”
We wander around and examine the merch. I’m kind of afraidto touch any of it, since drunk women are trying on all manner of crotchlesspanties in the bathroom across the hall and then placing them back on the rackswhen they’re done. Some, I notice, are just leaving the lace bras and nightieson. There seems to be a direct correlation between alcohol intake and clothingofftake.
A waiter passes by with a tray of Jell-O shots, and Katand I eat a few. “I think this party wouldn’t suck so bad if we were evendrunker,” I tell her.
“Okay.” She shrugs. “Let’s see how that works out.”
“Hi, guys,” a voice calls. Kat and I turn away from theJell-O to find Shay Greene walking toward us.
“Funny, I just saw her the other day,” I tell Kat. “Shewas running for some kind of office or something. Hadley School Board.”
“No shit?” Kat asks, sort of rhetorically. She’s too takenby Shay’s entrance to utter any more. I know this because, well, so am I.
Shay seems to be moving toward us in slow motion, like amodel in a diet soda commercial. Her long, golden locks sway like wheat in afield; her thin, perfectly muscular yogalates body is draped in shimmering, one-shouldered,pale-pink silk. Shay’s husband, the renowned Hadley dentist, has created forher a perfect set of teeth, which she now flashes at us in a friendly hello.
They’re the kind of teeth that look real and yet look toogood to be true at the same time, which, before I knew about her husband’sprofession, always made me wonder if she’d just gotten the luckiest genes ever.
Because Shay is perfect. She’s gorgeous and nice toeveryone. She’s even smart, with a law degree from Columbia. Shay and herhusband have tow-headed ten-year-old twins—boy and girl, of course—and theylive in a big (but not garishly huge) 1930s brick-front colonial with originalcrown molding throughout.
Not that I’ve ever been there. But that’s the word on thestreet.
Shay works as a consultant to women starting their ownbusinesses—when she isn’t chairing some fundraiser for the schools, libraries,and local hospitals, that is, or running for the school board.
Kat and I gawk for the merest split second, because howcan we not? Shay’s our grown-up world’s version of the prettiest cheerleader,the alpha girl. I always feel a bit awestruck in her presence.
So, Shay and Kat and I start talking about the district’sbudget plans, which, ordinarily, would cause us to roll our eyes at and stiflesome yawns, like we do at faculty meetings. But when Shay talks, her brows liftanimatedly, showing off a wash of silver eye shadow that sparkles soappealingly that I find myself nodding in harmony with Kat and learning a thingor two about the newly piloted foreign language program at the high school.
Then Shay says, “Hey, why don’t we all do some shots of tequila?”Kat and I are really pretty drunk already, but we say, “Okay, Shay,” becauseher charisma, intelligence, and flawless blend of custom-blended foundationcompel us to.
While Shay is hunting for the necessary supplies inLeslie’s pantry, Kat and I discuss. “Shay-sa-may-zing,” Kat slurs. “It’s sonot fair.”
“I can’t stop staring at her butt,” I admit. And I don’tjust mean tonight. I mean always. Whenever I see it around town. Hertush is perfectly high and slightly bubble-shaped. It’s bouncy in her Lululemonspandex Wunder Under cropped pants, yet appropriately demure peeking out fromunder a Theory pantsuit. It’s like the ass of a teenager, only Shay’s got to beclose to forty.
Not to dwell, but tonight she’s wearing white jeans thathug the curve of her toned backside and look sexy without looking slutty. Notsure how she pulls that off.
Her butt is my butt’s hero and, simultaneously, itsarchenemy.
So the next thing we know, Shay’s back with some salt andlimes and Cuervo, and we’re preparing the shot’s ritual. I put a line of salton my right hand, ready to begin.
Here’s where things go slightly left of center.
In one fluid movement, Shay reaches out and takes myhand in hers. Then she licks the salt off the pudgy part of my hand,downs her shot, slams the empty glass on the table, and sucks on a lime.“Excellent!” she cheers. “Who’s next?”
I stare down at the damp crease between my thumb andpointer finger, stunned.
“Did that really juss happen?” Kat whisper-slurs to me.“Did she juss suck you off?”
It’s not quite the phrase I would use, but I nod my head.Shay’s tongue felt kind of warm and wet, not unlike a greeting from aneighborhood Labradoodle.
Though, clearly, this act crossed some line that doesn’texist when I’m saying hello to mixed-breed puppies.
I can tell that Kat’s kind of into this round-robinlickfest, while I’m still mentally—and, fine I’ll admit it, emotionally—catchingup. She smiles at Shay and watches as Shay pours some salt onto her own soft,tanned flesh. I’ll be damned if Kat doesn’t grab that beautiful hand, with
