I look over at him, standing in his self-righteous, smirking slouch, and see something in Bruce I have never seen before. Bruce thinks he is better than all of us. The entitled way he was raised is still in his DNA. He thinks he is doing me a favor by even being here. All this time I was worried about hurting his confidence when really, he was quite certain that working for anyone was beneath him, that maybe even having kids with me was beneath him. It is the first time I feel something bordering hatred for him.
Our golf cart pulls up close and the driver indicates for us to get in. I need to let Bruce’s words simmer to not get mad and ruin the night.
“I’m as surprised as you, Bruce. Maybe it’s the people she shares this house with. Maybe one of them is really wealthy and just likes having people around.” My voice is steady.
“Let’s give this ten minutes, tops,” he says, and I nod because that’s what I need to do to keep from punching him. I’ll do whatever it takes for us to make it through this evening, but my new realization is shaking my world. My husband is an arrogant, self-involved ass.
When we get to the golf cart, a uniformed waiter comes over to make sure we don’t get too thirsty from the bottom of the driveway to the house. He offers us some rosé champagne. I take one and, still standing, empty the contents in two suffocating gulps. Bruce passes on his so I take his and gulp that too. I put both empty glasses back on the tray. The waiter looks impressed with me as I turn back to the cart.
“Let’s go,” I say to the driver, jumping in the seat next to him and not beside Bruce.
Bruce sees him cradling a walkie-talkie. “I need you to preorder me a cold one, man,” he says like some demanding toddler in the backseat. “Tell them you have a desperate guest.” He does this while he texts on his phone, as if he has something important to take care of.
The driver doesn’t even crack a smile. He lifts the walkie-talkie, eyes on the road, and inquires about the type of beer being served. A voice on the other end relays the fact that while it’s a top-shelf bar, Mr. McPherson isn’t serving beer tonight. Bruce digests the beer part of this answer while I digest the name part. McPherson? King? Amy is in a house share with King and his family? Kevin’s belt seems to be strangling my middle.
The cart stops at the perfect place to inhale the ocean’s magnificence and the modern art sculptures. The statue on the front lawn appears to be a bodacious woman holding a giant earth on her head. She’s made of shiny metal.
“Looks like you,” says Bruce, and I can’t answer him nor pull my eyes away from Amy. My world is upside down and I’m being sliced in two by a belt I borrowed from my eight-year-old. Boy.
Amy stands in a floor-length maxi dress that makes her look like some dewy-eyed trophy wife instead of the smart, brash managing director she is. King stands next to her, hand on her ass, greeting a guy I recognize as the latest Internet bazillionaire in caveman fashion. They chest-bump. Two middle-aged white men chest-bumping just looks stupid and I hear Bruce snort under his breath. Amy sees me and waves and I can’t figure out how to get myself out of the cart and up those few steps. I hate being bulldozed. I never saw this coming.
Amy breaks from King’s grip and comes over to Bruce and me. We appear to be two random people removed from the beach and placed here as a joke. She plants a kiss on my cheek and giggles through her whisper.
“There are several ways to get ahead, girlfriend. Welcome to our coming-out party.”
CHAPTER 38
Better Offer
BY SEPTEMBER, Amy is living with King and he has left his family behind, like a shoe style he tired of. Amy has no intention of marrying him; she’s just enjoying the elevation of her career, the changed status of her social life, and King’s intense attraction to a woman with no domestic ambition. She will not be begging him for babies. Marcus informs me that Amy is capable of pole dance–worthy gymnastics in the bedroom and though King is almost twelve years her senior, he manages to keep up with her through pharmaceutical encouragement. There may be fewer of us but still we have no secrets.
I remember the holiday party, nine months ago, when Amy was appalled by the women flirting at bonus time in the hopes of a bigger paycheck. It’s hard to recognize her at the moment.