Happily Ever After? Read Online Free PDF Page A

collective sound of pencils grinding to a halt, and a few self-conscious giggles. “Okay. Here’s the fun part.
     Let’s go around the circle and see what we’ve come up with, okay?”
    Letha Krause was first to go: “Uh, I’ve got a bunch here. Tissues, pennies, jellybeans, coins, store receipts, pooper scooper
     bags”—scattered tittering—“sunglasses, jewelry, dog treats?”
    Applause and approving nods all around. “Very good, Letha! Excellent! Valerie?”
    By this time I’d shifted to the spiked lemonade. I stood up and smoothed my denim skirt. “Here it goes.” I cleared my throat.
     “Keys, spare change, antidepressants, after dinner mints, keys—wait, I said that already. Did I mention antidepressants? Oh,
     andtampons and chocolate kisses and batteries and all the little crap that you keep throwing into the junk drawer, and hair doodads
     and condoms.”
    Someone made a choking noise and there was the sound of suburban asses shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Lynette looked
     pained. Then Donna Gold, a willowy redhead I knew from aerobics class, let out an enormous guffaw. “Jesus, that’s more like
     it. Now that’s what I call a list! Jesus! Oh, God. How funny!” A few other women giggled politely, but only Donna was truly
     hysterical, laughing so hard she shook and sizzled like a spaghetti pot boiling over.
    After the party (I managed to escape with a baguette basket for “only” $29), Donna stopped me at the door. “Don’t you just
     love these Klenkastreicher parties?” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I have to remind myself: Donna, you used to have a job
     in the real world. You were a productive member of society. There was a time when you actually did something besides toting
     your children to basketball practice and going to Klenkastreicher parties.”
    “And what was that?” I asked her. “I mean, what did you do before you started toting kids to basketball practice and going
     to Klenkastreicher parties?”
    She looked at me. “I forgot.”
    ’Til next time,
    V
June 7
    “We’re on the home stretch, Val. We’ve got a date.”
    It was Omar. He’d called to tell me we’re going to court Friday morning. I was stunned. It was finally happening.
    “So what’s it going to be, Val, a Porsche or BMW?”
    “Huh?” What the hell was he talking about?
    “A Porsche or BMW? Or maybe that’s too low-rent for you? Are you thinking Bentley?”
    “You’ve got a great imagination, Omar,” I told him.
    “Actually, I have a horrible imagination. That’s what my kindergarten teacher told my mother. These aren’t flights of fancy,
     Valerie. It’s your life. You’re going to be a very, very rich woman.”
    “If you say so, Omar.” I hung up the phone and, for a moment, considered his original question. Porsche or BMW? Or Bentley?
     The prospect made me laugh out loud.
    The phone rang as soon as I set it down. “Okay, already. A Porsche. I’ll buy myself a Porsche! Are you happy?”
    “Delighted,” came the smooth, sly response. “As long as you take me for a ride.” It wasn’t Omar.
    It was Diana.
    “Diana?”
    “That’s me.” She made a kind of purring sound, a low gurgling in the back of her throat. “So, where shallwe go in your gorgeous new vehicle? Let’s see…. Oooh, I know! Vegas! Yes! Let’s do Vegas, absolutely. We’ll be those two chicks
     from the movie. Ethel and Louise?”
    “Thelma.”
    “Ethel and Thelma?”
    “Thelma and Louise.”
    “Right. And we can wear kerchiefs and sunglasses and put the top down—you
are
getting a convertible, aren’t you?”
    “Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. When the phone rang, I thought you were—.”
    “Omar? He’s
fabulous,
isn’t he? I told you he was the best, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, he is; and yes, you did.”
    “And? Did he get you tons of money? Did he leave your wretched ex-husband destitute? God, I hope so. The bastard.”
    “We go to court on Friday.”
    “Friday?