Mystery Girl: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

shrink? Craigslist? She seemed unperturbed. “For me the problem is that I just can’t feel attracted to a man I don’t respect. Someone I can admire and look up to.”
    “How can you respect someone naked?” I said. “I’ll wear a tie next time. Or a yarmulke.”
    “I just want a breadwinner,” she said. “You’re not a breadwinner.”
    “What is this, the fifties? Who did you think you were marrying? This is me. You want such a traditional husband all of a sudden, I don’t see you home cooking my dinner, ironing my shirts, and taking care of my babies.” She looked away, out the window, where the half-raised curtain revealed a length of telephone wire, the trembling top of a tree, and some pieces of blue sky. That was an unintentional low blow. Or maybe not. Lala and I had tried getting pregnant for most of the previous year, and she’d been unable to conceive. Was that when things began to really unravel? Or had it been the last attempt to stitch them up?
    “Anyway,” I said, changing the subject. “I got a job.”
    “What?” The tears seemed to recede from her eyes, and the twitchy stiffness left her smile. “You’re kidding? When?”
    “Just now. I came from the interview.” I tapped the pad. “So you can cross that off your list.”
    Granny Gladys smiled broadly and clasped her hands. She seemed immensely relieved. “Well that sure is fast progress, right?”
    Lala slapped my arm. “Is that why you’re wearing the suit?” She seemed tickled that I might have a job that required a suit, as if I’d suddenly become head of a law firm. “What kind of job is it?” She turned toward me on the couch, lips parted, knees slightly agape, which was, I think I read somewhere, a welcoming sign. Gladys leaned forward eagerly, squeezing her hands together as if in fervent prayer.
    “I’m going to be a detective.”
    Gladys cooed in gleeful surprise, clapping once, as if at a Mother’s Day card that I’d made all by myself. Lala just stared.
    “Detective?” she asked, waiting for a punch line.
    “Well, assistant detective,” I said, turning to Gladys for support. “I mean, I’m just starting out.”
    She nodded. “He is trying.”
    “Try harder,” Lala said flatly. “You know, some men take pride in providing for their wives. They want them to have everything. They treat them like princesses.”
    Who were these men, I wondered? Had I ever met any? Were these perhaps the very same “assholes” who had once pursued her in their BMWs, waving gaudy watches and ski trips as bait, the “douchebags” and “jockstraps” whom she had been so glad to leave behind for me? Had she turned into one of their wives? I remembered her stories about the wealthy older lover she’d left when she came to America. “You had your chance to marry a rich man,” I said. “Remember? You picked me.”
    I took a breath. I didn’t want to sound angry. I didn’t really feel mad anymore. What did I feel? “I do think you are a princess,” I said. “Of course you are. My princess.”
    She glanced down softly at her list, as if ready to remove a few items. Gladys nodded. I probably should have shut up there, but I didn’t. I never do. “But don’t forget,” I added. “I’m a prince.”
    Lala’s shoulders bit and her features closed up. “I have to tell you that I am really considering divorce,” she announced and gave me a dead look. I looked back in shock, hearing her actually say the word. Then she put her hands together and seemed to be begging, but for what? Compliance? Forgiveness? For what she had done or what she was going to do?
    “I don’t know what else to do,” she said to Gladys. “I don’t know how to change things. We fight all the time. It’s just too hard.” She turned to me, desperately. “You can’t tell me you’re happy,” she pleaded.
    “No,” I said, quietly. “You’re right. I can’t. I’m miserable.”
    Her face seemed at once relieved and mournful, relieved to