Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives Read Online Free PDF

playing hard to get all year long.
    But the truth is, I want it just as badly as she wants me to have it.
    “Keep talking.” I bat my lashes. “I can be had.”
    Ted, who is refilling our margaritas, chokes back a snicker that causes him to tip the pitcher precariously over Margot’s head. I give him a look that says
Shut your piehole
, but he’s not buying it.
    “Yeah, boy, I can vouch for that.” He catches his breath, puts on his poker face. “And, Margot, I’ll let you in on a little secret: if you bide your time long enough, she’s yours for the taking.”
    “Oh, is that so?” Margot smirks knowingly. “Thanks for the tip, Ted.”
    When she glances away, I give him a kick. That’s not exactly what I want Margot to hear.
    It’s my night to host her, along with the rest of the Paradise Heights Women’s League board: Brooke, of course, as well as Isabelle Randall, Tammy Satterfield, and Colleen Franklin. Board meetings used to take place in the tasting room of the one and only wine bar in Paradise Heights’s “resident-serving commercial district”: an apropos rendezvous, considering that our ironically named planned community shares a sun-drenched, mist-kissed valley with about thirty wineries. But on too many occasions, after too many sips of some trendy varietals, finding our way home through the Heights’s concentric maze of streets (pitched in the Paradise Heights real estate brochure as “Another reason why it’s the Pentagon of neighborhoods! It’s not for everyone, but isn’t that the point?”) became tantamount to running an obstacle course—especially for “all you tiny women in monster SUVs,” as Officer Fife, our extremely polite local police chief, put it after issuing his fourth DUI warning to as many board members.
    By unanimous vote, the decision was made to cut out the driving as opposed to the drinking, which is why league board meetings now rotate among the board members’ homes, each of which contains three things necessary for such powwows: a husband relegated to running interference with whatever children are home at the time, a well-stocked wine cellar, and a state-of-the-art blender, therefore expanding our beverage choices.
    Thus far only one board member has been too tipsy to find her way home after a member-hosted meeting, so the system has been deemed a success.
    Margot—a former senior vice president of an IBM division that got downsized into oblivion, and she along with it—views the Paradise Heights Women’s League as her new executive suite. As its CEO, she has already begun to Peter Principle it to death. With just a year on the board under my belt, I’m the board’s newbie as well as its provost. As such, I’ve taken on a lot of the grunt work that theothers (especially those who have been on it the longest) abhor, like reconciling Scrip receipts from the classroom moms and organizing the Annual July Fourth picnic.
    The others hold loftier board titles than mine: treasurer (Colleen), sergeant at arms (Brooke), secretary (Tammy), and vice president (Isabelle). However, their productivity leaves a lot to be desired. As opposed to rolling up their sleeves and getting their hands dirty, they prefer to strategize (Colleen), delegate (Brooke), whine (Tammy), and, when all else fails, point fingers (Isabelle).
    In Margot’s previous life, by now pink slips would have been handed out all around.
    On the other hand, my can-do efficiency has positioned me as Margot’s go-to gal.
    Her girl Friday.
    Okay, yeah: her bitch.
    That’s okay. I need to prove something to myself: that I’ve got style as well as substance.
    That I am admired, appreciated, and beloved.
    That I am desired.
    If not by Ted, then by Margot and her posse. That’ll do for now, anyway.
    “You know, Tammy will be disappointed if I skip over her for the nomination.” Margot leans in close, as if what she has to tell me is gossip gold, but I can see this for myself by all the anxious looks Tammy