The Idea of Him Read Online Free PDF

put them in his magazine. I grew up with people who might have had less money and power, but they certainly had better manners and knew to say hello and thank you to the wife.
    Before the party even started, I thought about asking Wade if he knew the beauty at the Tudor Room who had helped me. He’d say he’d never seen her before, but when I would ask why she had the same casino chip he had tried to hide from me, he would refuse even to understand my question. I knew him so well this way. He’d walk down the hall and make it seem like nothing, when I sensed it was definitely something. He would then say his crowd often went to Atlantic City with Murray and various clients. First, I had to comprehend more on my own in order to be armed with a comeback for his denial.
    Wade rummaged through his color-coordinated closet to find just the proper outfit to telegraph that he was festive, but relaxed. He brought out a hip lavender tie with a sky blue shirt and asked, “Does this look inviting?” He pulled me into him, “Will it get me laid with my beautiful bride?”
    â€œYes, Wade. Exactly that,” I answered, noting that he seemed more desperate these days to get his look right. “Your purple tie is what does it for me.” Was he trying too hard to act solicitous or was I imagining things?
    â€œPurple’s my favorite,” Lucy said, as she entered the room and hugged his thigh.
    â€œMine too, kiddo,” he said as he ruffled her hair, dragging her along with him to the mirror. For the finishing touch, Wade slipped on his black, “downtown” blazer with the little antique gold buttons. “Now come here and kiss me good night.”
    I saw my chance and raced back to the kids’ room, where I found Blake punching his thumbs into his Nintendo DS with extra hostility.
    â€œWhat’s with Jeremy today, honey? Did he respond or did you even explain to him you wanted to go this time? Did you use the money I gave you for your snack?”
    â€œMom. They went to get Doritos in the machines without me. I’m not going to ask why. It’s obvious. They didn’t want me to come.”
    â€œWell, honey, I . . .”
    â€œMom. They didn’t want me to come. You can’t say anything that is going to make me feel better. After social studies, when I ask them to wait before going to playstreet and when I’m packing my bag, they always run out.”
    â€œThat is just so mean, honey.” I kissed my hurt little boy’s nine-year-old forehead and wished with all my heart I could take this blow for him.
    â€œAnd don’t call his mom and tell him to be nicer to me like you did last time.”
    â€œI won’t, I . . .” Of course that is exactly what I wanted to do.
    â€œIt makes me look like a snitch. She told him to play nicer and he told everyone I told on him, so don’t do it again. For real, Mom. Don’t.”
    â€œI love you, honey. I’m here to talk if you want.”
    â€œI said I don’t want to.”
    I gently closed his door, mumbling to myself, “A mother’s only as happy as her unhappiest child.” Pained but resigned to let him stew, I ran into the kitchen to place thirty Trader Joe’s hors d’oeuvres on cookie sheets and into a warm oven. With the downturn having hit ad revenues hard, Wade’s magazine company had slashed his budget for home cocktail parties to almost nothing. They would only pay for a scant two college students, a mediocre bar, and the cheapest hors d’oeuvres from the frozen section. For every event, I had to fork out for flowers and a few extras with our own money. When I protested that these parties didn’t quite fit into our tight monthly budget in expensive New York City, Wade countered that he couldn’t make Meter successful if he couldn’t continue to network as he wished, and any and every time he wished.
    The cut-rate bartender