The Secret Lives of Housewives Read Online Free PDF Page B

she could give him her cell phone number, but that seemed so public and impersonal, and anyway she was home all afternoon every Saturday and Sunday. No, the cell phone wasn’t intimate enough. When he called she wanted to be at home.
    The kitchen was tiny but immaculate, bright floral dishes put lovingly in the cabinet, a tea kettle shaped like a cat on the narrow stove, three cat-shaped magnets on the refrigerator holding the phone numbers of the building’s superintendent, her family doctor, and the vet. Well-washed, spatter-patterned tile covered the floor. Although there was limited counter space, when she saw them at a garage sale, Eve couldn’t resist the canister set—each of the three containers shaped like a fluffy, black and white Persian kitten—which now occupied a place of honor beside the stove.
    Maxie jumped onto the counter and settled there, washing his paws as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Eve dropped Minnie beside him, then got two kitty treats from the box in the cabinet and gave one to each. She kept a restraining hand firmly on Maxie and watched Minnie daintily eat her tidbit. If she didn’t watch, Maxie would push Minnie out of the way and eat both treats. Men. Wasn’t that the way.
    Over the next hour Eve changed into jeans and a T-shirt, tidied her already tidy apartment, vacuumed the simply furnished living room, plumped the cushions on the ersatz colonial sofa, and straightened the matching chair and tables. She ran a soft cloth over the frames of the old romance movie posters that filled the walls, lovingly dusting Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca and Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland in Robin Hood . Then she gathered a load of laundry that she’d take to the laundry room in the next building that evening, when she knew Mike wouldn’t call. He never called after five. Family time with his wife and kids. No, she wouldn’t think about that part of it.
    For lunch she opened a can of tomato soup. While it heated, she thought about which movie she’d watch. She looked over her large collection, but she realized that she already knew what she wanted. She pulled the Picnic tape from the shelf and stuffed it into the VCR. When the soup was almost ready she put a bag of popcorn in her small microwave and listened to the comforting sound of the popping. Finally, an oversized mug of soup in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other, she wandered into the living room and pressed play on the remote. As the film filled the TV screen, she dropped onto the sofa and the two cats settled themselves on her legs.
    She fell into a light sleep and nearly jumped off the couch at three-thirty when the phone rang. Two startled cats dashed across the room as she picked up the cordless handset she’d placed on the floor beside the sofa. She stopped a moment to slow her racing pulse, and once sure she’d sound fully awake, softened her voice. “Hello?”
    â€œHi, sugar.”
    It was him. “Hi, Mike. I’m so glad you got a chance to call.”
    â€œDiana’s out so I’ve got just a moment. How was your class?” She was in heaven. He’d actually remembered that she took yoga on Saturday morning. “Aerobics, right?” he asked.
    â€œYoga.” Okay, he wasn’t exactly right, but he’d remembered something. “It was really good. Angie is such a good teacher.”
    â€œThat’s great.”
    She pulled off her glasses. “Maybe next week, if you can call only on Saturday around lunchtime, you could use my cell phone. I really want to talk to you, but I might not be home. I might go out with some ladies from the class.” It would be worth losing the sense of privacy to be able to sit with the others from the yoga class. Anyway, he didn’t usually call until midafternoon, when Diana was out. She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder.
    â€œSure. You’ll give me the