The Dirty Book Club(26)
“Y’all are still together, right?”
“We are.” M.J. beamed. “I moved out here to be with him. Left my career and everything.” She edited out the whole Gayle-bifurcating-her-promotion part and how she’d still be in New York had that not happened, in favor of painting herself as the type of woman who gives it all up for the security of a man. Because M.J. built a career on knowing her audience and at the moment Jules’s Tweety Bird blues were thumping emoji hearts. “And we owe it all to that magical love dust of yours.”
“Don’t I get any credit?” rasped a woman from the Wrath aisle. “I found the prince and princess a reasonably priced beach house in the height of the market.”
Shit.
Britt shuffled into view: hair damp, skin tone uneven, eyes screaming for Visine.
“Y’all know each other?” Jules asked, wilting at the prospect of being left out.
“We’ve interacted,” Britt said, adjusting the built-in bra inside her maxi dress. Then to M.J., “Before I forget . . .” She began ferreting through her My Other Bag Is a Birkin tote and pulled out something round and black with a winged logo stamped in its center. “My daughter almost swallowed it.” She tossed the thing to M.J., who made no attempt to catch it. It was probably one of those gag gifts that squirted fake blood. And unlike Britt, M.J. was wearing dry-clean-only.
“Take it,” Britt insisted. “It’s yours.”
“What is it?”
“A car key.”
“It’s not mine. I don’t drive.”
“Well, I found it in your cake.”
“Y’all had cake?” Jules asked.
“No,” they both answered. Then Britt lifted the key off the floor, handed it to M.J., and told her to return it to the bakery because some poor pastry chef was probably going crazy looking for it.
The three women, now settled into the couches, began to fidget like strangers in the waiting room of a gynecologist’s office.
“My babies left for sleepover camp today,” Britt eventually said. “Eight weeks!”
“Sneezes H. Crust,” Jules gasped. “They’re only eight weeks old?”
“No, they’re twelve. They’ll be gone for eight weeks. Margot and Jasper. They’re fraternal twins.”
“I was just playing.” Jules winked. “Gosh, I couldn’t be away from Destiny for that long.”
“Dan’s on a surf trip in Java for ten days and I’m losing it,” M.J. said, trying to relate.
“Well, they love it, so . . .” Britt checked her phone. “Apparently, they’re having too much fun to text.” She lifted her gaze to the thicket of bookmarks that had been strung from the ceiling, taking a moment to watch them twirl in the air-conditioned breeze.
“Is Destiny your daughter?” M.J. asked, wondering where Easton was with that prosecco.
“She is. Turned fifteen years old last month. We’re closer than two coats of nail polish.”
Easton charged into the lounge, a scientist with a life-saving antidote. “Who’s thirsty?” Three hands shot into the air. He went straight to Jules. “You and I should take up juggling,” he told her, setting down his tray on the coffee table.
“Why juggling?”
He crossed one leg revealing a blue-and-white polka-dotted sock, the same pattern as Jules’s dress. “Because we’re very coordinated.”
Britt and M.J. exchanged a horrified glance while Jules tittered with delight.
“What a pistol you are.”
“If I’m a pistol, what does that make you?”
“The Liaison of Love at the Majestic Resort and Spa,” she said, deciding that the flirting was over. “I coordinate weddings, proposals, vow renewals, and flowers, now that Dotty is gone. As my husband always says: Cupid is as Cupid does.”
Easton glimpsed her right hand. A gold band, fine as baby hair, glimpsed back. “Husband?”
“Brandon. We were high school sweethearts.” She beamed. “Married fourteen years.”
Britt cocked her head. “And Destiny’s fifteen?”
“Yeah, well, we kinda ate supper before saying grace,” Jules said with a shoo-fly swipe of her hand. “But everything worked out. And things will be even better just as soon as he gets here.”
Easton asked where he was.
“An hour south, in Oceanside. We moved there twelve years ago when Brandon got into MiraCosta College. One day I’m a wedding coordinator for the local church and the next, poof! The Majestic offered me a job and a garden view villa. Brandon’s been trying to get here for five months, but his clients are having the hardest time letting him go.”
“Is he a therapist?” Britt asked.
“No, a personal trainer.”
“So where does that leave you?” Easton asked.
“Ashley Madison,” said the curvaceous redhead as she emerged from Pride, her kimono dress straining to conceal her plus-sized cleavage. She wore a bronze-winged necklace, but no key.
“Welcome, Ashley, I’m Jules.”
“It’s Addie.”
“I’m sorry.” Jules blushed. “I thought you said ‘Ashley.’?”
“I did. Ashley Madison is a website for married horndogs who want a little extra on the side. Since your husband isn’t around I thought—”