The Dirty Book Club(44)

“Same,” M.J. told him, then kicked her iconic red soles across the sand. Anything to avoid bending down in her leather leggings and Ginsuing her intestines. “There are so many ways to interpret ‘hoochie mama,’?” she said. “Tragically, all of them are tight.”

They continued through the cooling sand toward the torches, walking to the windshield-wiper beat of M.J.’s thigh-scraping leggings. “You don’t really think Paul is cheating, do you?”

“No, I really know he’s cheating on me.” The tangerine rays from the setting sun highlighted her certainty. “He sneaks out of the house without saying good-bye, takes showers when he gets home, and”—her chin dimple pulsed—“I found pubes in the bathroom trash can.”

The gentle hiss of settling waves filled the silence between them while M.J. considered her response. It was possible to rationalize sneak-outs and showers, but shorn pubes? They were the crumbs of infidelity. But M.J. didn’t dare point that out. Nor did she ask why Britt hadn’t shared her suspicions with Paul. She was enjoying the role of confidant and didn’t want to scare Britt off. Besides, who was she to judge? Maybe Paul had his reasons. Britt certainly believed she had hers.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to be like Gloria Golden and let him get away with it, that’s for sure.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m going to down a keg of wine, then I’m going to catch him in the act, then I’m going to down another keg of wine, and then . . . I have no idea.”

A frantic wave from Jules, who was seated posture-perfect on a rattan chair got them past the appraising hostess and into the candlelit lounge. Dark and moody with an air of exclusivity, it was the perfect backdrop for their Fifty Shades of Grey gathering, unless one was claustrophobic.

Britt claimed the love seat to the left of Jules, lowered her clutch to the sand, and extended her bare feet to rest by a plate of bruschetta. “I smell pot,” she said, cutting a smirk to M.J. that said, See? Paul was here.

Jules unpenned her Pillsbury Doughboy giggle. “It’s not pot, silly. It’s silver sage.” She popped a Claritin. “Gray foliage is hard to come by in the summer, but I called in a favor.” Then she indicated the bottle of Grey Goose by Britt’s feet, the pitcher of pink fruit juice beside it. “Would anyone like a Fifty Shades of Greyhound?”

“You themed?” M.J. asked, as if accusing her of peeing in the hot tub.

“Of course I did.” Jules lifted the striped tie that hung over her gray sweater set. It was an exact replica of the tie on the book cover. Beneath it was the ancient key that both Britt and M.J. had dutifully brought but refused to wear. “I’m the Liaison of Love. Atmosphere is what I do.”

A confounding amalgamation of na?veté and moxie, charm and social awkwardness, it was impossible to tell if she was in on the joke or the unsuspecting punch line.

As M.J. sipped what tasted like grapefruit-flavored antibacterial soap, she considered Dan. How he had always wanted to have a drink at the Oyster Bar and how M.J. would never be able to tell him that she finally had. Because Dan thought she was at the Downtown Beach Club planning a fall fund-raiser. Between that lie and her ongoing failure to mention the hidden contract in the bottom of her suitcase, M.J. felt like she was having a tryst of her own.

“I just realized something,” she said. “If you replace the y in the word tryst with a u it spells trust. Funny, right?”

Jules cocked her head, confused. “Is that Sudoku?”

“Sudoku is numbers,” Britt snipped, then, eyes wide with distrust, “M.J., why are you talking about trysts?”

“I wasn’t referring to that. I was thinking about Dan and how I lied to him about where I was going tonight.”

“Referring to what?” Jules asked, stirring her grapefruit juice.

Before M.J. could fabricate an answer, Addie appeared. Her cinnamon-colored hair had been plumped and tousled, her eyeliner artfully smudged, and her curves encased in a sleeveless black dress. She looked like a tube of red lipstick. “Which one of you does real estate?”

Britt raised her hand.

Addie handed her a manila folder.

“What’s this?”

“A terrible excuse for a birthday present.”

Addie started biting her nails while Britt flipped through the pages.

“Liddy is giving you the bookstore?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Beats the heck out of my gift basket,” Jules muttered.

Britt closed the folder. “Why is this terrible?”

“The store is the last thing I want and they know it.” Addie attempted to cross her legs but her dress was too tight, so she shifted her body sideways and crossed her ankles instead. “Will you sell it for me?”

“Do you own it?”

Addie shrugged.

“Did you sign a deed?”

“No, but I can.”

“Keep in mind,” Britt warned, “once it’s signed you’re accepting the transfer of ownership.”

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s do it tomorrow. I want to cash out before September and first-class the shit out of my trip.”

“I can’t sell it that fast.”

“Why not?”