Christy’s eyes flew wide. “Paul! She’s been a widow since… forever!”
“Widows have needs too.”
“Not like that.”
“What about Susan?”
“Don’t use logic against me.” She checked her makeup in the mirror and blotted her lipstick. “Ready when you are.”
Wren and Trip were relaxing by the pool. She looked exhausted but happy. I hadn’t counted her orgasms the night before, but I’d been responsible for at least one. Trip and Christy had combined for another three or four, maybe more.
“You look nice,” Trip said.
“Thanks.” I tried to imitate the Brahmin accent, “Supper at the club with Brad and Buffy.”
Christy rolled her eyes but grinned anyway.
“You need anything while we’re in Charlotte?” I asked in my normal voice.
Trip shook his head. “What about you, babe?”
“I’m good,” Wren said. “Very, very good.”
He chuckled and tossed me a ring of keys. “Here you go.”
I caught them and singled out the ignition key with the VW logo. The Cruiser was still in the shop, so he’d offered to let us drive the Rabbit.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll be home before dinner.”
“I should be recovered by then,” Wren said.
Trip smirked and nodded his thanks to me, although Christy had known exactly what we were doing (and probably why). Wren had figured it out too, but that hadn’t stopped her from enjoying herself.
Christy and I said goodbye and headed out. We drove in companionable silence until I pulled onto the interstate and accelerated up to speed in air-conditioned comfort.
“What do you think about a new car?” I said.
“Why? Can’t they fix yours?”
“They can, but…”
I explained that the mechanic needed a new compressor for the air conditioner. The local parts supplier didn’t have one, and the salvage yards had laughed. They had plenty of parts for American cars, but they didn’t see many “rice burners.” It was small-town prejudice, and it was the reality I had to deal with.
“Oh my gosh, for real?” Christy said. “How can they not have the parts?”
“It’s a Japanese car, and this is rural America. They have both kinds of cars here, Chevy and Ford.”
She didn’t get the Blues Brothers reference, but she understood the sarcasm.
“The mechanic’ll find it eventually,” I said. “The Toyota dealer in Columbia can order one, but I’d have to buy a whole new system. That costs a fortune. The guy called some junkyards he knows—”
“Hold on,” Christy said, “junkyards?”
“Yeah. The Cruiser’s old enough that salvage and junkyards are our best options. Unless…”
“Unless what? Unless you drive without air conditioning?”
“Or buy a new car. What do you think?”
She frowned uncertainly. “Why’re you asking?”
“Because it’s a major decision. It’s what couples do. And… I’d need your help.”
“What? To pay for it? Oh my gosh, my father’d kill me if—”
“No,” I laughed, “not to pay for it. To help pick it out.”
Her eyes widened behind her sunglasses. “You really mean it?”
“I think so.”
“Oh, Paul… I’d love to!” Her smile shone like the sun before it clouded over.
“What?” I said nervously.
“I hope you don’t think this means we’re engaged.”
“No… why?”
“Because I want a real proposal and a real ring, not some… car!”
I chuckled.
“I mean it,” she warned.
“Don’t worry, Sunshine. You’ll get everything you want.”
“Soon?”
“I’m sorry… what were we talking about?”
“Ugh! You are so infuriating sometimes!”
“I know. It’s why you love me.”
* * *
We arrived at the country club, and the maître d’ showed us to a table with Carter, Kim, and her parents. Carter stood and gave me a silent heads-up. Then he made a point to introduce his in-laws as Mr. and Mrs. Harlan Stewart. Mister stood. Missus didn’t.
Harlan Stewart was a handsome man in his mid-fifties with a conservative hairstyle, strong features, and lips set in a perpetual frown. He wore a three-piece suit and shook my hand with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t have anything against me in particular as much as my whole generation. I called him “Mr. Stewart,” which he accepted as his due.
His wife was ten years younger, dark-haired, and quiet. She was pretty, but her limpid blue eyes had lost their spark long ago. Her dress added ten years, which made her look like a midsized Nancy Reagan instead of the lively, attractive woman she could’ve been.
Mrs. Stewart, no first name, smiled politely and offered her hand palm-down. I took it and bowed slightly instead of kissing it. She reminded me of a prize orchid, beautiful and well-tended, always on display. She was used to being judged, too, and was resigned to life in a box instead of a garden, where she belonged.
We took our seats, and a waiter appeared to take our orders. Brunch wasn’t exactly formal, but Kim’s parents were definitely old-school. Her father was polite enough, especially when we talked about the country club. And he nodded with approval when I said I needed to learn how to play golf.
Then the conversation shifted to stocks and investing. I added a few semi-intelligent comments until we veered into politics. Mr. Stewart made Barry Goldwater seem like a flaming liberal, and my political views would’ve made me a heretic. I didn’t want to be burned at the stake, so I kept my opinions to myself.
I didn’t say much to Mrs. Stewart, either, although she and Kim and Christy talked to each other through most of the meal. They occasionally paid attention to our conversation, but none of them commented on it, and Mr. Stewart didn’t try to include them. We were in separate worlds, the men with our important business and the women with their frivolous gossip.
“Sorry about that,” Carter said afterward.
Mr. Stewart was giving the ladies a tour of the club’s portrait gallery in the lobby. They were far enough away that they wouldn’t overhear us.
“I should’ve warned you,” Carter added. “They’re really nice people, especially when we’re alone, but Harlan’s extremely conscious of his position at the club.”
“They’re fine,” I assured him.
Carter thought of something and chuckled. “My parents aren’t any better. They’re a bit less stuffy, but my father does the same thing in formal settings.”
“We all do,” I said.
“Right. I should’ve known. You’d understand. And I’m glad you figured it out, back when I introduced you.”
“Yeah, I knew better than to call them by their first names.”
He checked his watch and changed the subject. “Do you have time to stop by our house before you have to pick up your friend?”
“I wish we did. Maybe next time.”
“We’ll have to plan something. The long weekend we talked about?”
“I’d like that. We’d like that.”
He raised a sandy eyebrow.
“Christy wants me to learn more about the scene.”
“I’d be happy to teach you. And Kim would definitely enjoy the attention.” He leaned close and said in confidence, “I’ve kept her shaved. I like the look, and she likes doing it for me.”
“Same with Christy.”
“No plans to do my own,” he added in a normal voice. “I prefer the natural look.”
“Different strokes.”
“Right.” He let his glance drift to Christy and Kim. “We definitely need to plan something. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been thinking about Christy a lot.”
“Oh?”
“Her, ahem, oral skills. Kim’s good, but… she could learn a thing or two.”
I equivocated politely.
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” he added, although he immediately laughed. “Not like that. I don’t swing that way. But I like watching you and Kim together. She really gets into it.” He shot me a grin. “She doesn’t normally start things, but she did last night. I came home from work and she practically attacked. She didn’t want the usual, either, and she couldn’t get enough.” He smiled at her fondly.