Good Little Wives by Abby Drake

room.
    The men half stood as the women got up because they knew their wives peed with each other. They’d long ago given up stupid jokes about that.
    Not surprisingly, the ladies’ room was decorated in black, red, and gold. Dana knew Kitty would have been horrified, that she would have held the event at a place with a less boisterous color palette.
    Then she remembered that Yolanda was not Kitty and this wasn’t a party.
    â€œWell, this has been positively awful,” Lauren said once they were inside. “Who ever expected Kitty would show up?” She seemed more demure than usual.
    â€œVincent was her husband almost thirty years,” Dana said. “He was Marvin and Elise’s father.”
    Lauren offered no response.
    Dana went to the vanity and set down her purse. She straightened her hair, which had been confined under her small hat. She adjusted the collar of her deep pewter weskit. It was easier to straighten and adjust, after all, than to address what needed addressing.
    â€œLauren,” she said, eyes transfixed by the mirror. “I need to know about you and Vincent.”
    Lauren took a step back the way everyone had at the grave when they thought Kitty would shoot them all, too. Dana thought if she were closer she might see Lauren grow pale; she might witness the pinkness drain from Lauren’s forehead the way the blood in an IV bottle empties during a transfusion.
    She’s going to deny it , Dana surmised.
    But Lauren regained her footing and tightened the ribbon that held back her hair. “Oh, Dana,” she said with a bewildered smile. “His dick was the size of an Italian flagpole.”

Nine
    Bridget drove Caroline home because Jack had convinced Randall to go to the club and play golf.
    â€œNo sense wasting a beautiful day,” Jack said when the funeral drudge was finally completed. “You girls go have a good time.”
    The men went in Jack’s car because the Meachams had more money than the Hayneses.
    When Bridget directed Caroline to Randall’s silver Mercedes, she knew they would not have a “good time” because Caroline never laughed when she was in the passenger seat.
    â€œI’ll just go home,” Caroline said once they were belted into the soft leather.
    Bridget pulled out of the lot, then drove a few blocks,past the Episcopal church and the Protestant church and the Catholic church Randall supported. “It was a nice turnout,” Bridget said, because it would have been absurd to say the funeral itself had been nice.
    Caroline’s twice-lifted face was turned toward the churches and not toward Bridget. “I must change the seating for the hospital gala. Vincent and Yolanda were supposed to sit with us.”
    Us , of course, meant Caroline and Jack, Bridget and Randall, Lauren and Bob, Dana and Steven. The funeral now over, Caroline had clearly moved on.
    â€œCan’t we be eight at the table, not ten?” Bridget asked.
    â€œHeavens, no. A successful fund-raiser should never appear to have more comforts than the paying guests.”
    It was amusing how Caroline danced the dance.
    â€œWell, who then?”
    â€œChloe and Lee. Do you think the others would mind?”
    Though Bridget often made fun of the New Falls hierarchy, it didn’t seem right to have Caroline’s daughter and her fiancé sit where Vincent and Yolanda should have been.
    â€œLauren’s stepchildren might feel slighted.”
    â€œWell, there are seven of them and only two chairs.” She snapped her head toward Bridget. “What else can I do? Cover Vincent’s chair in black velvet? Besides, Lee is perfectly suitable.”
    It went without saying that Chloe’s betrothed had more money than the rest of them put together. Bridget sighed. “Forget the gala,” she said. “I’m worried about Kitty.”
    Caroline moved her eyes back to the tree belt. “Kitty will be