out as a joke. I never thought we’d get this far. We got seventeen responses.
And the more we talked to other couples, the more we wanted to give it a try. It’s all in good fun, you know. Consenting adults
and all that.” We were standing outside my door. “Now how about those window treatments?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“What are you thinking. Drapes? Café curtains? Roman shades?”
“I don’t need window treatments, Mel.”
She stared at me, then knocked her fist against herhead. “Duh. Now I get it.” She smiled. “Don’t you worry about your friend, Valerie. We won’t do anything unless she’s one
hundred percent comfortable. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I watched Melanie’s plump posterior as she waddled back to Lynette’s house.
When I got back to my house I checked on Pete. He had gone to sleep with the lights on and his
Frog and Toad
tape still going in the boom box. I drew the covers up to his chin and kissed him on his damp forehead. He stirred and stared
at me with a glossy, absent look. He smiled, murmured something incomprehensible, and closed his eyes. He looked so soft and
sweet, and I was so exhausted, I climbed into bed beside him, wrapped an arm around him, and listened to his soft snoring.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the phone ring. I dragged myself out of Pete’s warm bed and ran into Roger’s
ex-study.
“Hello?”
“I hear congratulations are in order,” came the husky response.
“I suppose they are, Diana.”
“If it’s not too late, I’d love to stop by to congratulate you in person.”
“Actually, I was just going to bed.”
“Perfect!” she said.
“What?”
“It was a joke, Valerie Ryan. A joke.”
I told Diana she could stop by later in the week. And then I lay in bed for a long time before finally falling asleep. The
phone rang again. It was 11:45.
“I’m sorry to call so late. Did I wake you?” It was Omar.
“Yeah. Sort of. It’s okay. What’s up?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. Which do you want first?”
“The bad news.” I sat up on my elbows and waited and listened to Omar taking a deep breath.
“Your ex-husband lost plenty of money on his tech stocks. And his art investments haven’t been so hot either.”
“Meaning … ?”
“Meaning, you’re not getting quite as much as we’d originally calculated.”
“Meaning … ?” I held my breath.
“Meaning you’re worth sixty-three million, one hundred seventy nine thousand, five hundred sixteen dollars. And twenty-four
cents.”
I started to laugh, and then I was crying.
“Val, are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Are you kidding? Six months ago I was reading books like
The Frugal Fanatic
for tips on recycling old bra straps and today I’m worth sixty-three million dollars. I’m more than okay, Omar. I’m rich.”
I wiped my eyes. “Hey, if that’s the bad news, what’s the good news?”
“Have you checked your bank account lately?”
“No, not lately,” I answered.
“Your money is in. Ahead of schedule. I guess Mr. Sloan wasn’t taking any chances.”
My head was tingling. Did it really matter whether I received a hundred million or sixty million? Either way, I wouldn’t have
been turning my old bra straps into luggage bungee cords. I was rich.
’Til next time,
V
June 10
At 7:30 this morning, Wade and Melanie Rosen’s car was still in Lynette’s driveway.
June 11
I saw Lynette at the curb this morning, retrieving the newspaper. I called out to her but apparently she didn’t hear me. I
started walking toward her but she scurried into the house. I phoned her, but got the answering machine.
Today I saw a bumper sticker that read, “I’m not getting older, I’m getting blonder.” Suddenly, I wanted to be blond. I had
to be blond. I will be blond. And not just any shade of blond, but platinum. I called Laurenat Boku. I was in luck. She’d just had a
And the more we talked to other couples, the more we wanted to give it a try. It’s all in good fun, you know. Consenting adults
and all that.” We were standing outside my door. “Now how about those window treatments?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“What are you thinking. Drapes? Café curtains? Roman shades?”
“I don’t need window treatments, Mel.”
She stared at me, then knocked her fist against herhead. “Duh. Now I get it.” She smiled. “Don’t you worry about your friend, Valerie. We won’t do anything unless she’s one
hundred percent comfortable. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I watched Melanie’s plump posterior as she waddled back to Lynette’s house.
When I got back to my house I checked on Pete. He had gone to sleep with the lights on and his
Frog and Toad
tape still going in the boom box. I drew the covers up to his chin and kissed him on his damp forehead. He stirred and stared
at me with a glossy, absent look. He smiled, murmured something incomprehensible, and closed his eyes. He looked so soft and
sweet, and I was so exhausted, I climbed into bed beside him, wrapped an arm around him, and listened to his soft snoring.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the phone ring. I dragged myself out of Pete’s warm bed and ran into Roger’s
ex-study.
“Hello?”
“I hear congratulations are in order,” came the husky response.
“I suppose they are, Diana.”
“If it’s not too late, I’d love to stop by to congratulate you in person.”
“Actually, I was just going to bed.”
“Perfect!” she said.
“What?”
“It was a joke, Valerie Ryan. A joke.”
I told Diana she could stop by later in the week. And then I lay in bed for a long time before finally falling asleep. The
phone rang again. It was 11:45.
“I’m sorry to call so late. Did I wake you?” It was Omar.
“Yeah. Sort of. It’s okay. What’s up?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. Which do you want first?”
“The bad news.” I sat up on my elbows and waited and listened to Omar taking a deep breath.
“Your ex-husband lost plenty of money on his tech stocks. And his art investments haven’t been so hot either.”
“Meaning … ?”
“Meaning, you’re not getting quite as much as we’d originally calculated.”
“Meaning … ?” I held my breath.
“Meaning you’re worth sixty-three million, one hundred seventy nine thousand, five hundred sixteen dollars. And twenty-four
cents.”
I started to laugh, and then I was crying.
“Val, are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Are you kidding? Six months ago I was reading books like
The Frugal Fanatic
for tips on recycling old bra straps and today I’m worth sixty-three million dollars. I’m more than okay, Omar. I’m rich.”
I wiped my eyes. “Hey, if that’s the bad news, what’s the good news?”
“Have you checked your bank account lately?”
“No, not lately,” I answered.
“Your money is in. Ahead of schedule. I guess Mr. Sloan wasn’t taking any chances.”
My head was tingling. Did it really matter whether I received a hundred million or sixty million? Either way, I wouldn’t have
been turning my old bra straps into luggage bungee cords. I was rich.
’Til next time,
V
June 10
At 7:30 this morning, Wade and Melanie Rosen’s car was still in Lynette’s driveway.
June 11
I saw Lynette at the curb this morning, retrieving the newspaper. I called out to her but apparently she didn’t hear me. I
started walking toward her but she scurried into the house. I phoned her, but got the answering machine.
Today I saw a bumper sticker that read, “I’m not getting older, I’m getting blonder.” Suddenly, I wanted to be blond. I had
to be blond. I will be blond. And not just any shade of blond, but platinum. I called Laurenat Boku. I was in luck. She’d just had a
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