Ilene.
“Oldest of six,” said Frieda. “Non-practicing. Disdainfully so.”
“Thank God for that,” said the oldest of three.
“I like it,” said Frieda. “It’s different.”
“Well, we can’t all be New York Jews,” said Ilene.
“Of the disdainfully nonpracticing variety,” Betty said. “Can we get back to the kissing part?”
Frieda blushed. “It started with a peck. And then moved to a full-blown, slobbering kiss. He grabbed me, squeezed the pulp out of me, and then mauled my mouth. He totally took me over, which was such a shock because his first kiss was just that little peck. I thought he might be shy or passive. Boy, was I wrong. We went at it like that for fifteen, twenty minutes. And then someone came in and we had to stop.”
The way she punched each word— went at it —made Betty jealous beyond measure. She doubted that, in her fumbling sexual encounters, she’d ever gone at it with ferocity.
Betty said, “He walks in to get something framed, and inside of ten minutes, you’re making out? Why does this never happen to me?” Betty felt Ilene watching her dip a piece of baguette into a dish of garlic-infused olive oil and pop it into her mouth.
Frieda said, “I am floating on a cloud. I see rainbows in street puddles. I have been sprinkled with magic dust. He is absolutely adorable! I keep thinking of what Mom told me the night before I married Gregg. She said, ‘At the end of the day, only one thing matters in a marriage: When you sit down to dinner and look across the table at your husband, you think he’s cute.’ ”
Ilene laughed. “She told me the same thing.”
“I always thought Gregg was cute,” said Frieda.
In unison, Betty and Ilene said, “Very cute.”
Frieda nodded. “Sam Hill is of a different order. He has a face people pay to watch. A quick look and he seems almost ordinary. And then, if you look again, he’s stunning.”
“Did he go from ordinary to stunning before or after the mouth mauling?” asked Betty.
“I’m thrilled for you, Frieda,” said Ilene. “You need to have fun. And the timing couldn’t be better. Sam Hill is the ideal transitional man. Totally inappropriate marriage material. He’s like a trial run. And when you’re ready to get serious, I have the perfect man to fix you up with. He’s a guy from work, recently separated but not ready to date yet. In six months—you’ll have had your fill of Sam Hill by then—my guy will be raring to go. I could not have planned this better myself.”
Frieda said, “I wouldn’t say that Sam Hill is inappropriate marriage material.”
“Of course he is,” said Ilene. She laughed. “You can’t honestly say that you have high hopes for a lasting relationship with him. Just enjoy the hell out of it for what it is. And when you’re ready for more, I’ll set you up.”
Betty watched the frown appear on Frieda’s face. Clearly, Frieda was smitten, regardless of Sam Hill’s marriage worthiness. That must have been some kiss.
Betty said, “You don’t know what’s going to happen, Ilene. I’m sure Frieda isn’t thinking about Sam Hill’s future prospects. She’s living in the moment.”
“Exactly,” said Frieda. “I’m focused on right now. Six months down the road, who knows? That was the amount of time between Gregg’s diagnosis and death. None of us has any idea where we’ll be in six months, who we’ll be with, what we’ll be doing. But right now, all I want is to see Sam Hill again.”
Betty said, “When will that be?”
Frieda answered, “Next week. He has performances every night.”
Betty said, “That seems like a long time to wait.”
Ilene said, “Waiting is the downside of living in the moment.”
“I can do it. I’ve waited over a year for someone to make my heart beat faster. I can go for one more week. I do worry, though. He might get a load of me naked and think, ‘Am I fucking my mother?’ ”
“You’re seven years apart, not seventeen,”
“Oldest of six,” said Frieda. “Non-practicing. Disdainfully so.”
“Thank God for that,” said the oldest of three.
“I like it,” said Frieda. “It’s different.”
“Well, we can’t all be New York Jews,” said Ilene.
“Of the disdainfully nonpracticing variety,” Betty said. “Can we get back to the kissing part?”
Frieda blushed. “It started with a peck. And then moved to a full-blown, slobbering kiss. He grabbed me, squeezed the pulp out of me, and then mauled my mouth. He totally took me over, which was such a shock because his first kiss was just that little peck. I thought he might be shy or passive. Boy, was I wrong. We went at it like that for fifteen, twenty minutes. And then someone came in and we had to stop.”
The way she punched each word— went at it —made Betty jealous beyond measure. She doubted that, in her fumbling sexual encounters, she’d ever gone at it with ferocity.
Betty said, “He walks in to get something framed, and inside of ten minutes, you’re making out? Why does this never happen to me?” Betty felt Ilene watching her dip a piece of baguette into a dish of garlic-infused olive oil and pop it into her mouth.
Frieda said, “I am floating on a cloud. I see rainbows in street puddles. I have been sprinkled with magic dust. He is absolutely adorable! I keep thinking of what Mom told me the night before I married Gregg. She said, ‘At the end of the day, only one thing matters in a marriage: When you sit down to dinner and look across the table at your husband, you think he’s cute.’ ”
Ilene laughed. “She told me the same thing.”
“I always thought Gregg was cute,” said Frieda.
In unison, Betty and Ilene said, “Very cute.”
Frieda nodded. “Sam Hill is of a different order. He has a face people pay to watch. A quick look and he seems almost ordinary. And then, if you look again, he’s stunning.”
“Did he go from ordinary to stunning before or after the mouth mauling?” asked Betty.
“I’m thrilled for you, Frieda,” said Ilene. “You need to have fun. And the timing couldn’t be better. Sam Hill is the ideal transitional man. Totally inappropriate marriage material. He’s like a trial run. And when you’re ready to get serious, I have the perfect man to fix you up with. He’s a guy from work, recently separated but not ready to date yet. In six months—you’ll have had your fill of Sam Hill by then—my guy will be raring to go. I could not have planned this better myself.”
Frieda said, “I wouldn’t say that Sam Hill is inappropriate marriage material.”
“Of course he is,” said Ilene. She laughed. “You can’t honestly say that you have high hopes for a lasting relationship with him. Just enjoy the hell out of it for what it is. And when you’re ready for more, I’ll set you up.”
Betty watched the frown appear on Frieda’s face. Clearly, Frieda was smitten, regardless of Sam Hill’s marriage worthiness. That must have been some kiss.
Betty said, “You don’t know what’s going to happen, Ilene. I’m sure Frieda isn’t thinking about Sam Hill’s future prospects. She’s living in the moment.”
“Exactly,” said Frieda. “I’m focused on right now. Six months down the road, who knows? That was the amount of time between Gregg’s diagnosis and death. None of us has any idea where we’ll be in six months, who we’ll be with, what we’ll be doing. But right now, all I want is to see Sam Hill again.”
Betty said, “When will that be?”
Frieda answered, “Next week. He has performances every night.”
Betty said, “That seems like a long time to wait.”
Ilene said, “Waiting is the downside of living in the moment.”
“I can do it. I’ve waited over a year for someone to make my heart beat faster. I can go for one more week. I do worry, though. He might get a load of me naked and think, ‘Am I fucking my mother?’ ”
“You’re seven years apart, not seventeen,”
Similar Books
