Donna Birdsell - Madam Of The House

“Doesn’t matter,” Cecilia said. “You’re the only one who hasn’t had a turn at the game, and I can handle it. Truth or Dare?”

Dannie slumped in her chair. “I dunno. You pick for me.”

Cecilia chewed on her straw for a minute. “Okay. Truth. I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“What do you mean?”

Cecilia leaned in. “I know you, Dannie. Something’s wrong. Are you missing Roger?”

Dannie snorted. “Yeah. I don’t know what I miss more, the lying or the cheating.” She shook her head. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was such a shit.” She began to cry.

Cecilia lifted Roseanna’s head and retrieved a cocktail napkin, which she handed to Dannie. “He cheated on you?”

Dannie nodded. “At least once that I know of. But probably way more than that.” She sighed. “He was a good father, though.”

That was Dannie. Always looking at the shiny side of the penny.

“I’m so sorry,” Cecilia said. “But you know you could have talked to me about it. Anytime.”

“I guess I was embarrassed, which is just silly. Life would be so much better if we could all just share our secrets and get them off our chests. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” Cecilia chewed on an ice cube. “As a matter of fact…”

Dannie dabbed her eyes with the now-soggy napkin. “What? You have a secret, too?”

Cecilia pushed her shot away. “I really have to sober up.”

Dannie squeezed her hand. “Come on. I’m your friend. Maybe I can help.”

“Well, the thing is, I’m—” Cecilia sighed “—well, I’m flat broke.”

Everything is negotiable.

As soon as she said it, she regretted it.

Here she was, complaining to Dannie of all people. Dannie, a widow with four kids, who never had enough of anything.

“Cece, let me help you,” Dannie said. “I can lend you some money.”

Cecilia shook her head. “No, I’m going to get out of this somehow.” She didn’t want to tell Dannie that whatever she could lend her wouldn’t pay the charge-card bill for Ben’s golf shirts.

Dannie looked as if she were going to say something, but stopped.

Cecilia sighed. She supposed getting everything off her chest couldn’t hurt. It was a night for truths as well as dares, wasn’t it? “The truth is, Ben never even tried to find a job after he was laid off. He started day-trading instead. In the beginning he made some money, but mostly he’s been losing. A fortune. My fortune.”

“But your job…” Dannie said.

Cecilia shook her head. “The real estate market is tanking. I can’t sell a house to save my life. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to start doing open houses again.” She felt the dreaded sting behind her eyes again.

Dannie gave her a sympathetic look. “Anything I can do, let me know. Okay?”

Cecilia nodded. She sucked down a glass of water and chewed on the ice as she and Dannie sat there together, lost in their own thoughts.

The first few notes of Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll” blared over the speaker system. Tom Cruise slid through Cecilia’s mind in his underwear, and she smiled. “Oh, screw it. Let’s just have a good time.”

She and Dannie sang along with the song and reminisced about the night they’d sneaked into a movie theater to see Risky Business. They’d only been fourteen, not legally allowed into an R-rated flick, but a friend who worked at the Cineplex let them in.

Years later, Cecilia realized that most of the movie had gone right over her head, but the image of Tom Cruise in his tighty whities had certainly stuck.

“Hey, I know,” Dannie yelled over the music. “You could do what Joel did in Risky Business.”

“What? Hire a hooker?”

Dannie laughed. “No. You know, have a party. Round up some call girls and show some rich boys a good time.”

“Right.” Cecilia laughed, trying to picture herself arranging a “good time” for her friends’ teenage sons. Yuck.

Roseanna raised her head. “Party?”

Cecilia stubbed out her cigarette. “Yeah, there’s a kegger out on Creek Road. Wanna go?”

Dannie laughed at the mention of their favorite high school hangout. “Come on. Let’s get Rosie out of here.”

“Okay, just let me check on Grace first.”

Cecilia pushed her way through the crowd to the other side of the bar, where Grace was still sucking face with the leather-clad hottie.

“You okay?” she asked.

Grace nodded.

“How are you getting home?”

“I’ll call a cab.”

“Okay.” Cecilia winked at the guy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. Rose Frost lipstick smeared his lips.

Cecilia felt a flash of envy for her friend. She still remembered that feeling—that out-of-body high—that always accompanied brand-new kisses.

Cecilia returned to the table and waved to Grace. She made a fist and held it to her cheek like a telephone receiver, mouthing the words, “Call me.”

Then she and Dannie slung their arms around Roseanna and dragged her through the crowd toward the door.

“Come on, gorgeous. Let’s try to get you home before you lose your cookies.”

A DULL PAIN throbbed behind Cecilia’s eyes as she brewed a pot of coffee the following morning. Her breath smelled like a burned-out distillery, and her fingertips were yellow from nicotine.

She had to stop drinking. She had to stop smoking. Today. Now.

She took the pack of cigarettes from her handbag and emptied them into the sink, firing up the garbage disposal. The sound bore into her brain like a jackhammer.

Oh, man. This might not be the best day to quit smoking.

Her malaise eased a bit when she realized that in just a few hours she’d be on her way to pick up Brian at the Catalina School.

She hummed “Old Time Rock and Roll” as she flipped through a shoe catalog, planning her afternoon with her son until an annoying beeping sound coming from the street disturbed her thoughts.

It sounded like a trash truck, but it wasn’t trash day.

Coffee mug in hand, she wandered through the dining room and into the formal living room, to the bowed window overlooking the driveway. A green-and-yellow truck was backing into the drive. Sunlight glinted off the shiny silver flat bed, which seemed to be falling off the truck.

No, it wasn’t falling. It was tilting.

She squinted, unable to see too clearly without her contact lenses. What…?

“Shit!” She bolted for the front door, spilling coffee down the front of her robe and onto the white wool carpet.

She reached the steps that led down to the drive just as a large man with an obscene amount of butt-crack showing hooked the rear axle of her Cayenne to a winch.

“Hey!” she shouted. “What are you doing?”

He stood up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re trying to steal my car.”

He guffawed. “That’s a good one.”

“No, really. What are you doing?”

The guy grinned. “I’m repossessing your vehicle.”

“What!”

“Look.” He waddled over and handed her a clipboard with a blue form containing her name and address, a description of the Cayenne, the VIN number and the license plate number.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

He spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the lawn. “You ain’t made your payments, lady. I’m taking the car.”

“Oh, no. No no no.” She read the name in the blue oval above his shirt pocket. “Ed, you can’t take my car. I need my car.”

“Sorry. I guess you shoulda thought about that when you weren’t writing those checks.” He walked to the back of the truck and threw a lever. The Cayenne slowly began to move up onto the tilted flatbed.