“The Kept Woman”

Excerpt from “The Kept Woman” © Susan Donovan, 2009

The low hum of music and laughter droned in Samantha Monroe’s ears, and she began to feel woozy. Maybe it was the two margaritas. Maybe it was the hellish week she’d just put in at the salon. Maybe it was the latest threatening letter from Wee Ones Academy beginning with the ominous sentence: “Due to your child’s unresolved toileting issues, we must ask you to find other daycare arrangements within two weeks.”

“... and then, you’re not going to believe this!” Sam’s best friend, Monté, continued entertaining the table with her blow-by-blow of last Saturday’s date with the Mad Unzipper. Since Sam was quite familiar with the tale, she let her eyes wander through the happy-hour crowd at the Lizard Lounge, noticing the group of young, carefree women at the bar, enjoying life, and she had to wonder ... had she ever looked that happy? Had she ever felt as wild and sexy as those girls clearly did? Did she ever wear spike heels that high? Was she ever that young? Should she call Lily again to make sure Dakota ate his fish sticks and that Greg didn’t indulge in more than an hour of PlayStation?

“... and the man just stands his ass up from the couch, unzips, and says, ‘Monté baby, I got your python right here!’ ”

The explosion of laughter made Sam smile to herself, and she returned her attention to her friends. She loved each woman at that table, even if their behavior was bordering on obnoxious. That was the whole point of their Drinks & Depression Nights, anyway. The last Friday of every month, they’d have a couple drinks, bitch about work, life, love (or the lack thereof), and laugh a lot. Then make plans for the next time.

Sam looked past the zebra-striped upholstered lounge chairs and out the picture window. It was a wet and cold early November evening, and the season’s first snow was spitting down on the streets of Indianapolis. It was nearly pitch-dark by six o’clock these days. The holidays were just around the corner. No wonder tonight’s group consisted of only the most hard-core D&D Night attendees.

Sam glanced to her right to watch Monté McQueen tell her story, her black braids swinging with the rhythm of her words. Monté had been her coworker for thirteen long years at Le Cirque. She was a damn fine stylist and the most steadfast friend Sam had ever had. When Mitchell left three years ago, Monté had held Sam’s hand and advised her that a woman with kids didn’t have the luxury of giving up. Monté certainly knew of what she spoke.

To Sam’s left was Kara DeMarinis, one of her most loyal clients, looking fabulous and powerful in her usual fabulous power suit yet managing to be one of the most down-to-earth people around. Also at the table were Le Cirque owner and general business goddess Marcia Fishbacher and veteran salon patrons Denny and Wanda Winston, identical twin sisters with wildly divergent lifestyles.

And every one of these women was howling with laughter and smacking her palms on the tabletop at Monté’s story. Every one but Sam. She knew she should force herself to be more cheerful tonight, because these get-togethers were her therapy. Unfortunately, she was too damn tired for cheerful. She was too tired for therapy. In fact, Sam knew that if the most gorgeous man-babe in the world were to saunter through the front door of the Lizard Lounge at that very instant, partially clothed and completely raring to go, she’d be too tired for him, too.

With a sigh, Sam managed to use her last bit of energy to order an unheard-of third margarita, and when it arrived, she ran the tip of her numb tongue along the freezing cold glass, scooping up a few coarse grains of salt. As she swallowed what would be her only solid food of the evening, a variety of concerns wafted through her weary, tequila-soaked brain. Rent was due in three days, but Mr. Westerkamp hadn’t fixed the garbage disposal as promised — so would she face eviction if she refused to pay? Lily was still gunning to go to France with her class next year, but where the hell was Sam going to get an extra three thousand dollars to send her there? And Greg refused to get back into speech therapy, deciding the stutter itself was less painful than the teasing his classmates gave him for going to a “special” class.

Sam took another sip — a gulp, really — and felt her insides wash with the heat of the alcohol. Her mouth began to move. “I never did understand what is so wrong with being a kept woman,” she muttered. “If I could find a way to do it without damaging the kids, I’d gladly live in a penthouse with a chauffeur and a maid and a chef in exchange for giving some old geezer a little nooky every once in a while. I mean, where’s the harm in that?”

Dead quiet settled over the table, and Sam realized she’d uttered those rambling thoughts out loud. Kara gripped Sam’s upper arm and stared at her with big, brown eyes.

“If he’s not too old or geezery, of course,” Sam added as clarification.  

“Well, sure.” Marcia rolled her eyes. “A girl’s gotta have her standards.”

“Tell me if the old coot has a brother,” Denny said. “I could use a sugar daddy myself, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt if he was partial to lesbians.”

“I don’t think lesbians have sugar daddies,” Wanda told her sister.

“I’m cuttin’ you off, Sam.” Monté pried the stem of the margarita glass from Sam’s tingling fingers. “And I’m drivin’ you home and puttin’ you to bed. We have a wedding party coming in for updos and makeup at nine tomorrow and you need your rest.”

“God. I just haaaate weddings,” Sam moaned. “I hate brides. I hate updos. I hate all those damn hairpins and all that freakin’ happiness, and at nine in the morning! It’s just not natural! I want to grab those brides by their shoulders and shout, ‘Don’t do it! Run away! Run before it’s too late!’ ”

Marcia blinked in concern, and Sam was making a mental note to never again have more than two drinks in the presence of her boss when Monté scooped her from her chair and stood her on her feet. “C’mon, Cinderella. Time to take a ride in the carriage before it turns into a big, fat pumpkin.”