Getting Even

“Oh, this. I…” I can’t think of a decent thing to say, and pull the scarf off my head.

She takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

“Are you finished?” I ask her as we sit at the table I’d occupied a moment earlier.

“God, no. I’ve got four more sets to do. But I have around half an hour to spare. Now tell me, what’s up? Because I know something must be up for you to be here right now.”

I blow out a hard breath. “You’re right.”

“Charles?” she guesses, scowling as she does.

I’m not going to lie. “Yeah.”

“What’s the jerk done this time?”

“It’s what he hasn’t done. We’re still not having sex.” It’s strange that I don’t mind sharing this intimate detail with Samera when we’re not very close.

Like I said, I’m desperate.

“What do you mean you’re not having sex?” Samera asks in disbelief. “Didn’t you buy all sorts of toys and stuff to use with him last week?”

“Not all sorts, but I did buy an outfit. Something I thought would turn him on, and it didn’t. This really trampy French maid’s out—”

“He’s fucking someone else. You know that now, don’t you?”

“No,” I say adamantly. “I don’t know that. What I know is that my husband is very busy, and somewhere along the way we’ve lost our connection. He’s so busy, he’s forgotten about sex. But it’s not a reason to walk away from my marriage, even if right now it feels like we’ll never make love again. I just need…help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

What indeed? “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you have something in mind. Or you wouldn’t be here. You could have called me, asked for directions to more shops.”

“Okay. I’m desperate. I guess I thought I’d come here and watch…and pick up some pointers.” My admission surprises me as much as Samera. “And if you have any tips on how to turn things around with Charles and save my marriage, I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know what kind of tips I can give you. From everything I know, you get naked for a guy and he can’t help but get hard for you.”

“I think that works in a relationship when it’s new, fresh. But Charles and I have been married for years. I guess…” It pains me to even think what I’m about to say, because I never thought it would happen to us. “I guess things have gotten stale.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t believe in marriage. Nor long-term relationships.”

“Sammie.” God, I sound whiny. I hate how pathetic I sound, but I can’t help it. I’m as desperate as any of the women on Desperate Housewives, and I’m about to lose my mind.

“All right. Let me think. The toys didn’t work.”

“It was a French maid’s outfit, and maybe it was too conservative. Maybe I have to go all out and become really skanky.”

I stop talking when a topless waitress appears at our table. I feel so embarrassed for the woman, I want to use my scarf to cover her breasts. At least they look real, which is a plus. Why can’t men like women the way they naturally are? We have to take them the way they are.

“Molly,” Samera coos. “This is my sister, Annelise.”

“Hi.” Molly gives me a bright smile, as if I’m a long-lost friend or something.

“What do you want to drink?” Samera asks.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Get her a sex on the beach,” Samera tells her, then laughs. “I bet you’d like that right about now, wouldn’t you?”

I grin—painfully—until Molly waltzes away. Then I say, “You don’t have to announce to the world that I’m not getting laid.”

“Relax. Molly doesn’t know anything, and even if she did, she could care less.”

I suppose Samera’s right. “Can you teach me some of those slutty moves you girls do with the pole?”

“They’re not slutty. They’re artistic.”

“That’s what I meant,” I say. I flash Samera a sugary smile, and then we both chuckle.

“Oh, Annie. I know we’re not close, but I hate what Charles is doing to you. Making you doubt your sexual power. You’re better off without him.”

“Sammie, please.” I know my sister feels this way. She made it clear how much she disliked Charles on our wedding day when she cornered me in the bathroom and told me that it wasn’t too late to annul my marriage. Those were the days that Charles and I screwed like rabbits. “Will you teach me to use the pole or not?”

“I can teach you, but maybe what you need to do is make a big change—not just in the bedroom.”

“Huh?”

“You know—change everything about yourself. Start wearing low-cut blouses and tight jeans and strappy sandals all the time.” Samera’s eyes slowly roam over me. “Let’s face it—oversized T-shirts and baggy jeans don’t exactly get most guys in the mood. Is this how you always dress?”

“No.” Yes. “Well, some of the time.” At Samera’s doubtful scowl, I admit, “Okay, most of the time. But I want to be comfortable. When I’m at the studio, I get on the floor, on the grass, or climb a tree—whatever’s necessary for the best shot. I need to be able to move.”

“Do you want to get laid or don’t you?”

“I want to get laid,” I reply without hesitation.

“Then trust me. Make a change. A big one. Get some kick-ass skintight black leather pants. And a lot of tight, short skirts. Guys love that. It’s easy access, and pretty much wherever you are, all you need to do is bend over for a quickie.”

“Sammie!” I exclaim, mortified that she’d do such things in public. But then I think about my dismal situation, and I can’t deny that if I were out with Charles and he wanted me badly enough to sneak off into a bathroom and give it to me in a dingy stall, I would feel so loved.

Molly appears, breasts bouncing. She places my drink on the table. Then she heads off to deal with some guys at a nearby table who are calling out to her. Thankfully.

“You ought to try sex in public before you knock it,” Samera comments.

“I’d have sex on national TV right now if it meant Charles could get it up.”

“That’d send Mama right to her grave!” A sharp burst of laughter escapes Samera, but as her laughter dies, I see something in her eyes—something that says she misses our mother. “You talk to her lately?”

“Mama?”