Page 67 of F*ck Marriage

Part II

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Satcher

She looks like herself, but she’s somebody else. I make inventory: same legs, same voice, same facial expressions … different words. Bitter? No. Bitterness hasn’t reached her yet; she’s surprisingly staved it off. Her shoulders are undoubtedly thinner, but not as rigid as they were a decade ago. Life does that to everyone, though. I make a point of standing as straight as I possibly can, if only to fool the Fates. Tonight she’s wearing some type of magic garment. My thoughts go back to high school, tearing through theHarry Potterbooks in ninth grade. Except, instead of invisibility, her dress gives her visibility. The shimmering silver catches my eye every time she moves, even if it is just to pick up her wine glass. I am trying to ignore her, except once you look at the dress, you have to look at her legs ... and her tits, and then inevitably, you are back to her face, which lacks the symmetry of the model types I usually date. On more than one occasion I’ve heard women make comments about her. “She’s not even that pretty…”or “I don’t get what men see in her…”

If they’d ask me, I could tell them. Billie has sex appeal: you could plump her up, thin her down, put her in those god-awful Martha Stewart dresses she used to wear—and she still has sex appeal. Frank Sinatra knew a woman like Billie; he sang about her in “Witchcraft.” Except I am trying not to look at her, goddammit. Looking at her makes me hungry. I look at Jules instead. We’ve been seeing each other again for two months now. Before she left for Brazil, I’d been certain I could see a future with her. It was a nice surprise to fall for Jules so easily. Maybe it was the right time to fall in love, or maybe she was the right girl; either way, the stars aligned, and for the first time in years I felt happy. Not the same type of happy that I got when I sold a company for a million dollars, or the happy that came with holding my niece for the first time—it was a private happy. A happy that confused me at first. And then when I was at my peak of fucking happiness, Jules announced she was leaving. It devastated me at first—she was the first woman who’d made me consider settling down. When she left, I put it out of my mind. That is the key to being good at anything: the ability to not be so wrapped up in something that you couldn’t put it out of your mind. Be obsessed with one thing and everything else will suffer because of it. But now, as I try to put Billie and her silver dress out of my mind, I can’t. I drain the last of my drink. I’ve had too much, we all have. From across the table, Celeste laughs her braying donkey laugh and her husband stares at her lovingly. Kudos to any man who could love a woman with a laugh like that. I kiss the top of Jules’ head, and when she looks up at me her eyes are swollen with affection. It stings like salt in a wound. Several times tonight she’s whispered her anger in my ear over Woods. She’s a good friend and a good person. I glance at Woods, who is sitting next to Billie’s empty chair. His eyes are trained on something past the table even though someone is saying something to him. I know he’s watching Billie. That infuriates me. I need another drink.

“You okay, Satch?” Woods catches my eye.

He’s taunting me. We were like this as boys, always trying to get underneath each other’s skin. It had always been fun, amusing even. But now, there is a new tension, one that isn’t fun or amusing.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I say it more for Jules’ benefit than Woods’. She’s looking at me with concern and I smile at her reassuringly.

“You look a little distracted,” Woods says.

He’s causing a scene. Everyone at the table is stopping their conversations to look at me.

“How’s Pearl feeling?” I redirect the conversation and Woods suddenly looks guilty.

He hasn’t even bothered to text and check up on his sick fiancée, though I doubt she’s actually sick. If anything, she has a severe case ofI hate Billie.

“She’s resting,” he says.

I smirk. I wonder if Pearl has any idea how bad Woods has it for his ex-wife? I wonder if Woods has any idea how bad I have it for his ex-wife? Bros before hoes. I remember the sentiment from high school and college. Dicks before chicks. Turns out, it is a fallible ideal. Billie has come right between my best friend and me, and I’d known she would the first time I laid eyes on her.

She’d walked into my house party carrying a bottle of expensive wine rather than the jumbo bottles of cheap liquor everyone else brought. I’d known it was her right away, Woods’ new girlfriend. When he told me he was seeing someone seriously I’d slapped him on the back.

“The great white shark has been slayed.”

He described her in great detail every time we were together, almost to the point that I was sick of hearing her name. I’d never seen him like this, enamored by one girl rather than all the girls.“Something special,”he’d said. “Classy and fun as hell.”

She was nervous, I could tell by the way she shoved the bottle at me. Her leather jacket was worn at the elbows like she spent a lot of time with her head propped in her hands.

“You must be Satcher,” she said.

“Right now I’d prefer to be Woods.” I took the bottle from her, and her lips twitched at my blatant flirting.

“Speaking of, where is he?” Her eyes darted around the room, trying to unearth him from the clusters of people.

“He ran out for more liquor.”

Her gaze traveled to the liquor table where three unopened bottles of cheap tequila sat side by side.

“I lied,” I told her. “He went for pot…”

The smile reached her eyes that time. “So the first thing I learn about you is that you can’t lie for shit.” She grinned.

I shrugged. “Why lie when the truth is so interesting?”

“So tell me, Satcher, how much does Woods like me?”

Oh shit. She was already using my weakness against me. I’d stared at her hair, which was short and wavy around her face, one side tucked behind her ear. She was wearing handgun earrings. What type of woman wore Glock earrings? I reached for the wine opener and removed the cork while she watched me.

“He’s whipped,” I said. “It’s a sad, sad thing to watch.”

She laughed, a deep throaty laugh.

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