6. Spats

Lana’s portrait of her friends on “Amy Tells All” was almost completely fiction.
She did indeed have two close friends that had the hair color and physiques she described, but they did not act out in public.

They gathered one evening when Scott was off on his sales trip, not a bar and grill, but at a fairly nice Parkersburg restaurant. Spat’s at the Blennerhasset is situated in a historic hotel that has all the amenities: a gym, a pool, a library, meeting rooms, a business center, a gift shop, and a Starbuck’s. Hell, the place will even entertain and accommodate your canine friends. The “evil sisters” were nothing of the kind. To all the world, they were cosmopolitan women, very well dressed, affluent and refined, out for a night on the town sans spouses. This take was the truth. Lana Marietta sat at table between Lisa Roiter, (Red), and Christine Miller (Blonde). They enjoyed several cocktails ahead of ordering an exquisite dinner. The Blennerhasset also sports a cooking school. Christine was a graduate. She knew her food and had the slight extra girth to show for it. None of these women were anything but lovely. They were not models, exactly, but they made their men very proud as head turners or arm candy. That is not meant to be pejorative; though Chris and Lisa were not as well read and arty as Lana, they were successes in their own right. They shared some mutual concerns. These did not include the wicked doings that Lana put into their heads in her blog. They all loved the blog of course. If it had a comments section they would have lit it up. As it was, they slapped each other in high fives on Facebook. All of this was something that their husbands did not pay attention to. They didn’t hide it; it was girls stuff, and as such of no interest.
“Lana, how long do you have until Scott gets back?” Christine asks.
Lana scrunched up her face.
“Oh, he extended it to go somewhere in Ohio.”
“Well,” said Lisa, “that’s just the next state over. How fast does that plane go?”
“Too fast.”
A sip and a sigh.
“Scottie’s always been a tight leash kinda guy.”
“Yeah. I sort of envy your dapper Mr. Miller.”
“…and rich. Don’t leave off rich.”
“Lana, we’ve been all over this topic. We’re here to help if you need it.” Lisa spoke and then looked at the flickering candle and the floral centerpiece.
“Thanks, Li. I know that. I don’t think he means to… I don’t think he means any harm. He just doesn’t get it about the Bar. I really need to buckle down, hit the books and take that test.”
“…and so far, it’s no sale,” said Christine.
“He just puts up a hand and says, ‘I’ve made up my mind.’”
“It’s your life, babe.”
“It was his frickin’ idea!”
“Go figure.”
“I absolutely wouldn’t tolerate that level of…” Lisa searches for an ugly word.
“…abuse,” Christine supplies it.
“It’s not just that.”
“No? What else then?”
“He does whacked stuff. He hides the books.”
“He hides the law books?”
“Yes, and when he catches me looking at them, he’s…”
“Yes? Do spill the black beans!”
“…he’s on about ‘his being within his rights to decide my level of involvement in stuff he thinks is a waste of time.’”
“He doesn’t object to the blog?”
“He never reads the blog.”
“He objects to the drawings.”
“Yes, we heard about that last time we talked. He’s not…destroying your artwork is he?” Lisa’s voice registers her concern.
Lana looks at her drink as if it held the answer. Perhaps, for tonight, it does.
“No. I mean, I’ve learned not to draw when he’s at home. I hide the books. Most of the time. Not all the time. Oh, I don’t know. I knew Scott was trouble. That’s what I liked about him in a way. I loved him for his hard bod and his plane and his earnest way of talking about the way he could really make some money doing what he loved doing. And all of that he has, and in a very short time.”
“You used to always rave about the sex,” said Christine.
“I still love to make love to that man.”
“Then great. Good for you. Me and Ron have sort of collapsed in that department.”
“No!” Lana and Lisa speak in tandem.
“Yes. Since his surgery, he’s just not taking an interest.”
“Time to hit the Victoria’s Secret, girl,” says Christine.
A wan smile from Lisa. No snappy come back.
“So. What are we going to eat to fatten ourselves up for the slaughter and to forget about our troubles?”
“I’m going for the Andouille Tri-Color Tortellini. I hear that’s quite good,” says Christine, in the know.
“Lana, why don’t you and me split the duck?”
“Fuck a duck.”
“There, now. That’s your old salty self!”
The wait staff does its thing.
“Lana, I gotta say, I love the ‘three evil sisters’ bit.” Lisa is leaning back, away from the wreckage of poultry on her plate. “We think you write like dream, so breezy and inventive…”
“Many thanks, my lovelies. It’s fun.”
“Yeah. We do worry a little about some of that fantasy sexy stuff. Scott would be appalled if he caught on. But it’s not for real.”
“Well, I really did go to the barn dance last Friday night. With his vapor trail still hovering in the ruddy sky.”
“Ha! A fine speech, lass.”
“What about my ass?”
“All joking aside, we think you might consider selling some of those gems.”
“Selling?”
“You know, get an agent. Pull together a book.”
“Be the pie-in-ear woman?”
“Be the Lana Marietta Andrews woman.”
“I might could, perhaps. If he won’t let me be a lawyer, ya think he’ll let me be a writer?”
“We’re back on the same topic!”
“Sorry sisters. Besides, I’m what, ten posts in, if that?”
“Lana. Listen up. You did the family law up one side and down the other. You took the damn course. We don’t have to tell you. ‘If you’ve got a possessive man, you’ve got a problem.’”
“I agree with Lisa. It breaks my heart and offends my soul as a woman to hear all of this nonsense about a man telling you what you can and can’t do. It does not bode well. It leads to nothing good. I hesitate to say it, but you might consider getting out now.”
“Of my marriage? That’s crazy talk!”
“Well, then. Get some counseling. Get him to a counselor. Get him a book. Get some help. Jeez.”
Lana’a wan hand was up, more or less in that same position it found when she was on top of Scott and she was going over the waterfall to orgasm. Her fingers grasped at the air as if in agony or ecstasy. At the moment it was the former. Her friends were demonstrating their friendly concern. They were putting their finger right on the problem she knew was a problem. She was ultra bright, ultra empathetic, and ultra scared. She felt herself easing towards tears. She needed a joke and fast. Why did the fucking duck cross the road?

They could see they’d upset her. A silence fell upon them. Her friends couldn’t think of a thing to say. The next words had to come from Lana’s mouth. Her mouth trembled slightly. She was fighting, they could plainly see and feel. All heaven and nature hit pause. She was nature’s matchless gift, the talented young woman who had no end of understanding and intellect. A fireball of feeling and wonderment was gathered under the roof of her mind; it would not do to have it corralled in any way, much less silenced. They were all, they knew on some level, fighting for her life.
“I know you mean to help. I know that, and I am grateful. But I can’t walk out on Scott. It’s not just… that I’m afraid. Which, of course I am…”
Now, as the realization of what she’d said out loud hit home for them all, her voice broke and she felt scalding tears run down her cheek, here in public, at Spats. All eyes, she felt, were suddenly on her and she froze, fighting for control. She seized her napkin and dabbed at the wet and makeup. She let her head fall almost so that she was six inches above her picked at plate.
“…I love Scott Andrews. I know he can be bossy. I can be a royal bitch. I am not going to give up on him. I am going to try… to outwit him. He’s no dummy, and nobody’s fool, for sure. But I think… I can reason with him.
The two women listening to this speech looked at each other. Lana saw the doubt in their faces. The love. The concern. Joke, please!
“Besides…the sex is just so good!”
Nobody laughed.