The Land of Mango Sunsets (Continued)
"That's what I love about you, Miriam. You always remember to appreciate the good things Charles did for you as well." Kevin's smirk was too obsequious for my inner cynic.
"What? That lout? Oh please! I stayed home because Charles insisted and you know it. It was a sign of his success that his wife didn't have to work."
"The cad," Kevin said, changing political parties.
"The cad, indeed."
"A bit like having a plump wife in a starving African nation . . ."
I stared at Kevin and wondered if he meant to imply that my figure had become matronly. I sniffed at him.
"Miriam! Not you, dear! In fact, I was just thinking how you've become a rake! You're not doing some crazy diet, are you?"
"Please," I said, smiling and warming in the glow of his affection. "We know better."
The waiter took our order for Bloody Marys, home fries, and cheeseburgers. I was ravenous and when the drinks arrived, I devoured the celery, crunching away at the stalk like a starving rabbit. Was I losing a little weight? Perhaps I was!
"So, how's work down at the Temple O'Couture?" I asked him.
Kevin had been in charge of all visual displays at Bergdorf Goodman for years. His windows, which received accolades and awards from all over the world, dictated the ultimate fantasies of others.
"How's work? It's the same old horse manure day in and day out. How do we make outrageously priced clothes designed for emaciated teenage amazons seem appealing to middle-aged women of normal proportions who hope that a certain dress or a particular gown will ignite the long-absent spark in their spouse's eye?"
"Easy now, sweetheart. You're treading the shallow waters close to home."
"Oh, honey. I didn't mean you, Miriam and you know it. I was speaking only in the most general of terms."
Kevin smiled and I was reassured that he had not meant me. Nonetheless, I spouted, "If there was such a thing as a dress that would bring Charles back to me I wouldn't go near it. I can promise you that."
"And I wouldn't let you!"
"Humph. Thank you." I reached across the table and patted the back of his perfectly tanned hand. Where did he find the time to maintain a tan? Of course! He simply ran up to the Ciminelli spa on the seventh floor during his lunch hour and had himself sprayed with some bronzer. That was what he did. Probably. Well, I charged him so little in rent he had the resources for extravagances. In my world, I could barely afford a manicure once a week.
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