Page 29 of The Book of Summer

“Oh yeah, all the time.” Bess sighs. “I should’ve listened to Cissy. Never trust a guy who didn’t play a team sport.”

“Not a jock, huh? Well, between that and him being a techie type…”

“You remember he’s a techie type?”

“I have this mental picture of him hunched over a computer, all pale and sickly and wheezing on an inhaler. It’s a pretty awesome visual.”

“As much as I like the concept,” Bess says, “Brandon is not pale or sickly. He plays golf and racquetball and his lung capacity seems to be in excellent shape.”

“Because of golf? Can you even break a sweat doing that?”

“You can. There’s also his proliferate sex life.”

Evan flinches, and so does Bess.

“Crap,” she groans. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Dear God, how far over the line has she just leapt? This is the problem with Evan Mayhew. It always has been. He’s either poking at Bess, or making her feel way too much at home.

“Ugh,” she says with another groan. “Forget it. Let’s never speak of this again.”

“A little hard to forget,” Evan responds, slowly. “As for the sex, you must not be talking about yourself as you sound pretty pissed off for someone getting a lot of action.”

“Well, we had sexsometimes.We were married after all.”

“But the bastard had a girlfriend,” Evan finishes for her. “What an asshole.”

“Oh, I don’t know that he had a girlfriend per se.”

“Then why…”

“I was referring to the prostitutes.”

And bam, just like that, a second admission slips out. A bigger one this time. Bess smacks a hand over her mouth, though it is far too late. But, really, her mistake is no surprise. When it comes to Evan, she is guaranteed to overstep, overexplain, over-Bess or “Bess up” in some irreparable way.

14

Monday Morning

“Prostitutes?” Evan says as Bess burns with regret. “Prostitutes?”

He is the second person Bess has told about the specifics of the divorce, the first being her cousin Palmer, who remains in a state of disgusted disbelief. Bess isn’t even sure Palmer buys the story, or knows exactly what it means. After all, Bess had to explain that the term “working girl” didn’t refer to a lawyer or a banker. It’s as if Bess enjoys torturing herself. Palmer was bad enough. But Evan might never look at her the same way again.

Deep down, Bess knows it’s not her fault that Brandon was such a snake. But, let’s be honest. When a famous guy is outed for hookers, everyone wants to know about the wife. If the missus isn’t beastly, or frigid, she is at a minimum very, very dumb.

Well, that sucks,Bess imagines Evan saying.But you did marry the guy.

“You mean actual hookers?” Evan says instead. “Or are you just being pejorative?”

“That SAT prep class helped after all. No, I am referring to real and bona fide workaday, wage-earning whores.”

Bess exhales, and is surprised by the quick rush of relief. It feels good to tell Evan her secrets. It always has.

“Yep, Brandon likes himself the fancy ladies,” Bess says. “Working girls. Hookers. Escorts, if you want to get ‘classy’ about it. He claims they were high-end call girls, as if that makes it any better. That’s why I’m getting divorced. More clear-cut than most splits, I’d venture. But don’t mention it to Cissy. She has no idea.”

“Of course I won’t tell Cissy. Jesus, Bess. That’s so jacked up. How’d you find out?”

“He was embroiled in a lawsuit with his former partner,” Bess explains. “Intellectual property rights. Who owns what code. The partner believed he was getting fucked and fucked Brandon in return. I’m not sure how it became a threesome, as I am certainly part of the screwing. In the end, though, I’m glad it happened, even though it’s beyond painful. A fondness for hookers is something you should know about your spouse.”

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