Page 45 of Idle

“What?” Bo’s yelled exclamation takes us all by surprise.

Studying Bo, I reply, “I offered to do the side tables for Jesse while his time is being taken up by other elements of the room.” I word my response carefully so as not to give away any secrets. “No big deal.”

“But you’re an interior designer.”

The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. “Your point being?”

“You’re a girl. You design stuff and do crafts.” He taps his chest. “I’m a man. A carpenter. I create things like side tables for you to pretty up.”

I smack my palm on the side of my head as if learning a brand new secret. “Excuse me? I know how to use a miter saw and a caulk gun as well as a glue gun.”

Bo turns his ire on Jesse. “And you. You call yourself a man? I’d never foist my work on Mary Ellen—”

My blood pressure rises. Cutting him off, I interject, “Jesse didn’tmakeme do anything. I had to convince him to let me do it.”

Jesse wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Paige is more than capable.” He lays the white cloth onto the table. “You’re being a sexist pig.”

Instead of placating me, Jesse’s coming to my defense ratchets up my ire. “Both of you shut up! I am a capable woman, like Mary Ellen here, and we won’t be talked about as if we weren’t sitting next to you.” I shove my chair back. Mary Ellen does the same.

Stomping behind Bo, I bellow, “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. I don’t need a keeper—if I wanted that, I would’ve stayed home with Father.”

“You’re as frigid as Mary Ellen! You belong with your cesspool of a father and his partners.”

My breathing halts, then returns with a rush. “I’ll never go on a date with you ever again. Have a nice life.” At the threshold, I turn, “Hope your chewing keeps you company at night.” I rush to my bedroom.

14

Jesse

Shocked silence supplants Paige’s fiery outpouring. Not wanting to spend another minute in the room with Bo, I get to my feet and pick up my dirty dishes, then walk over to Paige’s. Addressing my comment to Mary Ellen, I say, “I’ll clean these up.”

Bo’s knife clatters to his plate and he pushes back from the table. “Take care of that, Mary Ellen.” He storms out.

My eyes bug out of my head. I can’t believe what I just heard. Placing the two plates down next to my roommate’s, I shovel the remnants onto one plate and stack them. Walking behind Mary Ellen, I lower my voice. “Want me to take your plate?” I lift the three I’m carrying.

“What?” She turns her trembling chin toward me, causing my heart to lurch. Pain is written across her face as if someone wrote it with a Sharpie.

I glance at her mostly uneaten dinner. “Do you want to finish in peace, or should I take it away for you?”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not. I’ll set the dishwasher and put everything away. Don’t give it a second thought.”

As I’m scraping her plate, she says, “How did I not see how chauvinistic he is?”

“I’m sure he hid it from you. Maybe he’s warming up to it now?”

She fingers her empty champagne glass. “Yeah.” Her eyes close. “I’m going out to the patio. Join me?”

The ViewPad offers few places without cameras, with the patio being a safe haven. She doesn’t need an audience—neither mine nor the one who will watch this episode when it airs. “I’ll let you wrestle with your demons alone.”

She gives a nod of acknowledgment and drifts away. As I load the dishwasher, anger at the dim-witted hick grows. How could he say such things to his ex-wife? To Paige? My partner’s a capable adult who can handle herself. If she says she can make a side table, I have every faith she can.

Probably because I’m sure she’s able to do a lot more and refuses to believe it of herself.

Once the garbage is thrown out and the placemats are put away, I go to the exercise room in search of peace. When I see it’s dark, I know I’ve found my own haven. Closing the door behind me, I call my lifeline. “Hey, Mr. Hooper.”

“Jesse, my man! How are you doing? Still going strong on the show, I hope?”

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