Dirty Talk

By R.J. Byrd

Debbie has stringy blonde hair that she hardly ever styles and is usually up in a ponytail. She is what some people might refer to as “pleasantly plump,” but I think she should start dialing 1-800 JENNY. It’s like she doesn’t even try to look good. I worked my ass off getting back into shape after I had Josephine.

I begin to smile as I approach her. She is pruning her hedges and wearing a genuinely awful pair of ripped jeans and an old t-shirt. She looks up at me, and it takes her a moment to smile. Her smile looks fake, but that’s ok because so is mine.

“Debbie, how are you?” I ask, stopping next to her on the sidewalk.
She wipes the sweat from her brow, and her fake smile gets a little bigger.

“I’m doing just fine, Lilly,” she says. “How are you and Steve doing?” she glances down at my stroller, “and little Josephine.” She leans down and smiles at Josephine.

“Oh, we’re all doing well, thanks for asking,” I glance at the driveway and notice her husband’s Range Rover is there.

“Is Shawn back from one of his trips?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, he is,” she says, suddenly not looking me in the eye. Hmm, interesting; I wonder what’s going on.

“What did he get you this time?” I ask.
She hesitates for a few seconds before touching one of her ears.

“These,” she says, her smile returning, fingering a diamond earring.
What a lying bitch; she wore that exact pair three weeks ago at the silent auction in town. There must be trouble in paradise if the gifts had stopped coming.

“Interesting fashion choice,” I say. “Pairing diamonds with, umm, vintage clothes.” I give her a critical once over. She should really wear those rags when she is laboring in the backyard, not in the front where I have to see her. “I really must be going. It was nice talking to you, Debbie,” I say and calmly keep walking. She mumbled something, but I didn’t catch it.

I push the stroller farther down the sidewalk and see Shannon Goldman getting out of her BMW with her three sons, who are all dressed in karate outfits. Shannon is more my kind of person; she’s high class and unafraid to show it. As I get closer, it’s obvious she’s dressed head to toe in Gucci. Shannon is a tall, leggy ex-model whose long, black hair is always in a new style.

“Shannon!” I call, stopping the stroller.
She looks up and smiles; hers seems more genuine than Debbie’s.

“Lilly, hi!” She gives me a little wave. “Come on, boys, come say hi,” she says, grabbing her youngest son’s hand. Her boys are nine, six, and four. Shannon is one of the few women in the neighborhood who actually has a job. She owns a posh bakery downtown, they make a lot of wedding cakes, and Shannon is the main decorator. Her husband is an accountant, and they seem pretty happy, but everyone has their secrets; only a matter of time before theirs come out.

“How are you boys doing?” I ask, looking them all over. They look cute in their crisp, white karate outfits. The two older boys say hi, but the youngest just clings to his mother’s leg and looks around shyly.
“How is little Jo doing?” asks Shannon leaning over to smile at Josephine.

I look at her, appalled, and she looks back at me, confused.

“It’s Josephine,” I correct her putting emphasis on the last part of her name. “God knows what would happen if we started calling her Jo.”
Shannon was quiet for a moment before saying, “Of course; how is Josephine?”
“She’s great; she’ll be 8 months in May,” I reply, beaming down at her. I can’t wait until she turns a year old. I will throw a huge party, a very selective R.S.V.P list. Needless to say, Debbie won’t be invited.

“They grow up so fast; treasure the time while you can. Before we know it, they’ll all be getting married,” says Shannon.
“Speaking of marriage,” my voice drops conspiratorially, and I raise my eyebrows.
“Let me get the boys inside, and I’ll be right back,” says Shannon and begins ushering her boys up the lawn to the front door. She quickly walks back to me.

“Ok, spill it,” she says enthusiastically.
I smile; it’s always so much fun to spread gossip, as long as it’s not about me.

“Well, I was just talking to Debbie Miller, and apparently, she and Shawn are having problems. They may split up.”
“Really, what’s going on?”
“You know how her husband always gets her expensive gifts when he gets back from his trips, clearly out of guilt for cheating on her?”

Shannon nods.

“Well, this time…nothing. She tried convincing me he bought her diamond earrings, but I know she wore that pair a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, that poor girl,” says Shannon, not sounding very sympathetic at all. “Well, let’s hope things turn out better for her than they did for you and your first husband.”

Shock appears on my face briefly before I replace it with a pleasant smile.

“That was a long time ago,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. How in the hell did she find out about that?

Shit, of course, Alex, Shannon’s husband, is good friends with Steve. Steve must have mentioned it in passing, not thinking it was a big deal. I’ll have to talk with him later.

“Yes, you were what, eighteen at the time?” asks Shannon pleasantly.
I take a deep breath. The look on her face was innocent, but I could tell she wanted to smirk.

That marriage was a mistake, and it only lasted a year. He wasn’t really my type. My father disapproved of him, and I guess that’s why I married him in the first place. He was an accessory to my rebellious phase. After a year of being married to him, I realized the life of a struggling musician’s wife wasn’t the life I wanted.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed slumming it so much when you were younger. What would the neighbors think?” She asks. Her carefully plucked eyebrows rose in question, and this time she did let a smirk lift the corner of her mouth.

“I’m obviously very happy now,” I say, glancing down at Josephine. What a whore, I am the wife of the mayor of this town. I can have her thrown out of the neighborhood if I want… I think… well, I can sure as hell do something. I pick nonexistent lint off my top. “I really have to go now before Josephine gets fussy.”

“Sure, call me later,” she says airily.
“I will,” I reply, making my way down the block. That was just another reminder that I have no real friends in this town.

“Don’t worry,” I say, looking down at Josephine, “I’ll get her back.” Everyone has a past.

Copyright 2023 by R.J. Byrd All Rights Reserved