The waiter looked at her blankly.
“I’ve got to lose some weight,” she said to the table. “My tits are hanging down to my belly button. I actually looked at them this morning and nearly jumped out of my skin. No wonder Shane hasn’t initiated sex in six months.”
“How is Shane?” Nico asked, by rote.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wendy said. “I hardly ever see him. His restaurant is probably going down the tubes, so he’s in a foul mood all the time, except with the kids. I swear, sometimes I think it would have been better for Shane if he’d been born a woman. In any case, we only see each other in bed, and I know it sounds terrible, but I don’t care that much. At some point, I’ll stop working and then we’ll have the rest of our lives to spend every minute together and get on each other’s nerves.”
“You’re lucky,” Victory said. “Shane is adorable. The only prospect I’ve got is Lyne Bennett. And I can assure you we won’t be spending the rest of our lives together.”
“You never know,” Nico said with, Victory thought, uncharacteristic dreaminess. “Love can come out of the blue.”
“I still believe in true love,” Wendy said, nodding. “But not necessarily with a man who’s fifty years old and has never been married. I mean, what is that about?”
“I don’t know,” Victory said. “Anyway, I don’t believe in true love. I think it’s all a crock.”
“Everyone believes in true love,” Wendy said. “They have to. I mean, what else really keeps us going?”
“Work,” Victory said. “The desire to do something in the world. Plus, the necessity of feeding and clothing oneself, and keeping a roof over one’s head.”
“But that’s so cold,” Wendy objected. “If people didn’t believe in true love, no one would go to the movies!”
“Exactly my point,” Victory said. “It’s a marketing concept. Designed to sell product.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Nico said, looking at Victory affectionately. “She’s just being contrary on purpose.”
“Oh, I know,” Wendy said. “Someday she’ll fall in love . . .”
Victory sighed. “I’m too old for that. I’ve accepted the fact that for the rest of my life—or for probably another ten years anyway, until all men stop wanting to be with me—I’m going to have cold, rather civilized relationships with men, in which no one will ever raise their voices, but no one will really care about each other either.”
Was that true? Nico wondered. Could you get too old for love and desire? The thought made her uncomfortable, and she wanted to change the subject. She thought she’d given up the idea of romantic love a long time ago.
“In any case,” Victory continued, “I can’t imagine why Lyne Bennett wants to date me. I’m not at all his type.”
Nico and Wendy exchanged glances. Wendy sighed. “Vic, you’re everyone’s type, don’t you know that? You’re beautiful and smart and funny . . .”
“And all the rest of those things women say to each other when they can’t find a man,” Victory said. “It’s so silly. Men always turn out to be disappointments anyway—how can they not, with all the expectations we put on them? And then you realize, once again, that you would have been better off putting that man-time into your own work. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing like the satisfaction that comes from creating something out of your own hands and brain . . . That’s something that no one can ever take away from you, no matter what happens.” She was thinking about her conversation with Mr. Ikito.
“I still love cuddling with Shane,” Wendy said, thinking wistfully that she hadn’t done that for a while. “I still love him. He’s the father of my children. We made those kids. The connection is so deep.”
“Do you feel that way about Seymour?” Victory asked Nico.
Hearing Seymour’s name suddenly made Nico feel guilty about what she was about to do to him. Should she tell them about Kirby? She was going to tell Victory, but then she’d thought better of it. So far, there really was nothing to tell. And Victory would be horrified. She would certainly be disappointed in her. Victory had never been married, and like most people who had never had the experience, she tended to be idealistic about it. She was very rigid in her ideas about how married people should behave. It wasn’t a judgment against Victory, it was just that if Victory were mad at her, she didn’t know what she would do. And it wasn’t right to make Victory or Wendy accessories to her crime.
She had to change the subject. “About Victor,” she said. “He’s capable of anything. I don’t think he’s the problem, though. I think it’s Mike Harness.” And she proceeded to tell them all about how he’d tried to take credit for the Huckabees meeting.
* * *
“BACK TO SPLATCH-VERNER?” the driver asked.
“Um, no, actually. Not right now,” Nico said. “I’ve got to make a stop. To pick up something for my daughter.” She delivered this information with her usual authority, but immediately realized it was a stupid excuse. There was no way, she thought, looking through her purse for the address, that picking something up was going to take more than a few minutes. But maybe she’d only be there for a few minutes. Maybe the minute she saw Kirby Atwood, she would realize the whole thing was a mistake and she’d leave.
“We could go for a walk in the park,” Kirby had said eagerly, when she’d called him that morning from her office. “The park’s real close to my house. I love the park, don’t you? I’ll even buy you a hot dog, pretty lady.”
“Kirby,” she whispered patiently. “I can’t be seen in Central Park with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m married, remember?”