Lyne Bennett, she thought. Now there was an example of a person who was bossy.
She picked up her phone and called Wendy.
“Honestly?” Wendy said into the phone, her voice slightly muffled as if she were eating something. “I’ve been so busy the last two days that I’ve hardly had time to think about Shane. Is that sick or what?”
“It’s good,” Victory said. “No matter what happens with Shane, at least you have your career. And your children.”
“No one believes me, but I’m sure he’s going to come back.”
“You know him better than anyone,” Victory said. Wendy, she thought, was either being brave or obtuse. Or maybe she was right. Shane probably would come back. Where else could he go? He had no money, unless he’d found some other woman to take care of him. Victory had been careful not to point this out, or let Wendy know how she really felt about Shane. If they did get back together, she didn’t want her feelings about Shane to be an issue. “Did you talk to him today?”
“Yesterday,” Wendy said vaguely.
“And?”
“He says he’s thinking. So I’m trying to leave him alone.”
“He’s probably just having a midlife crisis. He’s turning forty this year, right?”
“Yup,” Wendy said. “Fucking men. Why are they allowed to have midlife crises and we’re not? One of these days, I’m going to drop everything and go to India on a spiritual journey. See how he likes it. Where are you?” she asked.
Victory looked at the back of the driver’s head. “I’ve got that date. With Lyne Bennett,” she whispered. “I’m in his car.”
“That should be fun,” Wendy said bitterly. “At least he can pay for dinner. But he probably has to take Viagra to have sex.”
“Do you think so?” Victory asked. She hadn’t gotten that far along in her thinking about Lyne.
“All those guys take Viagra. They’re obsessed with it. Especially those Hollywood types,” Wendy said with disgust. “I know Lyne Bennett lives in New York, but he’s actually very Hollywood. All his best friends are movie stars. You always see him on the floor at Laker games. It’s so creepy.”
“Basketball?”
“Viagra,” Wendy said. “I mean, if you can’t get a hard-on without medical assistance, isn’t that nature’s way of telling you that you probably shouldn’t be having sex?”
Victory laughed. Wendy was upset about Shane, she thought, despite what she said. It wasn’t like her to be so bitter about men.
They hung up and Victory looked out the window. The SUV was going up Madison Avenue, past all the expensive, five-thousand-square-foot designer stores like Valentino. She grimaced, just thinking about Wendy and Shane’s situation. She was afraid for Wendy—afraid for what would happen if Shane didn’t come back, and equally disturbed by what her life would be like if he did.
When she’d first met Shane with Wendy years ago at a dinner party in Los Angeles, she’d seen Shane as Wendy must have seen him. She’d been surprised at first to find out that Wendy was married. Wendy was straightforward and tomboyish—she wore no makeup and her usual uniform was blue jeans with boots, a man’s small button-down shirt, and a navy blazer. Victory wondered if Wendy had defeminized herself on purpose in order to be taken seriously in the movie business, but she guessed that Wendy really was that way. There was a warm and easy familiarity about Wendy that reminded Victory of the kinds of girls she’d been best friends with as a kid. As a grown-up, Wendy was the kind of woman other women find beautiful and men scarcely notice, and in the first week that Victory had known her, she never once indicated that she had any kind of man in her life.
Victory was shocked when Wendy appeared at dinner with an adorable young guy. Shane had a mop of unkempt hair and a round, cherubic face. He wasn’t particularly tall, but in a man as cute as Shane, it didn’
t matter. At first, the pairing made no sense. Shane had the demeanor of a boy who didn’t seem mature enough to be married, and the looks of a man who didn’t need to be. Victory was immediately suspicious—she wondered if Shane was secretly gay or was using Wendy. “I didn’t know you were married,” Victory exclaimed, looking from one to the other with surprise.
“I’m her big secret,” Shane said, looking at Wendy adoringly. “She only lets me out on good days.”
Wendy laughed proudly, and Victory felt like an idiot. She was stupid not to have considered the third possibility, that Shane was simply in love with Wendy. And why wouldn’t he be? She had known Wendy for only a few weeks then, and she was practically in love with Wendy herself. The fact that Shane was smart enough to see how wonderful Wendy was was enough to make Victory love him too.
Her adoration, however, hadn’t lasted long. Once you got beyond his good looks, Shane was like a cheap piece of silver plate that, once tarnished, permanently loses its shine. He was so oily, always sucking up to Wendy’s movie star friends and colleagues. Wendy worked her ass off, while Shane pursued his various hobbies—golf and skiing and even skateboarding—and he was just like a girl when it came to his appearance. She’d been at Wendy’s several times when Shane had shown off new clothes he’d just bought at Dolce & Gabbana or Ralph Lauren or Prada, and he’d once pulled out a pair of alligator shoes from Cole Haan that had cost $1,500. Wendy just laughed. She thought it was funny, the way Shane went to day spas and had massages and manicures and pedicures. He even had the tips of his spiky hair highlighted. And he had botox—Wendy hadn’t even had botox (not that she needed it—she had no wrinkles, having that white skin that couldn’t take any sun). And he was talking about having his eyes done by a prominent Hollywood plastic surgeon.
“Wen,” Victory had asked her once cautiously. “You don’t get upset about Shane spending all your money?”
This was on New Year’s Eve a couple of years ago. Wendy and Shane had had a party, and it was late and most of the guests had left. Shane had gone to bed, and Wendy and Victory and Nico were sitting on Wendy’s ratty couch, still drinking champagne and talking about their deepest feelings. “You’ve never been married, so you don’t understand,” Wendy said. “When you’re married, it really is about sharing. You want the other person to be happy. I’m not a policeman. I don’t want to police Shane’s behavior, and I don’t want him to police mine. I love him.”
Wendy had spoken with such passion, Victory had never forgotten the moment. It always reminded her that Wendy had this side that was so good and generous and kind. She was such a nurturing person, Victory thought, and wondered where that came from. She wished she could be more like Wendy, but she doubted she ever would be. She was too concerned about what was fair and even, and when it came to relationships with men, she kept score. The experts said you weren’t supposed to, but she could never help it. At the end of the day, she wanted to feel that the man had put an equal amount of effort into the relationship. They usually didn’t, and that was why all of her relationships ended . . .
Her cell phone rang. She picked it up, looking at the number. Jesus. It was Ellen, again, for probably the fifth time that day. “Hi Ellen,” she said resignedly.
“You’re not going to believe this, but Lyne wants you to come to the office after all.”