“Darling, don’t be tiresome. I warned you I had a frenetic schedule. The viewing could go late. Don’t wait up. Ciao!”
She’d teetered out on vertiginous stilettos, in a red skirt more suitable as a belt.
Her vindictive little barbs drew blood even after all this time.
By now, I knew, she would be simpering at her prospective victim, standing just slightly too close. At some point she would stumble, grab a steadying arm and, with doe eyes, whisper a breathy remark about how strong he was.
Maintaining the hold into the boudoir, as she would suggestively call it, she might even need closer attention if she cut herself on that otherwise invisible thumbtack. She may even suggest a steadying drink. She would find a way. An inveterate flirt, she had a vast repertoire at her disposal.
I knew all her tricks; after all, I married her.