Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 73013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Now girls,” said Mrs. Purdy. “We’re among friends, aren’t we? It will help Mandy if we’re, shall we say, explicit. You were saying, Ella?”
The pretty redhead wore a blush just as furious as I knew my own had gotten. She looked with an air of desperation at Mrs. Purdy. I felt a wave of reassurance, very much despite myself, in the sudden realization that all the young wives at the table feared the older woman—that she clearly could recommend to each of their husbands that she have her panties taken down and receive strict, old-fashioned correction for any misdeed Mrs. Purdy cared to identify.
“Well…” Ella looked around the dining room. None of the tables near us were taken, but she lowered her voice to a whisper anyway. “You know… butt stuff.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Joan giggled.
“Is something amusing, Joan?” Mrs. Purdy asked.
I managed to look up from the table to steal a glance at Joan’s face, which had gone bright red and wore an expression of alarm.
“No, Mrs. Purdy,” she said quietly.
“I happen to know that your husband uses your bottom regularly, so perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to have a little giggle at Ella’s expense, should you?”
They know everything. Another hard swallow, this one almost painful, seized my throat. How could such innocent words—use… regularly… even bottom, which should just mean the lowest part of a thing—carry such fierce shame?
“No, Mrs. Purdy,” Joan said in the same meek voice.
The burgers arrived, and the tension around the table eased, but as soon as we had all taken our first bites Mrs. Purdy turned her attention back to me.
“So, Mandy,” she said in a voice so sweet it reminded me of a cup of coffee into which I had put way too much artificial sweetener, at breakfast the morning after Rick’s and my wedding night. “You see, it’s perfectly normal for a girl to feel some embarrassment—and, frankly, a good deal of physical discomfort—when her husband decides to assert his rights and enjoy her that way. But you—and these other wonderful ladies…” Mrs. Purdy bestowed a saccharine smile all around the table, “wouldn’t be here if an old-fashioned marriage to an older man weren’t the best thing for them.”
I managed to finish chewing on my bit of that heavenly burger—where did Rocky Falls get their beef? From cows that lived in the same lap of luxury its citizens did. I kept my eyes on my plate and tried to concentrate on the flavors—the browned crust, the perfectly sour pickle, the slightly sweet special sauce. That proved a serious tactical error in my ongoing mental conflict, though.
The brat took the opportunity of the rest of me trying to enjoy the burger to use my mouth without my rational brain’s permission. I spoke without even thinking once I had swallowed my bite.
“According to Selecta.”
The bratty side of me, I realized as I heard April gasp next to me, hadn’t just forced the defiant words out my lips; it had also selected the deeply, darkly sarcastic tone in which they had emerged.
My heart quailed and my cheeks burned, but my defiance seemed completely unwilling to calm itself. I felt like I had entered a fight for the honor not just of me but also of the other oppressed wives around the table, subjected not just to their husbands’ authority but to that of this horrid, insincere agent of the New Modesty. I looked up into Mrs. Purdy’s still sweetly smiling face.
“According to Selecta and the New Modesty’s acclaimed scientific model,” she said.
“Acclaimed by who?” I demanded, my voice rising a little. I saw two pretty women—more young, submissive wives, undoubtedly—across the room turn to look.
“Mandy, dear,” Mrs. Purdy said. “You should discuss this matter with Mr. Williams, I think. I’ll let him know you’re so concerned about it that it made you forget your manners.”
My jaw dropped as my heart started to pound wildly in my chest.
April spoke, “Mrs. Purdy, I’m sure she didn’t really mean…”
“April,” said the older woman, “did Mandy raise her voice or not?”
I spoke, managing to keep my volume in check. “I did, fine, but… I’m sorry, I mean…”
Mrs. Purdy turned to me. Her smile had vanished. “Did I address you, Amanda Williams?”
For a moment I couldn’t do anything but breathe in and out through my parted lips, close to hyperventilation.
“No,” I finally whispered. The woman’s dark eyes narrowed. To my distress, I knew immediately why. “No, Mrs. Purdy,” I said.
April was spared the necessity of answering the original question, at least. I heard Rick’s voice from behind me, and at the same moment I saw Scott Dennison and a handsome middle-aged man who must be Joe Stevens come into view as they moved to stand behind their own wives.
“There you are,” Rick said, putting his big hands on my shoulders and giving them a gentle rub. I could hear an ease in his tone and feel it in his grip; an impression that seemed to me somehow both reassuring and worrisome. Reassuring, because I loved him, and I wanted him to be happy—and I wanted him to be in a good mood right now especially. Worrisome, because that must mean he felt even more comfortable in Rocky Falls than he had the previous night.