Diary of a bad housewife

Diary of a bad housewife chapter 13

Chapter 13

Ashamed to call my husband, I wasted my one phone call on Elvira. She said, "I'm sorry, dahleen'. I love come help you, but my party I got tonight, remember? You supposed help me. Don't tell me you no coming? Dahleen', tell the officers it was mistake. Or better, give them a blowjob or somet'eeng. Oh, dat's right- Julia don't do blowjobs, do she? I got to pay the caterer, dahleen'. Got to run. Ta-ta."

Oh, smart. The snide little minx wasn't getting it that if I couldn't get out of jail, I couldn't come to her ƒ-ing party.

The cells contained no clocks and guards removed watches from us prisoners. It began to look like I would spend the night in a cell, but hours later a dyke jailor fetched me. When Colin found me missing from the house, he began calling around. He phoned the police who, of course, told him I wasn't missing at all, further informing him I was in jail for soliciting.

"Soliciting what?" he actually asked.

Colin managed to bail me out, only to put me through insufferable interrogation. Jeez, even the police hadn't asked obnoxious questions. They simply assumed I wanted to charge for a romp.

Finally, I had enough. "Look, Colin. Take me back to the jail where I get hassled less and felt up more. I told you I stopped in for a drink and it was all a mistake."

"Sure. Eleven in the evening in a sleeveless dress cut down to Christmas and what you call slut shoes? There's an appropriate term. I never understood what that meant before."

I wasn't about to tell him the truth until I managed to wrest some sleep, followed by a call to Harry's office to find out what went wrong.

The next day, Elvira phoned me. "Dahleen, I'm P.O.'d at you. You suppose help me at my party."

"I've been a little busy."

"You in the paper, you know. Soliciting. What a scream. You? Miss Lockjaw? But soliciting don't sound bad, no? Not like whoring, maybe. Soliciting sound like asking for donations, don't you think? Like the Salvation Army?"

"Elvira, I love you dearly, but if you were any dimmer, you wouldn't have enough illumination to read National Enquirer."

My mother phoned next. "Julia, don't tell me! You were out buying a gigolo? I knew your husband's gay. Listen, we'll get you an annulment. Sue for... what did they used to call it? Unlawful inducement? Breach of promise? In the meantime, child, if you want a man on the side, practice discretion."

"No, Mom, I wasn't looking for a gigolo, only ..."

"Well, let me tell you, dear. They have these discreet escort services."

"Mom, that's more than I want to know. I wasn't ..."

"You pick up the phone and ask for a type you like. Here, let me give you a couple of numbers."

"Mom, would you listen?"

"It's the fault of that nasty little husband of yours, never our class, you know. He keeps his queerness in the closet, doesn't he? Gayness, I suppose he calls it. Well, don't worry. Our lawyer will solve last night's little problem. Immediately after that, I'll put the attorneys to work on your divorce. You poor dear, what will that homo husband of yours put you through next?"

When this business with Edmund James' probate began, I looked up Singapore on a map and learned it's virtually on the opposite side of the world with correspondingly opposite hours of the clock. When Harry called me at eight in the morning, I figured he was phoning at eight or nine o'clock in the evening his time.

But what if they wouldn't tell me Harry's number? Screw it. Either his office would give me his cell phone or they wouldn't. I called.

"The Honorable Mr. Rhodes is not in. May I take a message?"

"Will you give me a cell phone number for him?"

"Who is this please?"

"It's Julia James. I need to reach him."

I heard a muffling sound, like a hand over a receiver, then an odd noise like... like giggling?

"I'm... I'm sorry. We are not allowed to give out personal phone numbers."

In her voice was a note of... glee? She could barely contain herself! The woman was trying to hide laughter- laughter at my expense?