Boys' Night Out

Sally Schofield was new to Sur la Mer

and with the soccer mom’s requisite formula family: minivan, flaxen-haired children only moderately overweight, large hairy dog, large hairy husband with pattern baldness. The invitation was for cookies and conversation. It had been Hillary Braunstein's turn to break the news.

“Did I ever tell you about David, my first husband?” The two women were seated in a suburban kitchen, an American icon: coffee and cookies and a carafe of freshly cut daisies formed a barricade across the center of a polished granite countertop, defining their spheres. The newcomer was seated near the door—an easy exit.

“Sorry? I didn't realize you had been married before.” Sally’s cookie was dipped, tentatively, held under the steaming surface, then removed. Well, we’re cutting right to the chase, aren’t we? thought Sally. The cookie was not eaten, but studied.

No collagen here, thought Hillary Braunstein. Sally's cookie was held poised at lips too full, too young, too moist and sensuous to be anything but the genuine article.

“He wasn’t...” began Sally. Had David died in the war? Unlikely. The cookie’s fate hinged on Hillary’s answer. The question and the cookie hung between them.

“A gated community like Sur la Mer should be the ideal place to raise a family,” said Hillary.

Evidently whatever had or had not happened to David was on hold for the time being. Hillary’s veering off topic was considered endearing by her friends. “You never know where Hillary is headed next,” they said. Sally found it irritating.

“You know―as far from New York as you can get and still be in it,” said Hillary. “Ocean bathing, surrounded by water on three sides...” She made a needless adjustment to the perfectly arranged daisies. “...and that nonpareil view of the lights on the Verrazano Bridge. At night, of course.”