American Housewife by Helen Ellis Read Free Book Online Page B

has beautiful skin” means she’s white as a tampon.
    “She’s old” means she’s racist as Sandy Duncan in
Roots.
    “You are so bad!” is Southern Lady code for: That is the tackiest thing I’ve ever heard and I am delighted that you shared it with me.
    “No, you’re so bad!” is code for: Let’s snitch and bitch.
    “She’s a character” means drunk.
    “She has a good time” means slut.
    “She’s sweet” means Asperger’s.
    “She’s outdoorsy” means lesbian.
    “Hmm” is Southern Lady code for: I don’t agree with you but am polite enough not to rub your nose in your ignorance.
    “Nice talking with you” is code for: Party’s over, now scoot.

HELLO!

WELCOME TO BOOK CLUB

H ello! Welcome to Book Club. I’m your hostess. My Book Club name is Mary Beth. We all have Book Club names at Book Club.
    Why, dear? Well, really, why not?
    The girl who brought you here goes by Delores. The ladies on the red sofa named themselves after TV judges. The ladies on the gray sofa named themselves after the Supremes. The ladies at the buffet table chose Bethany, Marjorie, and Aretha. The elderly lady dozing off in the egg chair calls herself Jane.
    If you decide to join us, you can give yourself a Book Club name. We’ll laminate a bookmark with your new name on it. We’ll hole-punch a tassel. You can keep your bookmark in whatever book you’re reading. It doesn’t have to be a Book Club book. But your Book Club name will be a secret name that only we call you. Trust me, you’ll like it. It feels like a dollar bill in your bra.
    That’s right, Jane, I’m talking about bras at Book Club again! Look who’s awake!
    Jane’s our grande dame. She’s ninety years young. She’s what you call a “real New Yorker.” Meaning: she’s loaded. When it comes to Jane’s money, think of a crazy amount of money,
lottery money
that you’d like as a windfall. Imagine hundred-dollar bills funneling around you like a tornado of financial freedom. Now double that money. Honestly, triple it. Then add a billion.
    It sounds better than handing out towels at Flywheel, doesn’t it, dear?
    Yes, I bet it does.
    I met Jane at a library lecture by Stephen King. Can you believe this sweet-looking lady who has Chanel suits like some girls have days-of-the-week underpants loves horror novels? She sure does. And that means, from time to time, Book Club loves them too. Personally, I think her love of blood and guts and things that go mwah-ha-ha in the night has to do with her want to invest time and money into things more horrible than what’s happened to her in real life. Jane’s survived two husbands (one had a stroke, and one’s mistress shot him dead in a sex swing) and three children (car accident, ski accident, and one “fell” off the roof of her house).
    My dear, please don’t concern yourself, Jane’s fine. They all died years ago. And here’s what nobody tells you: losing a child isn’t the end of the world. Life goes on—and more often than not, goes on quite nicely. Just look at Jane with her feet up on my coffee table. Have you ever seen a woman look more relaxed?
    Delores, would you refill Jane’s Scotch and soda, please and thank you!
    See there: look at Delores scurry away from the cheese plate. At Book Club, Jane’s waited on hand and foot because Jane is Book Club’s patron of the arts. Jane buys everyone’s Book Club book in hardback, and tickets for us to attend literary events. If you join Book Club, Jane will take on your Book Club expenses too. All you have to do is pick your preferred theater seating.
    The ladies on the red sofa like to sit center orchestra for the acoustics. The ladies on the gray sofa migrate to mezzanines so they can whisper. The ladies at the buffet table are claustrophobic, so they ride an aisle like a bobsled. Delores never stops texting, so she sits at the back. It takes a certain kind of woman to sit in the front. Jane and I are that kind of woman: a front-row woman.
    A