The Glass Is Always Greener by Tamar Myers Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t understand how the ring’s sentimental value has anything to do with you allowing me to talk with your son.”
    “Why you arrogant little— tiny —woman, you. I never really liked you, from the moment I met you. I don’t think my Robbie was truly gay until you got your hooks into him. You’re what they call a fag hag, aren’t you?”
    Me? A fag hag? Was that a pejorative term? And if so, for whom? For little, tiny me, or for my gay friends? Well, it certainly wasn’t cool for Rob’s mother to be calling me that, because it was clear that her intent was unkind.
    “Mrs. Goldburg, your son is certain that he was born gay; he experienced same-sex feelings from a very early age. And he was certainly acting out on those feelings long before he met me. Like decades before.”
    She bit her lip and shuddered. “Enough with that crude talk. Come in—but just for a second.”
    Stepping into the house was like entering a mausoleum to good taste. Chanti had been a high-end interior decorator who’d retired from the business in the mid-1970s. During her working life she’d acquired some very nice pieces, some unusual ones as well. However, Chanti was still using 1970s wallpaper and fabrics, so that the overall affect was somewhat discombobulating. Depressing was another word that immediately sprung to mind.
    The second she closed the door, Chanti grabbed both my hands. “Where is it?”
    “Where is what ?”
    “Don’t be obtuse, Mrs. Washbum. Where’s the ring?”
    I yanked my hands away and put them behind my back. “ What ring, damn it?”
    “The emerald ring, you blockhead! The one my sister gave you. The one she should have given to me. It belonged to our grandmother, you know.”
    “No, I didn’t know. And please read my lips— I don’t have your ring .”
    “I heard her leave it to you in the will. We all did.”
    “Yes, but I refused to accept it. You all heard that as well.”
    “Look, missy,” Chanti snarled, as she leaned over my airspace, “you can play games all you want; but I know the truth. I am family after all. I officially identified my sister’s remains.”
    I shrank back toward the door. “The truth? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “The ring was missing, you imbecile!”
    “Finally! A three-syllable insult. Of course it was missing, Chanti. The police always remove the valuables from the victim for safekeeping. Did you ask about it?”
    “You exasperating, harebrained twerp!” she screamed. “I don’t know what my son sees in you.”
    And there, as if by magic, the fruit of her womb appeared on the staircase behind her. He was dressed in chinos and a pale blue chambray shirt that set off his deep salon bed tan. Since sandals—without socks, of course—have, as of late, been given a thumbs-up by the mavens of the fashion world, Rob sported an extravagant pair of designer straps. Even from this short distance he appeared cool, elegant, and unflappable.
    “Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Abby.”
    Since Rob hung the sun it was only natural for Chanti to turn and greet him. I could have used those precious seconds to scoot out the door, but I had come to see my friend, damn it.
    “ Boker tov ,” I said.
    “ Boker or ,” Rob said, and laughed.
    “What was that?” Chanti barked.
    “That was Hebrew,” I said.
    “I learned it in NFTY,” Rob said. “You know, Mama, my Reform Jewish youth group.”
    “Abby’s not Jewish,” Chanti said. “You shouldn’t be teaching her things.”
    It was an absurd statement, but one not to be argued with. I’d just hit a home run in the game of “irritate Chanteuse Goldburg,” and I sure the heck wasn’t going to rub my victory in.
    “Abby,” Rob said. “Come with me to the back porch.”
    I needed no further urging.
    Once we’d settled into some comfortable recliners, and were sipping mimosas, Rob cleared his throat.
    “Uh-oh,” I said.
    “Uh-oh, what?”
    “You’re not going to yell at me for getting into it with