Wifey by Judy Blume Read Free Book Online

embarrass you?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “They say you can tell a lot about how a man performs in bed by watching him play tennis.” Myra was at the bar now, arranging brandy glasses on a tray.
    “I’ve always heard you can tell by the way a man dances,” Sandy said, “and Norman can’t dance at all.”
    “Are you saying he’s no good then?” She looked over at Sandy, raising her eyebrows.
    Sandy looked away. “I’m not saying anything, one way or the other.”
    “You’re not having trouble, are you?”
    “No, who said anything about trouble?”
    Myra sighed. “I remember when Daddy told you that Norman was
phlegmatic
and you left the room in tears. I was shocked myself. Who would have guessed Daddy even knew such a word . . .”
    “That was years ago.”
    “But Mona said he was a good catch,” Myra added, “and she turned out to be right, as usual.”
    “Yes.”
    “You used to tell me everything, San . . . you used to come to my room with questions, remember? I wish we could be that close now.”
    “I don’t have any more questions.”
    Myra busied herself with the cocktail napkins, counting out equal piles and distributing them around the room. “Tell me something,” she said in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one was in sight or hearing distance. “Do you suck?”
    “Myra, please!”
    “Oh, come on. You can tell me. Everybody’s doing it these days.”
    “Including you?”
    Myra shrugged. “Of course. So how about you and Norm?”
    Sandy hesitated. “Certainly.”
    “Do you swallow?”
    “Do you?”
    “I asked you first,” Myra said, “and anyway, it’s pure protein, it can’t hurt you.”
    “I know.”
    “Mother!” Kate called in her fishwife’s voice. “I think your friends are here. I heard a car drive up.”
    Myra ran her hands over her hair and her tongue across her teeth. “I don’t have lipstick on my teeth, do I?” she asked Sandy, making a horse face.
    “No, you’re fine.”
    “Why don’t you run in and put some on. You could use the color . . .”
    “I think I’m getting a herpes . . . I’m using Blistex . . .”
    “ H ELLO . . . HELLO . . . HELLO . . .”
    Barbara and Gish. Lucille and Ben. Phyllis and Mickey. Myra’s friends. It was hard for Sandy to keep them straight. She’d watched them on the court each day but dressed in their Head color-coordinated outfits they all looked the same. They’d tried to get her to join them, tried to make friends. “I’d love to play,” she’d explained. “But I’ve been sick and I have to take it easy for a while.”
    Now here they were, out of their daily uniforms, into their evening ones. The women wore clingy jersey dresses, like Myra’s, and the men were all in plaid slacks and Lacoste shirts. During the week, Sandy had given the women code names, to help her remember who was who. Brown, Luscious, and Funky instead of Barbara, Lucille, and Phyllis. Sandy thought she might like Funky, with a bandana tied around her head, loaded down with Indian jewelry, best, until they got into a discussion about Plainfield.
    “Plainfield, my God!” Funky said. “I thought Plainfield was all black.”
    “Not quite.”
    “You mean not yet! If I were you, I’d get out while the going’s good and move up to the Hills. We built our final house in Watchung last year. We can see the lights from our living room, just like stars. It’s fantastic . . . you’d love it . . . is your Plainfield house your first house?”
    “Yes, we bought it from Norman’s mother after his father died.”
    “Oh. Because I was going to say if it was your final house then I could understand your reluctance to leave it, but with your first house . . .”
    “It’s very nice,” Sandy said, feeling defensive about Enid’s house for the first time. “It’s in Sleepy Hollow.”
    “But the schools . . .”
    “The children go to private school.”
    “In Watchung you could send them to public