gorgeous in person!”
“Now I remember why you like it here so much. You can stuff your face and get your daily celebrity fix all at the same time!”
Simone laughed, but she enjoyed having lunch at the Skyline Grill just as much as Angela did, and not just because it was located on a bustling, tree-lined street overrun with cafés, hotels and upscale boutiques. The crowd was chic, the service prompt and the atmosphere lively. Glass vases overflowing with marigolds brightened the tables, framed photographs of the rich and famous adorned the walls and pop music drifted in from the adjacent lounge. From her seat, Simone could see Jayden and Jordan darting around the playroom, and she smiled sympathetically at the waitress keeping watch over the roomful of rambunctious toddlers.
“I need a massage in the worst way,” Angela said, rubbing her neck. “I interviewed a Saudi diplomat this morning, and every time I asked about the bribery charges against him, he cursed me in Arabic. I’m telling you, I earned my paycheck today and then some!”
Fair-skinned, with hazel eyes and an abundance of naturally curly hair, Angela looked the part of a confident, tenacious news reporter in her green military-style blazer, white blouse and slim pants. Her best friend complained constantly about her long work hours, but she loved interviewing prominent people—even the obnoxious ones—and was thrilled that she’d been hired to work at the number-one TV station in Chicago.
“Let’s go to Destination Wellness tomorrow,” she suggested, raising her cocktail glass to her glossy lips. “I’m telling you. That Euphoria Suite is calling my name!”
“I can’t. I’m thinking of having some work done, and I have a consultation with—”
“You’re doing more home renovations? But you just finished your deck.”
“I’m not meeting a building contractor, silly. I’m meeting a plastic surgeon.”
Angela’s eyes were wide, glazed over with disbelief.
“I want to get a breast lift,” Simone announced, pinching two fingers together. “And maybe a smidge of liposuction. I did some research on it this morning, and I can have both procedures done at the same time. Isn’t that great?”
“Simone, you don’t need a breast lift.”
“Yes, I do! After nursing the boys my boobs became sort of, I don’t know, squishy, and I even went down a cup size.” Moving aside her salad bowl, she leaned forward and stuck out her chest. “Go on—touch them. See for yourself.”
Angela looked like her chin was about to hit the table. “I’m not going to touch your boobs,” she hissed, glancing around the dining room to see if anyone rich and fabulous was watching. “This is a classy restaurant, not some sleazy back-alley bar in the hood.”
“Who cares? We’ve been friends forever, and besides, no one’s paying us any mind. Go on, give them a good, hard squeeze.”
“Forget it, Simone. I’m not going to feel you up in front of all these nice people.”
“Some friend you are.”
“You’re insane for even considering having plastic surgery,” Angela replied. “You’re gorgeous. Stunning. Sexier than a video chick in black pleather booty shorts.”
“I’m telling you my boobs just aren’t as perky as they used to be.”
“So what if they aren’t? It’s not the end of the world.”
Simone gave her the evil eye. “We’ll see if you’re still singing that tune after you’ve had a couple kids and your body doesn’t snap back like it’s supposed to.”
“You’re starting to sound like that delusional Miami socialite I interviewed last year! What are you going to do next? Take some fat from your butt and inject it into your face to reverse the aging process?”
Angela’s cheeky, off-the-cuff retort made Simone giggle, and when her friend threatened to send back the dirty martini the waiter brought, she laughed even harder. Simone lived for “Girls’ Day,” and she loved every minute she spent with her childhood friend. Every Tuesday, they met for lunch, and over cocktails and ridiculously expensive appetizers they talked and laughed and ogled the hunky male celebrities dining an arm’s length away.
“Where is all this coming from?” Angela’s features were touched with concern. “You’ve never mentioned wanting to have plastic surgery before, so what’s really going on?”
Simone fiddled with the napkins in the thin, gold holder. She’d cleaned up at the Neiman Marcus sale, scoring designer shoes and purses at fifty percent off, but she still felt miserable. Last week, she’d spent the entire lunch complaining about Marcus, but she’d promised herself she wouldn’t discuss the problems in her marriage today. A lot of exciting things were happening in Angela’s life, and she wanted to be supportive.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”
Simone hesitated. She didn’t want to burden Angela with her troubles, but if she didn’t tell someone about what happened last night, she was going to burst. “It’s Marcus...”
“Oh, no, what did he do this time? Fall asleep during pillow talk or after making love?”
“Ha, ha, you’re so funny. You should open for Steve Harvey on his next comedy tour.”
“Don’t get mad.” Angela winked. “I’m just being honest. You want nonstop romance, and that’s just not realistic in this busy, fast-paced world we live in.”
“Oh, shush. No one asked you.”
Silence fell between them, but the dining room was alive with excitement and laughter.
“You can’t expect Marcus to romance you 24/7, Simone. That stuff only happens on reality TV, and you’re not on The Bachelorette!”
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re single. You don’t understand what it’s like being married to a workaholic.”
Angela put down her fork and studied her best friend. Simone always let her look reflect her mood, and her all-black ensemble suggested she had a serious case of the blahs. She’d pulled her hair back into a silver clip, wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup or her most prized possession—her big, glitzy wedding ring.
“I better go check on the boys. Jordan thinks he’s a wrestler, and I don’t want him trashing the playroom like the last time we were here.”
“Sit down. The boys are fine.” Angela reached out and squeezed Simone’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Tell me what’s going on. I’m listening.”
Simone told Angela about their argument and about what didn’t happen in the bedroom. “I tossed and turned for hours, and when I finally fell asleep I dreamt that we were in divorce court and that Judge Joe Brown was presiding over our case!” Simone shivered at the memory. “We were yelling and screaming and carrying on. It was ugly, girl. Real ugly. Worse than a Real Housewives reunion show!”
“Don’t read too much into it. Marcus was probably
