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When we got back, I cleaned out the residue in the grill, loaded it with charcoal and some gum, and seasoned the lamb. I then rescued Patrick to give Martha time to make herself beautiful (only five or six hours to go) and Weena an opportunity to straighten things a bit, put together a snack lunch, and get herself ready.I had just settled down when the phone rang. "Hey, Willy! How are you? How's the old man ... and the Mooney? You are? I'll tell Weena, we think she is, too. Let me talk to Evans and then you can talk to Weena. Okay? Well, well, old man. So you figured it out. Yeah. Weena as well, we think. No, no one's phoned yesterday or today. They are? Couldn't befall a more suspect crew! No, I'll keep it hush-hush until someone 'notifies' me. Well, I hate them, too. Let me get Weena so the girls can talk." I covered the mouthpiece. "Weena! Pick it up! It's Willy." I heard her pick up and I put my receiver down."Well, Patrick. What do you think?" Mommy talk to Willy?" Right." They. She was fully aware of why they were going to the Masters' home tonight and what would be taking place. She hadn't shopped for or worn an outfit like the one she was wearing since she and Peter had married. She had tried a couple of "adult" shops, but the outfits there made her feel more like a hooker than philandering wife (she still could not shake the idea that she was somehow cheating). Four or five shops later she had settled on a black, form fitting, mini party dress. When she had first looked at herself in the dressing room mirror she had burned with embarrassment. The neckline plunged so low that a bra was out of the question. The back plunged every bit as far if not farther. This meant she was showing a great deal of cleavage either coming or going. Add the fact that the hemline was well above mid thigh and, even though these days the dress was considered mainstream, Samantha wondered if she didn't look like a cadeau speciale herself. But, she told herself, she would be.
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