How to Kill Your Husband (8 page)

The Omni was a large auditorium topped with a huge dome. The chairs were all tilted up towards the ceiling, and the feature presentation played all around you. The sense of being
lost
in their films was so prevalent, you actually had to wear safety belts to keep you from leaning and possibly falling forward.

There were plenty of other things at the museum that were both fun and interesting, but Claire's children had already been there a few times on field trips. Just the thought of the place reminded them of school.

“I thought I was grounded,” Stacy whined from the back seat. “Why do I have to go?”

“If I thought you were going to enjoy yourself, I would have left you at home,” Claire said. “But since you hate it so much, it still counts as punishment.”

“I do hate it,” Stacy confirmed. “It's boring.”

“You think
everything's
boring,” Claire chided.

“I think it's boring, too,” Nikki said.

The girls sat next to each other with their lips poking out. They both wore T-shirts and jeans this afternoon, but Stacy's outfits were always more stylish. Her pants were tight, and they flared out into bell-bottoms. Stacy wore brown sandals, and her toenails glistened with a fresh coat of pink and glitter. Her T-shirt was short and small with the word
DIVA
splashed across her chest.

Nikki's pants were loose fitting, and her solid blue T-shirt was an extra large on her medium frame. Nikki didn't even have her fingers painted, let alone her toenails.

George Jr. sat up front, cheesing pleasantly. He was always ready and willing to embark on any project an authority figure presented. At school, he took
Teacher's Pet
to an all-new high.

“I like the Wild, Wild West town,” he said. “And the reptile exhibit.”

“You like
everything
,” Stacy said.

“He's a nerd,” Nikki explained.

“I'm not a nerd!”

Claire smiled at her little boy and put a hand on his head. “It's all right,” she said. “They used to call Bill Gates a nerd, too.”

“Who's Bill Gates?” George Jr. wanted to know.

“Another
nerd
,” Stacy informed.

“A
rich
nerd,” Claire clarified. “People with big brains make
big money
when they grow up.”

“I want to be a rich nerd,” George Jr. decided.

“You're not going to have a girlfriend,” Stacy teased.

Before Claire could chastise her, George Jr. had his own comeback.

“I don't want a girlfriend,” he said. “They just want your money.”

Claire's eyes widened and she was briefly filled with pride for her youngest child. “How did you know
that
?” she asked.

“Daddy told me,” he said, and his mother's delight was immediately replaced with angst.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH

Claire called her friend when she pulled into the parking lot, and Becky met them at the main entrance. Becky's uncle worked as a fine arts curator, and he always gave her free tickets whenever a new exhibit was in town. Becky's children had gotten a little too old and independent for the outing, so she usually offered the tickets to Claire and her family.

The girls rushed from the car as soon as Claire turned the motor off, but George Jr. waited to cross the street with Mommy. Becky waited for them on the other side, standing next to a giant tortoise sculpture made of iron. She had her daughter Courtney in tow, and George almost yanked his mother's arm off trying to get to her.

“
Hey, Courtney
!”

“
Georgie Porgie
!” she shouted back.

“Boy, she ain't going anywhere,” Stacy mumbled.

“She isn't,” Claire corrected.

Becky wore blue jeans with a white camisole this afternoon. She had on a new pair of spectacles Claire hadn't seen before. The lenses were large, and the thick, plastic frame was reminiscent of 80s sunglasses.

“Hey,” Claire said as she stepped up on the curb.

“Hi!” Becky reached for her and they exchanged a brief hug.

“How are you guys?” she asked the kids.

“Fine,” the girls said with all the enthusiasm of a wilting flower.

“They're
great
,” Claire said. “Very happy to be here and thankful for the tickets.”

* * *

The Omni's presentation of
Deep Sea
was a lot better than everyone expected. Even without 3-D glasses, Claire didn't think they could get more
immersed
without scuba gear. The lights and sounds were exceptional, and the experience of being under water with the cameraman was so complete, Becky found herself holding her breath a few times.

And it was great to see the girls watching with wide-eyed fascination. It was even better to see them flinch when a few menacing-looking predators swam close to the screen.

Afterwards, Becky took them on a general tour of the museum. Claire liked the Cro-Magnon room because they had a display set up with small figurines depicting what early brain surgery might have looked like. The models were small, and they couldn't sculpt too much expression on their little faces, but you could almost feel the pain of the poor sap being held down while a witch doctor sliced at his scalp with a sharp rock.

After lunch, Claire let her girls roam freely with Courtney while she and Becky took George Jr. to KIDSPACE, one of the few areas in the museum were little ones could touch anything they wanted.

Claire took a much-needed rest on one of the benches provided for parents while George Jr. went to the soap rings and tried to make a bubble big enough to put his head in. Becky came and sat next to her friend.

“Having fun?”

“
Oodles
,” Claire said sarcastically.

Becky put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. It's not
that
bad, is it?”

“The museum's fine,” Claire said. “It's my head that's messing with me.”

Becky nodded. “I know how you feel.”

Claire leaned back and closed her eyes. “Everything I see reminds me of him,” she said. “Every married couple makes me want to cry, especially if they're our age. I've been with him since
high school
. I've been with him for half of my life, Becky. Everything I've ever done as an adult has been with him.”

“I know,” Becky said. “It's hard.”

“I know I'm not supposed to,” Claire said, “but I keep thinking,
maybe if I stayed smaller
. I put on thirty pounds since we graduated. Maybe if I dressed sexier…”

“I told you not to do that.”

“I know. But I don't think I can stop. If he still wanted me as much as he used to—”

“Claire, you are a beautiful woman. You're tall, you've got long, sexy legs. You've got big boobs and a nice butt.”

“I'm not beautiful,” Claire said. “Look at me.” She fingered her shirt with disgust. “Look at my clothes. I don't blame him for not wanting me.”

“Claire, don't say things like that. You know it's not true. Remember how you felt with your red dress on? You're still just as desirable. Trust me, you're hot. Maybe a makeover will help you feel better.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious.”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“You know,” Becky said, “if you and George break up, you're going to find another man who will love you more. There are plenty of guys out there—”

“Oh, please don't start with that.”

“It's true.”

“Becky, I'm
nowhere near
thinking about another man. Let me kill the one I have first, and then we'll talk.”

“That's another thing.” Becky brushed the hair from her face. “I don't like hearing you talk like that. I'm starting to think you're serious.”

Claire gave her a look to let her know she was.

“See? That's what I'm talking about. Honey, you need to see that this isn't the end of the world. You still have three beautiful children who need you, and you still have a whole life to live. I would like to think you're just upset, but if you really are thinking about…” She looked around and whispered, “
Murder
—”

“Let's not talk about it right now,” Claire suggested.

Becky saw that her eyes were tearing up again. “Just tell me you're not serious.”

“Serious?” Claire sniffled. “How should I respond to the worst betrayal I've ever known? I gave George everything I have. I never once looked at another man that way. What if he plans on leaving me to be with
her
?”

“Then you'll make him pay,” Becky said. Her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows knotted together. “I didn't have
any
evidence like you do,” she said, “and I still got the house
and
Brent's truck. There are ways to kill a man without laying a finger on him, Claire. I can give you the number to my divorce lawyer.”

Claire wiped away a tear and stared into her friend's eyes.
Divorce lawyer
was a dirty word she thought she'd never utter, but it did sound better than
guilty of murder
and
penitentiary
.

“Can you get out later on?” Becky asked. “We should go have drinks.”

Claire chuckled woefully. She couldn't imagine George's reaction if she told him she was going out again. This would be twice in one week.
Screw him
, she decided.

“That sounds great.”

“Good,” Becky said with a bright smile.

“I'm getting drunk though,” Claire announced. “So you can't.”

“Fine. I'll be your designated driver.”

“Can I invite Melanie? She's been asking me to go out for a while.”

“Sure.” Becky's eyes glistened like an infant's. “The more the merrier.”

* * *

George still wasn't home when Claire cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes, but she didn't let that spoil her night out. She didn't really need a babysitter. Nikki was brooding and obnoxious most of the time, but she
was
fourteen years old. Stacy minded her, and George was obedient to any authority figure.

Claire went upstairs and showered, and then she put on a pair of black slacks with a gray blouse. She searched for her pearl earrings in the bathroom, and the reflection staring back at her made Claire do a double-take. She stopped everything and stared at the woman in the mirror for a long time.

Becky was right, she was still attractive, but she wasn't doing a lot to show it off.

Claire shook her head slowly and almost cried right then. It was hard to accept, but the truth was glaring: She'd become drab and plain and
average
. Claire looked over her color-scheme for the night and realized she wore stuff like this every day; grays and blacks and browns and whites. She couldn't remember the last time she colored or curled her hair. And her eyes—they were still big and beautiful, but she used eyeliners back in high school, didn't she? Claire couldn't remember anymore.

“No wonder,” she said aloud, but that wasn't right. That was the self-hate Becky warned her about. It was easy to blame herself, but Claire refused to go down that road again. Maybe she did lose a little flair over the years, but that didn't give George the right to break the vows he made before God. He should have manned up and asked for a divorce if he lost interest.

She undressed and looked in the closet for something different to put on. She pulled out a few pairs of jeans that used to hug her hips in sexy and
exciting
ways, but that ended up making her feel worse. No way had her waist ever been that small. After an unsuccessful attempt to squeeze her ass into the last pair, Claire felt her emotions getting the better of her again. Her cell phone rang, and she was grateful for the distraction.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl! What's the damned deal?”

“I'm not doing so good,” Claire admitted.

“What's wrong?” Melanie asked. “George won't let you go?”

“
Please
,” Claire said. “I'm way past letting
him
tell me what to do. He's not even here.”

“So what's the problem, sister?”

“My jeans don't fit anymore,” Claire said. “I've been through three pair—”

“Why are you wearing
jeans
?” Melanie asked. “If I was as tall as you, I bet you wouldn't never catch me in no jeans. 'Specially not in 80-degree weather.”

Claire thought about that for a second. “Why am I wearing jeans?” she asked.

“ 'Cause you've been married too long. Don't you have any skirts in your closet?”

“A skirt?”

“Something that stops
above
your knees.”

“I don't need to wear anything like that,” Claire said. “I'm not trying to meet anyone, and I don't want—”

“You think dressing sexy is all about trying to hook up?” Melanie asked. “Claire, I think that's what got you in the rut you're in. You and George got together when you were young and skinny. You got older, and you stopped caring about what you looked like. You took it for granted 'cause you already had a man. I'll bet you've got a whole closet full of tight skirts you forgot about.”

“What good do they do me now?” Claire asked with a hitch in her throat. “He's already looking somewhere else.”

“It's not always about pleasing your man,” Melanie lectured. “Sometimes you have to think about pleasing
yourself
. You'd be surprised what a freakum dress will do for you spirits.”

“A
freakum
dress?”

“Don't act like you don't got one,” Melanie said. “Everybody got a freakum dress.”

* * *

Claire checked the closet again when she got off the phone and was surprised to find she
did
have a freakum dress in there. She had three of them, in fact. She selected a black Chanel for her night out with the girls. She squeezed into it in the bathroom, and right away she knew this is what Melanie was talking about: The dress was too tight, too short, and the shoulder straps were non-existent; giving plenty of freedom to her luscious breasts.

Any doubts about her sexiness were dismissed when George came home a few minutes later. Claire was still in the bathroom, applying eyeliner for the first time in Lord knew when. George walked up behind her, and Claire watched his expression in the mirror. His eyes lit up, and his smile was both devilish and genuine. He put his hands on her hips and tried to kiss the back of her neck.

“Damn, baby. You look—”

But Claire turned and stepped around him, leaving him standing in the bathroom alone.

“I'm glad you're here,” she called over her shoulder. “I'm going out with the girls tonight.”

He caught up with her at the bed and watched anxiously while Claire transferred the necessities from her Coach bag to a smaller evening purse. George had on his biker outfit. The tight jeans, combat boots and leather vest made him look like a sexy Hell's Angel, but Claire barely gave him a second look. George took the black bandana off his head and tossed it on the bed.

“You're doing what?”

“I'm going out,” Claire said without looking up. She pulled items from her hobo bag and looked around impatiently. “Where's my compact?” she asked herself.