I'm on the private beach near our summer house at the far end of Long Island. It's the area known as the Hamptons.
The sand is already hot at 10 in the morning. My husband, Phil, is still back in bed in the house about 100 yards off the shoreline, sleeping off a hangover from his four-too-many glasses of cabernet last night.
He made a fool of himself in front of our company, the Gallaghers and the Rickenbachs. Charlie Rickenbach, that asshole, divorced his wife of 28 years, Cheryl, last year and married a 24-year-old woman in the spring. He had the nerve to bring the fucking bitch – the best bimbo money could buy -- around last night to our party. The Gallaghers and the Rickenbachs had just arrived at their summer homes nearby, as Phil and I have.
The men will fly back to their offices from time to time during the next two months or so – Charlie, of course, in his private jet -- but the women will remain for most of that time. I'm not looking forward to it.
My husband drooled over the bimbo – I think her name is Brenda – during last night's get-together. After everyone left I told Phil I was pissed. I made a real scene and accused him of looking down her top numerous times, and grabbing her ass when they were in the kitchen together getting a plate of snacks that she had "volunteered" to help him with.
"Oh, I'll help you Phil," I think that cunt had said.
Phil was like a school boy in a candy store. The more the booze flowed, the bolder he got. Eventually he didn't even make a pretense of respectability and simply stared at that bimbo's cleavage and her ass as she walked.
I was surprised that Charlie didn't seem to be bothered by Phil's attention to his trophy wife. He just smiled and watched Phil gaze at his wife's ass. It seemed almost as if he had told Phil that it was alright. Well, maybe that's a bit of paranoia.
Janice Gallagher pulled me aside late in the evening and told me that she and her husband had seen Phil's... Læs hele novellen
