“The Mercedes needs a tune-up,” Alex told Dana that morning as he kissed her goodbye. “Drop it off for me at the dealership, babe? I’m in court all day.”
She agreed. Now, as she strode up to the service desk and gave Alex’s name, she wished she’d told him no. She had too much to do today.
After a few taps on his computer keyboard, the service writer asked, “Which vehicle is it, ma’am?”
Dana frowned. “What do you mean? It’s the Mercedes 900. There is no other vehicle.”
“There’s a convertible SL listed under Mr. Peyton’s name. Came in for a tune-up last month.”
Her thoughts raced. They owned four cars: the Mercedes she’d brought in, her minivan, their daughter Becky’s Jetta, and Alex’s Lexus. There was no convertible SL.
“I see. Did Mr. Peyton bring the car in?”
He squinted at the screen. “No. It says here that Ms. Banks brought it in. Jennifer Banks.”
Jennifer.
Jennifer, the blonde paralegal he swore he’d dumped. Jennifer, who’d nearly wrecked their marriage. Jennifer, who – while Dana drove a minivan – tooled around town in a convertible SL that Alex had bought her.
“Keys?” he inquired.
Dana slapped the keys on the counter. Her fingers trembled with barely-contained rage and a strong desire to wrap themselves – permanently – around her husband’s neck. “I’ll need a loaner car, please.”
Twenty minutes later, through a red haze of fury, she drove away. The lying, cheating skunk. Not only had Alex continued seeing his paralegal playmate, Jennifer – he’d gone and bought her a damned car!
When she finally got home later that day, the message light on the kitchen phone was blinking like crazy. She pressed the button to listen to the first message.
Bleep. Hi babe, it’s me. Remember, we’ve got the cocktail party tomorrow night. The state attorney general’s coming, and Judge Latham, too. I want everything to be perfect. Bleep. It’s me again. Where the hell are you? Don’t forget, I’m in court all day. I’ll be late. Bleep. Your birthday’s tomorrow, isn’t it? I’ll give you my AmEx tonight, and you can get yourself something nice.
She erased the messages with a vicious jab of her finger. It had long been Alex’s habit to let her choose her own presents. Whether it was for Christmas, or their anniversary, or her birthday, he always handed over his black American Express card, kissed her, and told her to buy herself “something nice.”
He didn’t do it because he was generous, or selfless, or because he wanted her to get what she really wanted.
No. He did it because he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself.
“Maria,” Dana said as she entered the kitchen, “can you make some of your mini carnitas for the party tomorrow night? They were a big hit last time.”
Maria let out a put-upon sigh and muttered something in Spanish. “Sí. How many you want?”
“Four dozen should do it. Thanks.”
Maria trundled to the Sub-Zero, still muttering darkly in Spanish, and withdrew a pork butt, a brick of Monterey Jack, and another of queso fresco.
Dana gathered up the bags from her shopping expedition at Nordstrom and went upstairs. She had to look presentable tomorrow night, after all. Alex expected his wife to wow his guests – no matter how much it might cost him at the cash register.
And this time, she reflected with satisfaction as she removed the protective wrapping from her new Stella McCartney cocktail dress, it would cost him plenty.
♥♥♥
The next morning, after downing half a cup of coffee, Alex grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door.
“Oh, before I forget, babe – here.” He withdrew his AmEx card and handed it to her. “Happy birthday,” he added, and kissed her. ”Go and buy yourself something really nice. You can show it off to our guests tonight.”
Her smile was benign. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
♥♥♥
That night, their house in Potomac glittered like a jewel. A jazz trio played unobtrusively in one corner of the living room; in the other, the bartender offered several signature drinks, as well as old standbys like whiskey, scotch, and bourbon.
“Great party, Dana,” Judge Latham said, and raised his bourbon on the rocks in salute.
Alex wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That’s my wife. Beautiful, smart, socially adept – and she married me.” He grinned. “I’m a lucky guy.”
No, you’re an asshole, she almost retorted, but refrained. “Another canapé?” she asked the judge.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
As she turned to go, Alex caught her arm. “Did you pick out something nice for your birthday, babe?” he asked in a low voice.
Dana smiled. “Something very nice.”
“Bring it in here and show it off,” he urged her.
“Oh, I can’t. It’s outside.” She turned to face their guests and called out, “Who wants to come out and see what my wonderful husband bought me for my birthday?”
Laughing and exclaiming and clutching their drinks, everyone crowded to the front door.
“It’s outside? What the hell did you get?” Alex hissed as he caught her arm and drew her aside.
She smiled and lifted a key dangling from a leather key holder. “Something I’ve always wanted.”
He followed her outside, and when he saw it, he stopped, rooted to the spot. A brand-new silver Series 7 BMW, $86,000 (including taxes, tags, and destination charge), gleamed sexily at the curve of the driveway.
“Damn, Alex!” The state’s attorney general clapped him on the shoulder. “You really raised the bar for all of us married guys, you son of a bitch.”
“Thank you, darling.” Dana flung her arms around him. “Cat got your tongue, you bastard?” she hissed in his ear, then drew back and met his eyes. For once, Alex was at a loss for words.
Aloud she added, “I was so tired of driving that minivan! You’re the best, most generous husband in the world.”
With a kiss that left a red imprint on his cheek, Dana sauntered off to join her guests by the car, leaving Alex standing by the driveway, clutching his drink and looking dazed.
She smiled. Revenge was sweet. But a brand-new Series 7 BMW? Even sweeter.