The Wife of Reilly by Jennifer Coburn

Author:Jennifer Coburn [Coburn, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Contemporary Women, Fiction
ISBN: 9780758210890
Google: BzVczIsySI8C
Amazon: B007DLSCHW
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2005-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

On the afternoon that Reilly left for Berlin, a thick blanket of snow covered New York. By five o’clock, it was a blizzard outside, with thick pellets of ice whipping pedestrians and wind mercilessly snapping umbrellas inside out. Still, the gallery was filled to capacity with single women, and a line was forming outside.

Each guest was greeted by the flash bulb of a Polaroid camera. Jennifer hired three women from a temp agency to staff the event. “Smile,” ordered the temp. Another staffer then jotted the women’s names in Sharpie pen at the foot of the photo and pinned it to the right side of their tops or jackets. A third temp handed each woman a pen and clipboard with an application to fill out.

“What the hell is all of this?” I asked Jennifer.

“We’ve got to keep track of all the applicants,” she said. “Look at this turnout!”

Applicants?

There were more than a hundred women milling around the gallery reading the captions beside the enlarged mounted photos of Reilly. Another forty or so stood patiently in the blizzard waiting their turn.

Jennifer announced that the women had thirty minutes before we had to boot them out for the second seating.

“What did you say in your ad?” I asked.

“You know, marriage-minded attractive international businessman soon-to-be divorced. Six-figure income. Caring, kind and wounded, blah blah blah. Just the facts. Here, let me take you around and show you how it works.”

Wounded? Did she really think Reilly was wounded?

“Do you think I’ve wounded Reilly?” The words fought their way out from my crowded throat. “You do, don’t you? Oh my God, you’re right. You’ve all been telling me this from the start, but I refused to listen. I was so convinced that it was a brilliant plan that I didn’t even consider the irreparable damage I’m going to do to this man. He’s going to be in therapy for years, this is going to fuck him up so badly. Yasmine was right, he’s going to be damaged goods when he finds out about this. Shit, no one’s going to want him. Holy shit. Get these women out of here! Call this off right now.” I turned and shouted, “Go home, everyone. The party’s —”

Jennifer snapped me back to face her with one word and a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Hey!” barked Jennifer. “Hey,” she said, much kinder this time. “Calm down. No one thinks you’re damaging Reilly. Wounded was Sophie’s idea. She said women love a project, and if Reilly sounds like he was a bit of a fixer emotionally, like he’s got some mild intimacy disorder or something, we thought it would add a little something to his new single persona.”

Now he needs a persona?

“Let’s try this again,” Jennifer said, turning me toward an enormous photo of Reilly as a newborn. “Here’s where we start.” The gallery lights were positioned perfectly above each of the sixteen larger-than-life mounted photographs.

In bold print a sign next to the photo read, Reilly was born July 14, 1963, to Fred and Millicent Sheehan at Allegheny General Hospital.

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