[Silverback Digest exclusive interview with the author: SD: Where did the inspiration for this novel come from?
Stephen Morris: I’m not sure I would call it “inspiration.”]
The Cross Campus, 1987
Grafton College in South Deerfield, Massachusetts, is built around a large rectangular green bisected by two concrete sidewalks that connect the four corners. Where they meet, a circular brick plaza features green iron benches around its edge. Not surprisingly, the students call it the Cross Campus. Lisa Grace Bianco-Manion and Lorette Barrett meet there every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Walking from adjacent western corners, they converge precisely at 10:30 a.m., turn down the northeastern walkway, and head toward the Polly Gardner Fitness Center. The center is named for a former Grafton soccer star who married the heir to a pharmaceutical fortune and later donated $15 million to fund its construction.
Today is Wednesday. It is late March. The New England snow is almost gone, and crocuses are making their brave debut while daffodils reach for the pale sun. Buds have not yet appeared on the maples, but the grass is showing a distinct hint of green.
The women are punctual. Lisa Grace, 34, is of medium height, her dark brown hair tucked neatly beneath a knit wool hat. Lorette, 36, is slightly shorter, slightly darker, and slightly heavier.
They exchange their customary, affectionate greeting: “Hey, Bitch.”
“Geoffrey forgot his leather Day Runner,” Lisa Grace says, adjusting her gym bag. “He’s got all his capital campaign contacts in it, and I need to deliver it to his office. Should I drop it off now or after lunch?”
Geoffrey Manion, 41, is Lisa Grace’s husband and the president of Grafton College.
“After, if you don’t mind,” Lorette says. “My afternoon is completely packed.” Lorette is a local realtor. Lisa Grace is a graphic designer by trade but isn’t currently working in the field because, as Geoffrey frequently reminds her, “being a first lady is a full-time job.” She doesn’t receive a salary for her role, but she manages a generous budget for institutional entertainment and travel and enjoys the perks of the job, including living in the stately President’s House and holding a free membership at the fitness center.
The center is brightly lit and features a sweeping glass vista that looks out across the pristine campus toward the dark, rolling hills of the Pioneer Valley. Both women are fit, though muscle tone comes a little more easily to Lisa Grace than to Lorette. They go about their individual weight routines but come together for a few shared sets of calisthenics. After forty-five minutes, they retreat to the locker room to shower, blow-dry, dress, and fluff.
Afterward, they adjourn to the nearby Oasis Diner, settling into a vinyl back booth for what they have long called The Weekly Agenda. Any stray topic can be added to the W-A, such as “What’s happening with the kids?” But the two fixed, unmovable items, the conversational equivalent of approving the minutes from the last meeting, are always the same:
- What is going on in Lorette’s love life?
- The joys and frustrations of being married to the president of a small, prestigious women’s college in New England.
Lorette has a son, Brady, 12, who is currently in the throes of early hormonal tumult. He is athletic, smart, and, in Lorette’s phrase, “adorably befuddled.” Lisa Grace has two daughters, Harlow, 11, and Loren, 9, both of whom are, at the moment, picture-perfect and seemingly sent directly from Central Casting. Lisa Grace knows, however, that those simple days are short-lived.
Once the preliminaries are out of the way, their plates arrive. Lisa Grace orders the meatless taco salad; Lorette gets the tuna melt, which comes with a mountain of fries that the women agree to split.
“So, how did things work out with the Hunk from Holyoke?” Lisa Grace asks, officially shifting the conversation to Item Number One.
“About as expected,” Lorette sighs, shaking her head. “The Hunk from Holyoke turns out to be the Shithead from Shinola. We meet for coffee at that little espresso bar in Northampton. We’re sitting there for twenty minutes when he finally decides to give me the real story behind his personal ad.”
“Oh boy … let’s hear it.”
“He tells me he’s looking for a ‘progressive, open arrangement’ because he and his wife have an understanding.”
“I think his ad in the Advocate said he was legally separated.”
“That’s what the print says. He clarifies that it is just a ‘teeny editorial adjustment’ for the sake of brevity. He used the term ‘consensual monogamy.’
“Unbelievable. Is that just the modern way of saying an open marriage?”
“Don’t even worry about the nuances. In my book, it translates to Just Another Married Dickhead Cheating on His Wife.”
“So what do you do?”
“I told him I love a man who knows what he wants, took his number, and then gave him a fake one in return.”
“Classic.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been to this movie before. I gave him the number for the Western Mass Women’s Crisis Hotline.” Lorette smirks, and Lisa Grace lets out a genuine giggle. “Anyway, what’s up in the wild, wacky world of SuperMom?” Lisa Grace is equally flattered and annoyed by Lorette’s favorite nickname for her.
“I think I’m being groomed to do something for the capital campaign for the performing arts center renovation.” Grafton has a deserved reputation for housing one of the finest undergraduate theater departments in the country, and maintaining that prestige is at the absolute top of the presidential agenda. No one connected with the administration would ever dare express it outright, but a nonstop stream of affluent, privileged, and talented young women is essential to the college’s financial well-being.
Lorette, as an outsider, can indulge in a little blunt snark. “Gotta keep churning out those high-society trophy wives. What kind of role are they putting you in?”
“I don’t know yet. There’s an organizational meeting tomorrow where the architects are unveiling their scale model of the completed project, but I’m vague on what happens next. Geoffrey hasn’t told me much, except that the entire Board of Trustees will be there, so it’s a major deal. On a more exciting note, what do you have lined up for the weekend?”
“Nothing thrilling. I’ll try to drag Brady to a movie at the mall, but it’s getting harder to interest him in anything that involves me. Who wants to go anywhere with Mom when there are Nintendo games to play?” Lorette pauses, leaning across the table. “Do you think Brady is masturbating yet?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lorette!” Lisa Grace sputters, her face flushing as she glances around. “Keep your voice down! How can you just blurt something like that out?” Despite her feigned outrage, a laugh escapes her lips. This is exactly the kind of off-the-wall candor that makes Lorette so thoroughly herself and such a valued friend.
“He’s twelve years old, after all. I haven’t seen him out of his undershorts in years, but the kid must have developed pubic hair by now.”
“Lorette—stop!”
“I’m going to check in with my ex-husband to see if he actually covers that territory with him.”
“Let’s change the subject, please…”
“Why do people get so freaked out when they hear the word? It’s healthy.”
“I guarantee you nobody wants to hear it over their lunch at the Oasis Diner.”
Lorette, however, is on a roll. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t have personal experience with the subject. I’ll be the first to admit that when there are dry spells—”
“Lorette,” Lisa Grace says, clenching her teeth and gesturing frantically with her eyes toward the adjacent booth. “Spare me the details.”
“Fine. But let me ask you this. When I come back from a hot date, you want to know every single piece of information. But the minute the topic turns inward, you get all Catholic on me?”
“I share plenty with you!”
“Kind of. But from what I can gather, it’s been a long time since you and Geoffrey…”
Lisa Grace winces slightly. “Like since forever.”
Lorette doesn’t say a word, but she starts arching her eyebrows in a slow, rhythmic way that immediately elicits a suppressed snort from Lisa Grace. The facial contortions that follow morph the giggle into a full-blown guffaw, until both friends are hiding their faces in their napkins, stifling their laughter.
“Whose week is it to get the check?” Lisa Grace asks, wiping her eyes.
Lisa Grace enters the wood-paneled Presidential Suite and greets the trim, gray-haired secretary at the desk. “Hi, Ginny.”
“Hi, Lisa. He’s out somewhere on campus. He didn’t say where he was headed or when he’d be back.”
“That’s okay. I’m just dropping off his Day Runner. He’s totally lost without his schedule.”
“You can just leave it here with me,” Ginny offers, reaching out.
“No, that’s alright, I’ll leave it right on his desk. I need to use his restroom anyway.”
Lisa Grace opens the heavy oak door to the inner sanctum. Everything is neat, orderly, and carefully staged, featuring a framed portrait of her and another of the two girls on the mahogany credenza behind his chair. It is all properly presidential. She leaves the leather organizer right in the middle of his blotter and walks into the bathroom.
She uses the facilities, then washes and dries her hands. Pausing in front of the mirror, she murmurs, “I wonder if he has any Visine?” and opens the mirrored medicine cabinet.
She scans the shelves. Finding no eye drops, her gaze lands on two amber prescription bottles tucked in the corner. She turns them around to read the labels, but the chemical names are absolute gibberish to her. It strikes her as odd; Geoffrey has never mentioned taking any daily prescription medication. She makes a mental note to ask him about it later.
