Chapters (59)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Praise
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- January
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- February
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- March
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- April
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- May
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- June
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- July
- Forty-One
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Author’s Note
- Ladies of the House - Reader’s Guide
- Questions For Discussion
- Excerpt
“Bro.” A man, youngish, square-jawed, was now at my shoulder. “You’re not being cool. Come on. You don’t look like you’re this guy. You don’t have to be this guy.”
“I didn’t start this.” The publicist raised both hands, as though to prove his harmlessness.
“Bro, it doesn’t matter. Step aside and give them some room.”
Lumpy stepped back, and the air suddenly felt less turbulent. Amazing what a baritone and a set of biceps can do in a situation like this. The patriarchy is alive; don’t let anyone tell you different.
But Wallis, evidently, wasn’t satisfied. “I still have more to say to this walking bucket of fried chicken!” she said, making some bystanders laugh, including our new friend at my side. Even I had to suppress a smile.
I don’t know what would’ve happened next if a woman identifying herself as the manager hadn’t charged in, asking what was going on here.
Wallis looked like she might explain exactly what was going on, but our defender got there first. “My man here was just backing up. Right dude? He’s good. Yup, just like that. Going to let these girls have a good rest of their night.” Like a bodyguard, he escorted us past the human chicken thigh, who managed one last scowl, through the crowd to the revolving door, and out onto the street, where Wallis let out a stream of curses into the cold air.
“It’s okay.” These words were mostly for myself. “It’s done.”
“No,” said Wallis. “I left my fucking coat in the coat check.” More curses.
“I’ll get it.” He asked for her ticket, and Wallis gave it to him without hesitation.
“Who is that guy?” Wallis huddled close to me when he’d gone.
“Someone seizing his white knight moment.” In the bar, I’d noticed his accent—Southern, not too twangy or noticeable, just a softening of consonants here and there. The voice, as the outdated trope went, of a gentleman. Could anyone argue, though, that he hadn’t been chivalrous? I imagined how the situation might’ve appeared to him: Wallis, aggrieved, foulmouthed, surrounded, a young woman (and it helped that she was beautiful) intimidated by a bigger, much older man.