JJ knows about the Rich Widows’ Club through some of his old business acquaintances. The Rich Widows who drink daily wine and eat daily bread in upscale venues, proclaiming themselves to be foodies. They are not women who cook or clean or read a newspaper. Facebook informs their lives. All of their knowledge arrives via social media posts. He has seen some of their reactions on Facebook. Their likes and dislikes in fashion alongside of their hourly likes and dislikes of one another. He has been anonymously trolling them online. Gazing at their personal pages, hitting thumbs down on their fashion and food choices, chuckling in the afterglow of their outraged reactions at home in his office. He knows that they are women who understand the game. He knows that their leader has taken up this sort of work in the past.

Her name starts with the letter P. What was it again? Priscilla? Patty? He knows she is a prima donna. That starts with a P. He’ll just think of her as Prima: Number One. The Latin sounds old and foreign and fancy, like her. He’ll just name the others in sequence: Secunda, Tertia and so on, until the numbers line up nicely. Then, when he has chosen his companion, he only has to remember one name.

“Don’t need to worry about banging those old gals,” his buddy told him. “They will tell you straight out that they are closed for business. But they work at not looking like antiques!”

JJ trusted his friend. He has done his research. He feels confident as he strolls into the dimly lit lounge, adjusting his tie.

“Avete mulieres! Greetings, ladies! Omnia pulchriora lupi sunt—you are all as beautiful as wolves!” JJ says loudly and all too enthusiastically, showing off his schoolboy Latin. It always seemed to make an impression on the ladies. “I’m JJ, and my buddy Roy has given this group a good reference. May I join you?”

The women move their heads in closer to the man. Their richer-than-them man. JJ all-too-casually mentions his yacht and his winter trip to the Bahamas. He says he is weary of travelling alone. He would like a companion. The ladies giggle in unison. He feels confident that he has come to the right place. The Queen Cobras see a man who will pay for their time away. They would never need to touch their own precious bank accounts.

They wait for one of them to strike out. They wait for Prima, their leader with the forked tongue, to spit out the words that they all long to say. She is richest. She has earned the right to speak first.