“Loaded? No way. Don’t have a pot to piss in. When my sonofabitch husband died, he left me up to my eyeballs in debt. Thank God we owned the house. Otherwise, I’d be living out of my Jaguar.” She gestured around the room. “For the past two years, I’ve been cashing in on the proceeds from our paintings and our furniture.”

Why not do what the rest of the world does, I wondered, and get a job?

“Have you tried looking for work?” I asked.

“Easier said than done. You try competing for work with kids fresh out of college. Besides, employers don’t exactly come banging on your door when you’ve got a B.A. in art history. Sure, I’d like to work for the Getty, but so far, the only people who want me are the friendly folks at Taco Bell. Sometimes I work nights in the boiler room of a telemarketing company. It’s an absolute hellhole but it’s one place I’m sure I won’t run into anyone I know. Which reminds me, please don’t tell anybody about this. The one thing I’ve got left is my pride.”

She brought her glass to her lips and then realized it was empty.

“Sure you don’t want one of these?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t blame you. It’s awful stuff. You know you’re in trouble when your gin is imported from Guam.”

She got on her knees and began fishing around under the sofa.

“Where are you, you little devil?” Finally, she found what she was looking for.

“Aha!” She pulled out a bottle of Brand X gin and filled her glass, licking a few drops that spilled onto her hand.

So much for pride.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised, “but I can’t believe anybody would think less of you if they knew the truth.”

“Probably not. But I think less of me.”

She slugged down some gin and belched softly.

“Oops.” She covered her mouth and giggled. “Excusez-moi!”

Somebody was well on her way to getting tanked.

“I know it’s crazy to keep up the pretense,” she said, “but I can’t bear having anyone know how low I’ve sunk.”

“You never told anyone? Not even Marybeth? You being such old friends and all.”

She had a hearty chuckle over that one.

“Yeah, I told Marybeth. And you know what she did? She offered to loan me some money. At one percent lower than the prevailing bank rate. Those were her exact words. Here I was at the end of my rope, and she was talking to me like a goddamn loan officer. I wanted to wring her neck, the little shit.”

The veins on her neck throbbed in anger.

So those tears at the spa were just an act. Now that she was three sheets to the wind, Ashley’s true feelings about Marybeth were coming out.