Rudy swallows, clicks on to the next slide. It’s Richard Walsh with his arm around his remarkablyplain splat of a spouse, the one who, word has it, has her own country-style mansion surrounded bybarbed wire on their Miami Beach property.
I mouth the words to myself, as if that might change them.
No. Does nothing to quell the twist of distaste in me.
No, I do not need a wife. A leech, a hanger-on. A distraction, a nuisance.
I’ve seen wives—demanding, prissy, ungrateful bitches tugging at the strings of their whipping boyslike it’s a fun game they’ll lose either way. And I’ve seen husbands—browbeaten, resentful,exhausted husks of the men they used to be. Yes, I’ve seen all-too-well the ‘merits’ of marriage.
I want none of it.
Maybe Ludmil and his wife actually seem happy—f
