The Big Bad Wolf Tells All Read online

  No one bothered to disabuse her of her fantasy. Once she’d gotten over the shock, she’d been deliriously happy.

  “And Chuck is still wonderful,” she chirped. “I mean, as hard as he works at the agency, he still manages to call me several times a day to see how the baby and I are doing. So what if sex isn’t the same? That will come back at some point.”

  She didn’t look as certain as she sounded, Tanzy thought, wondering how she really felt about it. It was bad enough to think about only having Chuck for the rest of her life, the least she should want is prime Chuck. And Rina, with Gar the Immeasurable. Sloan would only have Wandering Eye Wolfgang. And Sunny Sue and Perfect Paul’s sex life had been reduced to missionary position twice a week, with the occasional Wild Sex Sunday—as Sue had termed it—when they got out of going to her mother’s for dinner after church.

  Tanzy tried not to shudder at the thought of having Designated Sex Days. Her friends seemed happy enough with their marriages, and that was all that mattered. As long as they didn’t try to shove marital monogamy down her throat just because they’d opted for it.

  Where other women might be feeling really inadequate and self-consciously available at this point, Tanzy’s marital clock had yet to start ticking. Much less her biological one. Maybe they never would. And, even with thirty looming on the immediate horizon, she wasn’t all that worried about it.

  The thing was, while she was happy for her pals, she didn’t envy them, didn’t yearn to have a spouse of her own. She liked being single. Embraced it. She was one with her singlehood and wore it like the honorable badge of independence she liked to think it was. Only at that moment, with everyone around her sharing the knowing looks of the married, her beloved independence took on a whiff of something that smelled a lot like loneliness. Or would be as they continued to build on their experiences and she was slowly left outside the conjugal circle.

  “Bullshit,” she muttered under her breath, then braced that resounding proclamation with a fortifying sip of chocolate shake. She’d leave this restaurant and her stable of married friends and reenter her single-woman world with renewed gusto, relieved that she’d been the smart one, the one who’d escaped the surrender of all things wild and daring.

  Otherwise known as settling.

  Not just settling down, but settling period. Settling for the “right man,” aka the “good provider.”

  She wasn’t ready for the good provider yet. She was still busy enjoying the good weekender. Rina labeled the guys Tanzy dated as bad boys, renegades. Tanzy knew better. They were both of those things and more. Which was precisely what made them desirable. All about the moment and not about the future. And when she was their moment? Well, let’s just say Hallmark doesn’t make that card.

  “Earth to Tanzy,” Rina said, nudging her foot.

  “She’s working,” Sue said. “I can always tell. She gets that vacant stare and forgets the rest of us exist.” She waved her hand in front of Tanzy’s face, then propped her elbows on the table. “Which is rude, considering without us she’d be out of a job.”

  “Yeah, then she’d just have to dip into that trust fund Millicent has all set up waiting for her,” Mariel said. “Tanzy, I still think you’re crazy for not taking your great-aunt’s—”

  “Please,” Sue begged, “let’s not go there again. She’s explained until she’s blue in the face why her stubborn independence is more important than fabulous wealth.”

  Rina ignored both of them. “Speaking of Millicent the Magnificent, how did your annual Thanksgiving dinner together go?”

  Tanzy gladly latched on to Rina’s lifeline. Mariel saw no reason why Tanzy shouldn’t just set herself up in the ostentatious tradition of her Harrington forebears. Mariel, who couldn’t wait to snag successful Chuck and begin nesting. Tanzy looked to Rina. “About as usual. She asked how work was going, conned me into doing some shopping with her—a terrifying experience, let me tell you—showed me the latest techno-wizard stuff she’d had installed in Big Harry, and that was pretty much it.”

  “Speaking of Big Harry,” Sue interrupted, referring to Harrington House, the gated manse Tanzy’s great-aunt lived in, “remind me to talk to you later.”

  Tanzy nodded, knowing what it was about. Mariel’s baby shower. Sue was planning it and had decided to have it at her club, but she suspected Rina had mentioned something about having it at Harrington House, and rather than argue, Sue likely wanted to go with the flow.

  Rina sipped her after-lunch coffee, then said, “So, any more notes from your ‘Tanzy Tells All’ soul mate?”

  “Very funny,” Tanzy said. “I should never have mentioned him. He’s harmless. I just hit delete.”

  “So you’ve gotten more of them,” Sue said, leaning forward. “Maybe you should send them to Martin.”

  “The delete button is pretty effective and a lot easier than listening to one of my editor’s lectures on celebrity stalkers.”

  “A lecture you probably need to hear,” Mariel said, looking worried.

  “Martin’s been distracted enough lately, he doesn’t need me piling this on. Besides, I already got one from Millicent, thank you very much.”

  “You told Millicent?” Rina laughed. “I bet that went over well.”

  Tanzy knew her great-aunt admired her independence, but she could be rather controlling given an inch. “I was dazed from marathon shopping. It slipped out. Honestly, though, I think I’d know if it was a real threat. Can we drop this?”

  Rina slid a considering glance Tanzy’s way. “Sure, if you’ll tell us what part of this discussion will show up in the next column.”

  “Yeah,” Sue laughed, “baby penises or hot honeymoon sex?”

  How to be happily single when all your friends are married, Tanzy thought, forcing a smile. What she said was, “I guess you’ll have to read it and find out.”

  Does married sex always become routine?

  Is it because Fun Single Guy is now Married Guy with a Mortgage? Is responsibility, not familiarity, the real culprit that kills exciting sex? Or is it more basic than that? Maybe a Fun Single Guy who marries is turning in his wolf badge for one stamped Sheep. He’s become one with the herd. The herd being all the other Dependable, Responsible Guys with a Mortgage. And Sheep Sex, no matter how you position it, will never live up to Wolf Sex.

  Chapter 2

  Killer column today, Tanz. I like the new tangent you’re off on with this whole wolf/sheep thing.”

  Tanzy adjusted her phone headset and hit save. “Thanks, Martin. Let’s just say I was inspired.”

  “Apparently. Who knew there were so many Last Bridesmaids out there?”

  She snarled silently. “Yeah, I’m thinking of forming a club.” It had been three weeks since her first column commenting on her wedding reception epiphany. Apparently she wasn’t, in fact, the last bridesmaid on the planet. She’d heard from a whole slew of them in the past ten days. Hordes. Somehow, she didn’t feel any less alone. “Listen, I’m getting Saturday’s column in early. I’ve got that Single Santa radio thing this afternoon, then this month’s stint on the Barbara Bradley Show is taping tomorrow morning. They’re doing a Single at Christmas show, too.” Hoo boy. She could hardly wait.

  “Well, chat up this wolf/sheep thing you mentioned in today’s column. I have a hunch it’s going to play big with the serial solos out there.”

  She grinned. “Says the ultimate sheep.”

  He chuckled, not bothering to refute it. “Hey, at least I’m the herd leader.” Martin was managing editor of MainLine, the hottest online magazine since Salon and home to the controversial, much-talked-about “Tanzy Tells All” column for the past four years. Despite being on the cutting edge of publishing technology, though, Martin was still a guy pushing fifty, with a wife of twenty-five years, two kids in college, and a nice house in Pacific Heights. He might as well have “good provider” stamped on his vanity plate.

  “Yeah, you da Big Sheep, Marty.”

  “Hey,
herd member I might be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a little howl left in me, you know. Did I tell you about the new ride?”

  Tanzy rolled her eyes. What was it with middle-aged men and their toys? “Yes, Marty. Candy-apple red, leather interior, nice wheel package, and a whole herd of horses under the hood.”

  “Beats a herd of sheep,” he shot back, and she heard the pride of toy ownership in his voice. Or maybe it was just sports car lust.

  She did understand a little about that. But you were supposed to drive fast cars when you were young, right? Marty was a sedan guy. Marty had probably been born a sedan guy. Which is what made this whole toy car thing so weird. For him, anyway. Portly, balding, prescription glasses . . . nope, she couldn’t picture him flying down the highway, top down, singing “Born to Be Wild.” She gave a little shudder at the visual. Well, he’d just sent his last kid off to college this fall, so maybe that explained it. She’d heard empty nests made people do odd things. God only knew what Mrs. Marty thought about her husband’s new fixation.

  “Any time you want a test drive, you let me know, okay?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Will do. I’ll talk to you after I’m done taping Friday, let you know how it went.” She clicked off and stared at her laptop screen, scanning back over what she’d already written, then began to type.

  So, is that why we L.B.’s aren’t willing to settle for sheep like the rest of our social circle? Sheep Sex aside, what’s wrong with a man who puts family first, who maintains a steady job, has college funds set up for his kids, and builds that nest egg for his retirement? Member of the workaday herd, never straying.

  Solid, dependable Sheep Guy.

  Why can’t I love Sheep Guy?

  For me, it’s all those wolves. They distract me from the sheep. Wolf Guy. Always on the prowl. Totally alpha. Not interested in being domesticated. Not only would he not turn himself in for a sheep badge, he’s never even heard of it.

  So, what is it about these men that makes my heart speed up in a way no sheep ever has or ever will? I don’t want to tame them. I certainly don’t want to take them home to Mama. No. I am the original self-sufficient, independent, and proud-of-it-dammit woman, and I want Wolf Guy to drag me back to his lair and have his way with me. Repeatedly. But that’s all I want from him. That wild rush, that feeling of being taken over by something stronger and more powerful than I am.

  Maybe that’s it. I’m responsible for everything else in my life: my home, my career, my social circle. I don’t have to ask permission to do anything, don’t have to make any compromises unless I want to. I do what I want, when I want. And I like it that way. I intend to keep it that way.

  I just need Wolf Guy to rip the reins from my hands from time to time and allow me to give up my grip for a little while. Let’s face it, Sheep Guy will never do that. And until I don’t need to have my reins ripped anymore, I can’t imagine joining the herd on a permanent basis.

  So where does that leave me? A serial solo, straying from the herd every time Wolf Guy comes sniffing around, that’s where. And I’m sorry to all you permanent herders out there, but at the moment, I’m thinking that’s fine by me.

  “Take that, sheep lovers,” she muttered, and saved. She logged on and zapped the column to Marty in an email before she could reconsider what she’d written. After all, it wasn’t called “Tanzy Tells Some of the Things.” Whatever she felt was what she wrote. No holding back, no worries about offending anyone. She was the universal bared soul of the single woman, put on display for all the world to read. Take it or leave it. Fortunately for her, a whole lot of people, both men and women, took it. They accepted it, rejected it, debated it, heatedly at times . . . and propelled the writer of it to a certain level of fame and fortune.

  She scanned her email, a dry smile curving her lips as she skimmed down the potpourri already queuing up for today’s entertainment. The fame part, even at her relatively insignificant level, had its pros and cons. She got date offers, marriage offers, offers to be saved by various clergy, offers to be fixed up with sons by various mothers, with brothers by an assortment of sisters, and with all-around good guys by well-meaning married matrons. And that was usually before ten A.M.

  The flip side was that she also got the occasional Extreme Fan. Some aimed at messing with her person in a violent manner, some litigiously eyeing her bank account. Of course, the combination of being seen on television, heard on the radio, and accessible via the Internet was bound to bring out the less stable segment of society. She figured it went with the package and didn’t take any of them seriously.

  “Ah, there you are again.” SoulM8, her latest Extreme Fan, had landed yet another missive in her inbox. Tanzy debated whether reading it would entertain or disconcert. This guy was particularly insistent, if not particularly original. His rap was that he was her savior, the one who would love her for all time, thereby relieving her of all her single-girl angst.

  She smiled faintly as she skimmed past his most recent proclamation of eternal devotion. He didn’t seem to understand that single-girl angst paid her rent. Besides, she wasn’t really angsty. She was merely reflective. In a very public kind of way.

  Forgetting about SoulM8, she clicked instead on an email titled “Howling 4 U.” Her latest column, in which she’d only briefly debuted her “men can be put into two categories, wolves and sheep” theory, had been published on the MainLine site for less than an hour.

  “And they’re already crawling out of the woodwork,” she murmured, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she picked up her second Coke of the morning. “It’s going to be an interesting day.” She read with great amusement the letter from a guy who professed he was an actual wolf. Of the werewolf variety. He was certain her column spoke directly to him and wanted to mate with her during the next full moon. Which—lucky her!—was the very next night. She hit delete and had just opened “Baaaahed Boy” when her phone rang.

  “Tanzy dear, we need to talk,” the caller said without preamble.

  Tanzy almost choked when her soda went down the wrong way. “Aunt Millicent!” She quickly put the can down and pulled off her headset in favor of the old-fashioned phone. She found it was generally better to be gripping something substantial and, better yet, unbreakable, whenever her great-aunt deigned to call. “What a nice surprise.”

  “How nice of you to say, even if you don’t mean it. I always wonder where you got that trait, since it certainly wasn’t from your mother. Now stop gripping the phone like a drowning woman clinging to a lifeline. I’ve only got a few moments before the car arrives and we’ve got much to discuss.”

  “We do?” Tanzy found it best to merely go along with Millicent, as there was really no point believing she’d ever be in control when her somewhat eccentric great-aunt was involved. Okay, “somewhat” was her being nice again. And she hadn’t gotten that trait from her mother. The only things she’d gotten from Penelope were green eyes and a distinct mistrust of long-term commitment.

  “Yes, dear, we do. It seems my dear friend from Philadelphia, Frances Dalrymple, has suffered a decline in her health. She’s asked me to come visit for what might become a rather extended stay. We went to Vassar together, as you might recall.”

  “Mmm,” Tanzy said by way of reply, a sound she’d learned to use rather judiciously when conversing with Millicent.

  “My, what a time we had. Young women in pursuit of higher learning were so rare in our time, you see. We were vital, so alive.” She sighed wistfully.

  “Real visionaries,” Tanzy said, hoping Millicent didn’t think she was being patronizing. She really did admire her great-aunt. In fact, Millicent had been a major force in how Tanzy had shaped her life, and what she didn’t admire she was in awe of. But she really didn’t need a replay of “Millicent Harrington: The Vassar Years.” She knew them by heart. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy having your company. Do you want me to stop by and water your plants or collect your mail?” This was merely a courtesy offer, a
s Millicent was loaded and had a houseful of people to look after every last detail of Big Harry. But she also knew her aunt enjoyed it when Tanzy played the doting grandniece.

  Other than Tanzy’s absent mother, Millicent was the only Harrington left. And although she wasn’t exactly anyone’s version of a cuddly, maternal figure, she also didn’t pretend to be anything other than what she was: a woman who oversaw her inherited holdings, business interests, and God knew what other investments with a steely eye and a firm grip. At eighty-two she was a more intimidating figure than ever.

  “Actually, in a manner of speaking, yes, I do require your assistance,” Millicent was saying.

  “I—I beg your pardon?” Tanzy had let her gaze wander back to her list of incoming email. “What did you say?”

  “The holidays are fast approaching and my household staff has been given leave to be with their families. As I will likely be out of town through the beginning of the year, I didn’t see any reason not to extend their vacation. My holiday gift to them for all their hard work.”

  Millicent might run her home and business interests like a general overseeing war maneuvers, but she was also generous to a fault with those she valued.

  “That’s really lovely of you, Aunt Millicent.” No one called her Millie. Or they only did once. “But won’t you need at least a skeleton staff to oversee business matters?” She asked this somewhat tremulously. As Millicent’s only remaining heir—Penelope long since having been written off—Tanzy knew she should probably be more aware of exactly what might pass her way when Millicent cashed it in. Considering she’d never so much as dipped her pinky finger into the Harrington businesses and had less than no idea what sort of empire Millicent had truly amassed during her tenure, this would be no small undertaking.

  But Millicent had never broached the subject with her, and cowardly or not, Tanzy had been happy to leave well enough alone. She hoped she’d luck out and her great-aunt’s lengthy list of philanthropic and charitable endeavors would be the beneficiaries when the time came.