Page 63 of Dirty Diana
“You sent them around?”
“Only to a few people I trust. They’re good, Diana.”
Sitting at my desk, I think about what a website could look like and how I would design it. I search for a domain name and find exactly what I was hoping for.Dirty Dianais available.
—
When I get home, Oliver is falling asleep to aSeinfeldrerun. Everything is normal.
Quiet.
Safe.
And I can’t fight the urge to blow it all up.
“Who is Amanda?”
Oliver squints at the TV as if the plotline has just gone wildly off script.
“What?”
“Oliver. I know. You called me. Or Amanda’s ass called me as she was dancing on your lap.”
Oliver stammers. “Sorry, what?”
“Do you ever go to poker?”
My voice is steady. I want to show him that I’m not angry. Not really. I just want the truth. Oliver looks at me then down at his hands.
“I hate cards.”
“So. Who is she?
“Why? Why does it matter?”
“It matters because you’re spending time with another woman. What do you like about her?”
“If you’re going to get mad, then just get mad. You have every right.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You either are or you aren’t.”
“Is Amanda pretty?”
“Yes.” He says it carefully.
“Okay. And what else?”
“Nothing else.”
“You’ve been lying for months.”
“I’m not always there. Sometimes I just drive. I know you don’t believe me—”
