The Secret Lives of Married Women (Hard Case Crime)
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Two identical twin sisters - one a sexually repressed defense attorney, the other a former libertine now living a respectable life in suburbia - are about to have their darkest secrets revealed, to the men in their lives and to themselves. As one sister prepares for the thorniest trial of her career and the other fends off ominous advances from a construction worker laboring on the house next door, both find themselves pushed to the edge, and confronted by discoveries about themselves and their lovers that shock and disturb them.
motherhood. But Jack had recognized me; he had found me. He knew things about me that my own husband didn’t know, and for that matter, it was as if he alone could see me for what I was: hopelessly compromised, desperate, dissembling, best suited for a fifth-rate blue movie. If I told Stas about Payback, what would he think? It was possible that he would be appalled. In some ways, he was very concerned with propriety: he often remarked that this or that would not be proper. For instance, though
tabloid headlines, it would seem, have to do with elaborate deception and betrayal. He led a double life. At the heart of each of these stories: a long-married woman whose image of her husband has cracked open like an egg and hatched a snake. Her world was shattered. But in fact, the most surreal aspect of situations like this is that your world is not shattered. The detective leaves and the house is still standing, the leaves are still drifting into the street in front of it, the same kids are
between them as he could manage at the moment. But incredibly, after what seemed a considered pause, and with no particular surprise or alarm, he murmured in assent. The men who came to the Nutcracker, they moved through the world without ever letting their secret desires break the surface of their daily lives. That’s what Nan had been for: a visitation, a kind of angel, descended for an hour or a day, whatever they were willing to pay for. A commercial transaction, negotiated and contrived, but
week that he needed an assistant with a working knowledge of real estate. How he arranged for her to interview with the Lighthouse, a midtown non-profit providing services to the blind. “We are in desperate need of sighted people who know Braille,” the earnest, grandmotherly director told her when she went there. Abel predicted that they would pay her more than he had, and as with so many other things, he was right. She took the train to work now, and felt grateful when it was Friday like
subway, as well as several icy blocks on foot. The office was in a dismal part of town just south of the Port Authority, where junkies and hustlers still made up much of the street population. The building was run down, the tile in the lobby crumbling. Bryce’s company was on the fourth floor, and even before I reached his threshold, I could see that the space was little more than a hole in the wall. It had industrial carpeting and the walls were cracked and stained. A row of grimy windows