In the last few years, I’d tried half a dozen brands, but none of them had made me glow as I did tonight. A line I’d read somewhere floated through my mind. It is as foolish to promise to love forever as to promise to live forever. Not that I had stopped loving Bill. Grant came barreling down the hall and stood behind me. “Are you going out tonight, Mama?” I sensed the cunning of an underage blackmailer. “I am, my darling.” “Are you going to a shoshism meeting?” I inserted the long pin into the crown of my hat and nodded at his reflection in the mirror. His small fists balled, ready to take on the world. “I hate shoshism!” “Maybe Grant has a point,” Bill said. We had kissed the children, said good night to Bill’s mother, and were on our way to the subway. “I certainly prefer my own family to Madame Pompadour de Dodge and her salon. It’s a den of hypocrisy. They talk about socializing the means of production, but what they’re really thinking about is appropriating someone else’s wife.”
