"I don't know what those idiot husbands of ours see in golf, when they've got four horny wives at home."
That was Linda, Paul's wife, sitting in her chaise lounger as we gossiped around her pool. We were the Beatle wives, as our husbands were named John, Paul, George and Richard, laughably enough that we were all calling Richard Ringo. George's last name actually was Harrison, and Paul was married to Linda, so we had a good old time of it.
At least my name ain't Yoko!
But, it was Saturday, a little after noon, and the Beatles were out doing what they always do on decent Saturdays, they were out at Tates Creek Country Club, playing golf. Our husbands work hard all week, and you'd think that they'd want a little bit of loving from their wives on Saturday mornings, but no, they'd all rather get up - they're all attuned to getting up at six in the morning anyway, for the work week - and get together to play.
To play fucking
golf!
When they have business to take care of at home.
So, our Saturdays, at least during spring and summer, were frequently spent around Paul and Linda's pool, working on our tans, drinking too much wine, and commiserating about our lives.
To an outside observer, we didn't have much to bitch about. We all lived in big, luxurious houses, paid for by our husbands' law practice. They weren't just golfing buddies: they were all attorneys, and as they became friendlier and closer, what with the Beatles schtick they decided to start their own firm, and were doing quite well at it. Three of us were already living in the same neighborhood, within walking distance, when Richard and Gail decided that, heck, since the other Beatles were all living so close together, and Pete Best decided to sell his home next to ours, they'd buy that one. It was an upgrade for them as well.
None of us Beatle wives had to work, though Gail and I did, just to get out of our houses. I had my degree in accounting, and worked for a top bookkeeping and financial services company - though I'm not a CPA - and made decent money myself, though not anywhere close to what John brought home.
"Maybe they just don't realize what they've got at home," I said. "Heck, those four spend so much time together, they might as well all turn gay and marry each other."
"Ughh! Now you've put a picture in my mind of Ringo sucking Paul's dick, and it ain't pretty!" We all laughed out loud at that one.
"What, you think they're all out on the course, playing with each other's golf balls?" I had to tease out that one, and more laughter ensued, followed by more wine being quaffed.
"Think Richard would even care if he knew that a guy made a huge pass at me yesterday?" That was Gail.
"Really? What happened?" Of course, Gail had all of our attention!
"Cheryl and I were on lunch break, at Alfalfa's, yesterday, and these two guys came in. Turned out they were both police officers, working out of the downtown station, and taking their lunch breaks as well. They were both tall and really dreamy, and I guess they spotted Cheryl checking them out, because instead of waiting for the hostess to seat them, one of them ribbed the other, and they just walked over to our table, cocky as could be, and sat down. This one, his name was Bill, decided that he was my lunch date, while the other guy, can't remember what he said his name was, took up with Cheryl. They just started up, talking like they really were our dates, flirting confidently, like they'd pulled this stunt before.
"And they were good at it, too. Bill, he was tall, good looking, rocking really short hair, you know, that kind of military haircut a lot of police officers get, and in really good shape. The guy hitting on Cheryl was a bit shorter, but just as hot, really handsome, broad shouldered. You could tell: they both hitting on us, and fully expected to be getting into our pants."
"Well, did they?" That was Linda.
"Obviously they couldn't, not right then, because we both had to get back to the office. But they made sure that we had their numbers, and told us to call them after we got off work."
"Did you tell this guy that you were married?"
"I did more than just tell him, but put up my left hand, showing him my wedding set. All he did was smile, and then he took my hand and kissed it. He was so fucking suave, and he didn't care one bit that I'm married."
"He married?"
"Well, he wasn't wearing a ring, anyway, but I didn't ask him and he never said one way or the other."
