The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

false front, designed to fool people. The question was, who had been fleecing and for what purpose?
    “Come on Uncle Scrooge, kick it up a notch.” He goosed me again.
    “Hey, Emeril, keep your hands to yourself.”
    “Who?”
    I shook my head. “You are completely devoid in pop culture knowledge.”
    “I can live with that. Seriously though, I think you’re ready for the Social Security 5K.”
    “Did you think Eric and Sylvia were happy together?”
    “Jeeze,” Neil slowed to a walk. “How the hell would I know? Men don’t talk about that kind of shit.”
    “Just from an observation standpoint. You spent time with them. Give me your impressions.” I persisted.
    One of the great many things I loved about my husband, he always considered my questions, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. “They put up a front when they were together. But if I were to guess, I’d bet that no, they weren’t happy.”
    “Why?”
    Neil scratched his uber sexy chin stubble. “They never sought each other out, when they were in public. No little glances, subtle touches, things like that. They looked good together, but I doubt there were any genuine feelings between them.”
    “See, you are good at this.” I smiled at him. “I was kind of thinking the same thing about Markus Valentino. Like he was all for show, and Candie was the handy-dandy trophy wife.”
    But he shook his head. “Trophy wives marry into money, but Candie came with her own, remember? No, I think their marriage is more of a business arrangement. She’s got the funding, he’s got the know-how.”
    “So what went wrong?”
    Neil shrugged. Then stopped dead. “Hey, I have an idea.”
    He grasped my arm, towing me across the football field and back to the car. “Where are going?”
    “To get a professional’s opinion.”
    He unlocked the car and took the time to open my door. “You have your cell handy?”
    I flipped up the center arm rest, retrieving my phone. “Who am I calling?”
    “Dr. Bob. See if he could meet with us for a few minutes.”
    “Now?”
    “Why not? But he’s not really going to be counseling us; he’ll be meeting the Valentinos.”
    “I don’t understand.” I dialed anyway listened as the phone rang on the other end.
    “Dr. Robert Ludlum, marriage facilitator.”
    “Hi, Dr. Bob. This is Maggie Phillips. Neil and I were wondering if we could stop by to see you.”
    “Is something wrong? You two seemed to have reached an understanding this morning.”
    “No, we need counseling all right.” Especially Neil and that slightly mad gleam in his eye.
    “It happens I had a last minute cancellation so my three o’clock slot is free.”
    “Thank you. We’ll see you in a bit.” I shut the phone and slammed into the door as Neil took a corner at the speed of sound.
    “For the love of God, what is churning in your head?”
    Neil grinned at me and explained his plan.

    * * * *
    “There’s something different about you, Mrs. Phillips.” Dr. Bob scanned me from head to toe.
    I’m Candie Valentino, I’m Candie Valentino. I offered him a shy smile and concentrated on a spot on the carpet. “Why thank you, sir.”
    Neil glanced pointedly at his watch. “Can we get this show on the road; I have a great deal of work waiting for me.”
    Dr. Bob seemed somewhat taken aback by Neil’s uncharacteristic abruptness, but recovered quickly.
    “How have things been going?”
    I opened my mouth to respond, but Neil got there first.
    “Fine, everything is just fine.” He crossed one ankle to his knee and jiggled his foot.
    “You seem tense, Mr. Phillips. Is there something you wish to share?”
    I stared at my husband, but hardly recognized him. His usual humor and easy-going air had evaporated like mist on a sunny morning. What was left was a hard-eyed stranger wearing an expression like someone had slipped cat turds into his morning Wheaties.
    “I need to get back to work, but she insisted on being here.” Neil spat the words, jerking his head toward me.
    “Work is very important to you then, Mr. Phillips?” Dr. Bob watched Neil closely, studying his every twitch.
    “Well, someone has to make money and since she sits on her ass all day—”
    “Hey now!” My character slipped and Neil’s gaze met mine. Dr. Bob patted the air in a classic calm down gesture.
    “You’ll get your turn, Mrs. Phillips. Neil, may I call you Neil?”
    His foot jiggled faster. “Fine,” he clipped out.
    “I thought your wife ran her own