Free Goody Two Shoes by Laura Cooper

interested enough in what you do to take over for me when the ‘training’ is finished?”
    “I’d bet my last dollar on it.”
    “What if I tell you that I guarantee he will?”
    I’m still staring at him, gawking really, because I can tell you that sitting in front of him is like meeting a move star, or the red headed Prince.  “Guarantee is a strong word to use when talking about my husband, Jonathon.”  I use his name, enjoying the way it feels on my tongue.
    “Look Tara, I can’t hand you our secrets all at once.  It doesn’t work that way.  But yes, I guarantee your husband will step up and take his rightful place beside you when we’re finished.  He won’t be able to resist you.”
    It’s a pretty promising offer, but I’m not one to rush into buying a timeshare.  “How much does this cost?”
    And Jonathon laughs so heartily that I suspect he’s going to bust a gut.  “Oh my dear, dear, Tara.  This isn’t about money.  We all have money.  We certainly don’t need yours.  This is an elite society darling; doctors, lawyers and Indian chiefs.  All of them will be at your disposal.”
    “Oh really?  How so?”
    “It’s a matter of contributing; within the club we make use of one another’s skills.  If someone needs a physician we have ten, if you need an attorney we have them galore.  Their services are free to anyone of us.”
    A light bulb goes on in my head, “Plastic surgeons?”
    He laughs again, though this time only a chuckle, “Yes, plastic surgeons, therapists, you name it we have them.  Are you interested in plastic surgery, Tara?  I don’t see the need.”
    Typical male response, but this is an added perk and I’m interested.  “I’m considering it.”
    He fumbles in his desk for a second and slides a business card towards me, “Call Kellar.  He’ll see you immediately.”
    I study the small card; Stephan Kellar is the best plastic surgeon in the country.  Getting in to see him is impossible.  I know this because I called his office and begged.  He has a waiting list so long that his first free appointment is somewhere during the next ice age.  To say I’m stunned at the offer is an understatement.  “Just like that?  Just like that, he’ll see me?”
    “Just like that.”
    “Do I have to have sex with him?” I whisper because the word, as I’ve mentioned, is uncomfortable to my universal sense of purity.
    Jonathon seems to find me hilarious, “Of course not!  His wife Kelly has that man so wrapped around her pretty little fingers that he wouldn’t consider the offer.  That man is blind to other women!”
    He continues laughing at me and I feel my face turning red, “So then why would he do this for me?”
    “Is it so hard for you to believe that a successful man, happy in his marriage, wouldn’t want you to be happy and successful too?”
    I consider his question and realize that I’ve learned to equate wealth with sin.  If you have no morals, then it’s easy to be rich.  Some version of ‘money can’t buy happiness’ I’ve heard in church a gazillion times.  Although when dreaming of winning the lottery I’ve always imagined starting a free spay/neuter clinic, or making my kids lives better somehow.  So why is it that I think the wealthy are sinful?  Why can’t they put their pants on like I do?  “If the goal is to share our talents freely between Club members, then please tell me what I have to offer.  I’m a housewife!”
    “I’m sure you have many gifts, Tara.  But you’re husband is an author, isn’t that right?  Imagine how a USA Today bestseller would change your lives?”
    Now I laugh hysterically.  I didn’t really expect him not to know who my husband is.  Busted.  “My husband writes about mysterious strains of long eared coyotes and how erosion is ruining our beaches.  I doubt many people are that interested in the intricacies of the South Carolina coastline.”
    “You never know what interests