Steffi seemed genuinely impressed by Evan’s success, which was a palpable contrast to the way his wife had reacted. When Evan received news of his award he’d excitedly scoured the house until he found Rhonda sitting on the closed toilette in the master bathroom with her feet propped on the edge of the jetted tub, waiting for her toenail polish to dry. He held out the certificate with the emblazoned gold Honorable Mention seal in the lower right hand corner and said, “In your wildest dreams did you ever see me winning an award for one of my stones?” Without looking up, Rhonda replied, “Of course not. You’re never in my wildest dreams.” Where it’s not unusual for romance to spill through the holes of a marriage worn thin, the affinity for physical closeness often survives the graying of libidos. For Evan and Rhonda, however, even the occasional obligatory bouts of routine intercourse had stopped; a condition Evan called being put out to pasture. As it turned out, Rhonda’s loss of carnal interest was Evan-specific and had nothing to do with her passing the signpost of middle age and bearing down on the city limits of senior citizen. Pretty much everybody in town knew she and at least three other women who belonged to the country club were banging the tennis pro, Arthur. Evan couldn’t imagine chubby, bald, Arthur being in anybody’s wildest dreams either, but he’d concluded it was Arthur’s thrusting serve, authoritative forehand, and overhead slam that set the ladies’ racket strings quivering. Where women were forever asking Arthur for pointers, none of them ever asked Evan’s advice on anything. If they had, he would have told them there were two things they needed to be sure of before putting their own men out to pasture. First, since every pasture has a fence, make sure when your man gets to that fence there isn’t greener grass on the other side. Second, know for a fact your man can no longer get over the fence.
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