P.G. County

1 Barbara Bentley was sweating profusely and it wasn't the shakes this time. She hadn't had a drink in years. This time it was that philandering husband of hers, Bradford Bentley III, slipping out of bed at the crack of dawn to run to his mistress. Honestly. The man had no shame when it came to his uncontrollable sexual urges. She listened to him moving around in the bathroom--the toilet flushing, water running--and fumed under the bedcovers. Only seconds ago, she'd been tucked contentedly between her Egyptian cotton sheets, dreaming of the exquisite preparations for her daughter's upcoming wedding--of Beluga caviar and smoked salmon, of starched white tablecloths and lilacs and lilies. Then came the familiar bed tremor as her husband jolted her awake. But she didn't utter a word. She had long since learned not to question the man who slept next to her each night about these things, unless she wanted to be thoroughly dressed down. And lied to. He'd give her his 'how dare you question me' look and tell her to quit whining. He was only going to play golf, to hang out with his buddies for a few hours, and hadn't he given her everything a woman could possibly want? They had a big beautiful house, a condo at Wintergreen ski resort and another in Nassau, a Jaguar and two Benzes in the driveway, a forty foot boat sitting on the Potomac, and country club membership. But at fifty years of age, she now knew better than to be deceived by his sly diversions. She wasn't some wide-eyed young bride anymore, and he wasn't running off to hit any balls into little holes in green grass. No indeed. He was off to put his little pecker into a certain brown hole down the block. She threw the bedcovers off. She needed to cool down. Normally she would shrug it off, he'd done this for so long. But this was their daughter's wedding day. Didn't the man have even a shred of decency? Of propriety? Sympathy? Even for his daughter? The bathroom door opened, and she lay there with her back turned away from him and fumed as she mentally ticked of the myriad tasks she had to complete--without benefit of her husband's help--before the guests arrived at their home that afternoon for the reception. She had a wedding planner to help out, of course, but Barbara trusted no one to completely handle this very important affair. Only after she heard the bedroom door shut and her husband's footsteps on the stairs did she yank the silken mask from her eyes. Then she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and reached for the pack of Benson & Hedges sitting on her night stand. "Men," she hissed under her breath as she lit up. Her husband was fifty-six years old. She wished he'd grow up and act it. She took a deep puff, then blew it out. She went to the window, pulled the drapes open and looked out over the estate. It was a perfect June day with a beautiful blue sky. The edges of the white tent that had been erected on the lawn the previous day blew gently in the breeze. At least the weather was cooperating. She glanced at the clock on the wall and decided to let Rebecca sleep a little longer. The wedding didn't start until two, and the future bride had probably been up late last night talking on the phone to her fiance. She needed her beauty rest for this special day. Barbara had to admit to herself that she preferred it when Bradford wasn't around. As long as he handed over the green stuff whenever she needed it, she could get along just fine, thank you. Although lately he had started to nag her about how much the wedding was costing them. How much was this? And why do we need that? Honestly, what did he expect? A proper wedding with three hundred guests took money, piles of it. As he often reminded her, they were the Bentleys of Silver Lake, one of the finest families in one of Prince George's County's grandest neighborhoods. He was founder and president of a multimillion dolBriscoe, Connie is the author of 'P.G. County' with ISBN 9780385501613 and ISBN 0385501617.