The Women Book Club Questions Novels & Stories

ELINNA I took a deep breath. It felt like I was writing an exam and I had the questions right in front of me and I didn't know anything. There were actually a lot of things I wanted to ask but I wasn't privileged to do that so I just had to think. Three questions. One request. “The Book of Knowledge. The last page, what was written on it and why was it torn out?” The trio laughed.. “She’s trying to be smart. That's two questions, honey so you have to choose so be smart about it.”

Walls made of politeness and distance and the careful avoidance of anything that might lead to hurt. Oliver didn’t try to tear the walls down. He just… sat beside them. Quietly. Patiently. Until one day, I found myself opening the door. After a book club meeting in early November. We’d been discussing a novel about a woman who leaves her husband and starts over in a small town. The conversation had been heated—Lena loved it, Jenna hated it, Carlos had cried three times—and by the end, I was exhausted. I lingered after everyone left, helping Martha stack chairs.

She already knew the answer, but wanted to keep up appearances. “Depends…what do you want?” The woman uncrossed her legs to reveal her nakedness underneath before covering up. The man and woman that were licking on her neck now moved to her exposed leg. Jasmine tried her best to not give in to the seduction the woman was trying to cast on her. “A pattern of missing girls were last scene here at your club, mind if I ask a couple of questions?” Jasmine looked around the club then. “Alone preferably.”

"We will only stay here for a few hours, trying to find clues. If we can't find anything worth pursuing then we will leave and try another establishment," Demetria finally said. "I agree with that," Clarice responded with a nod. After one hour of waiting, the women finally entered the club. The club was crowded and the women didn't like the chaotic atmosphere inside the club. "I hate clubs like this. So crowded, so noisy and people are everywhere, suffocating me. The music is too loud. I think my eardrums will explode.'' Clarice groaned in dismay.

Geoff answered. You can hear giggles in the room, and you can see women raising their hands hoping to be picked to ask questions. "Okay, Mary. What is your question?" Mr. Smith asked. "Do you have a girlfriend? Or are you already married?" Some women shouted in anticipation for the question.

"Billy? Huh, oh yeah, I'm fine. Yes. Lunch today, right." "Good, can't wait." She smiled again and left him with his jaw hanging open and a deer in the headlights gaze. When she got back to her desk, she sent Nicki a text asking him if he wanted to meet her for dinner and they could maybe go over their book club reading together. They met on Thursdays every other week for their book club. Most of the time, she got through half the book before she gave up and read the last chapter. Nicki would fill her in on the way over to the meeting what parts she was missing.

Another XY chromosome in attendance was a young lad that looked like he'd been forced to be here. Three men among six women, discussing an erotica book. At the risk of sounding like Sawyer, this really did look like one of those cults that adjourned with an orgy. "Shall we start?" My god mother broke the tension almost as if she could read my thoughts aloud. "I'm just going to start by thanking Zade Cutler for showing up to our book club. I didn't know a man of your...ehm..caliber was interested in books" I smiled. A smile that had the Smith women swooning and had Claire rolling her eyes with disinterest.

I said with a smile. Her eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh! You're the Gonzalezes! In the Miller beach house! We're so glad someone is finally living there year-round." She leaned in conspiratorially. "We have a weekly book club. Tuesdays at ten. We're starting a new mystery next week. Nothing too taxing. We'd love to have you." A book club. The invitation was so ordinary, so wonderfully mundane. For a moment, the old Gwen surfaced—the one who scheduled meetings with senators and orchestrated multi-million-dollar legal strategies. But she was quickly quieted by the woman I was now.

Being alone with a good book and alcohol or caffeine is the best feeling in the world, probably better than sex. The next day, I walked into Monet's and met a group of ladies who were fine as hell. I was relieved to see that there were no men here. At least if there was going to be a man, he should be gay, and we all agreed to that. We were six: Cindy Bellman, Aisha Mohammed, Drew Finch, Jessica Boston, Lexi Hale, and me. We were just six beautiful ladies who loved to talk about our favourite books and rant about how J. K. Rowling is a bitch for her transphobic tweets. Sometimes we'd just go out to have some fun. We weren't just a book club; we were a sisterhood.

She had wondered privately if the stink of the city alone could coerce her to follow her husband’s command to stay indoors, though she considered it highly unlikely. As she had paused to examine the books lining the shelves, the faint beginnings of her good humour had fled. The titles on the spines leered down at her, the jagged lettering contriving rotten faces of their own. Woman and Sin, they read. The Keeping of a Good Wife. Accomplishments Acceptable in the Female Gender.