“Thank you, honey.”
“Mitch,” Jessica announced, “has been to the nude beach at Sandy Hook.”
Lily raised an eyebrow. “Recently?” she asked.
Mitch shook his head blandly. “Years ago.”
“Ah,” Lily said. “I imagine there were a lot of old men running around with very white, flaccid penises.”
Mitch cleared his throat. “Pretty much.”
“Aunt Lily,” Lauren whispered loudly,” that’s gross.”
Lily shrugged. “Lauren, dear, you’re not a child. I shouldn’t have to worry about censoring my vocabulary in front of you. There’s nothing wrong with discussing penises.”
“No, Aunt Lily,” I managed. “But maybe not at the dinner table.”
She shrugged again and passed the risotto.
“Do you live around here, Mitch?” Miranda asked, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Chatham,” he answered. “Not far.”
“So,” she continued, “I guess you’ll be stopping in for dinner quite a lot?”
Mitch smiled. “I hope so, because this chicken is delicious.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling into my dinner plate.
“But,” Mitch continued, “I didn’t just stop by. I was invited.”
“Really?” Lauren looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“Yes,” I told her. “I invited him last week.”
“I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell us he was coming,” Miranda groused.
“Oh, I can,” said Lily, sipping wine.
“My mother,” Jessica said to Mitch, “probably figured we’d try to ambush you.”
“I don’t know why you’d do a thing like that,” Mitch said. “After all, if it hadn’t been for you girls wanting your mother to date in the first place, we never would have met.”
“Touché,” said Lily.
I beamed at Mitch. The man was brilliant. Why had I been so worried? At that moment, I couldn’t even remember what I had been so nervous about. What could the girls do anyway? Aside from mentioning a few harsh truths, like I get hysterical at the sight of snakes, or that long fits of giggles send me running to the bathroom to pee, what could they use against me? More importantly, what could they say against Mitch? No matter what they might try to use against him, it could be turned around, because Mitch had just hit them with the biggest deflator of all. Our being together was, ultimately, their fault.
Lily turned to me. “I do like this one.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lily. Pass the salad, please?”
Mitch raised his wine glass. “A toast to all you lovely ladies. Now that we’ve all finally met, I hope we can get to know each other much better.”
Aunt Lily rolled her eyes. “Good heavens, man, think about what you’re saying.” But she drank up anyway.
Miranda was turning seventeen. She reminded me of this on a fairly regular basis. When I asked her what she had in mind for a birthday present, she pretended to have to think about it.
“Something not too old,” she said, “fast, hot, and maybe Italian.”
I looked at her. “Honey, I want the exact same thing. And he wouldn’t even have to speak English.”
She flounced out in a huff.
Her sweet sixteen party the previous year was an event on the same scale as Nancy Langhorne Astor’s coming-out party. All that was missing was a horse-drawn carriage and a flock of wild white doves. Her birthday was going to be the first family affair since Brian left, since I don’t count Halloween as a family holiday, no matter what my daughters say.
I’d been waiting for her to start drawing up lists, and her lack of such activity puzzled me, until she mentioned, very casually one night right before Brian was arriving to pick them up, that he would be hosting her party this year.
I’d been scanning the freezer for a Lean Cuisine for dinner. I closed the freezer door carefully and looked at her.
“What did you say?”
“Daddy said he’d throw me a birthday party this year. He already spoke to Grandma. She’s coming. And Aunt Rebecca and Aunt Marsha and Uncle Frank. Their kids won’t be there, but Aunt Rebecca is bringing somebody, and Grandma is bringing along her student, Leslie. And I got to invite six friends.”
“Ah.” I waited. “When is the party?”
“The Saturday night after my real birthday. We’re having it in a really cool restaurant in Hoboken. Dominique made reservations.”
I was still waiting. “Dominique?”
Miranda shrugged. “She’s good at parties.”
So I had heard. Way back in April, when I dumped Rebecca’s surprise party in Brian’s lap, Dominique apparently pulled a Manhattan loft complete with a caterer and two bartenders out of her skinny butt and made a smashing success of the whole affair.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. “So, am I invited?”
Miranda dropped her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d want to come, with Daddy and Dominique and all. Do you want me to ask him tonight?”
My heart fell on the floor. I was surprised that my ears weren’t ringing from the crash. “No, honey, that’s fine. You’re probably right, my being there wouldn’t be such a good idea. We’ll have a special dinner here on your real birthday, okay?”
She smiled and looked suddenly very young. “That would be great. Could you make homemade spaghetti sauce with meatballs?”
I nodded.
“And that chocolate cake with the sour cream frosting?”
I cleared my throat. “Sure.”
She ran over and kissed me. “Thanks, Mom. I was really worried that you’d be mad, that’s why I didn’t say anything before. But Daddy was so excited and everything, I didn’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay, baby.”
“You can invite Mitch.” Miranda said.
I was surprised. “Really?”
She shrugged. “Why not? He’s nice. And you like him.”
I nodded, and heard the car horn, meaning Brian was in the driveway. Miranda ran out the back door, and I could hear the twins going out the front, shouting their goodbyes.
I sat down slowly. Lana jumped up on the stool beside me and made a very sympathetic noise.
I needed to do something immediately. Mitch was in Chicago. Patricia was in Paris. MarshaMarsha had left earlier for a football game. Even Lily was out, prowling the streets. I closed my eyes and thought of what would cheer me up. Onion rings came to mind. New black woolen pants. And a chocolate milkshake. That meant Johnny Rockets and Nordstrom. I needed to go to the mall.
The Mall At Short Hills is a little out of the way for me, but that’s what made it special, like going the extra mile for a really great restaurant. It was deserted when I got there, being dinner hour on a weeknight, but that was fine with me. I bought the pants first, along with a red silk blouse, three sweaters and gray suede boots. I made my way slowly toward my dining destination, hitting all the hot spots – Crate and Barrel, Chico’s, William Sonoma. I was trolling Restoration Hardware for a new shower curtain when I heard my name. I stopped and looked around. Who would know me way out here?
Ben Cutler was standing there, smiling at me, looking like heaven.
‘Imagine my surprise, dear lady, finding you here,’ he said, raising one dark eyebrow. She stepped back with a gasp, recognizing him as the dark stranger who had so enflamed her with his kisses. Her eyes moved across his chiseled face, half in shadow, and she smiled slowly, feeling the heat rise in her breast.
“Mona? How are you?”
I opened my mouth to say something, and then completely different words came pouring out. “I’m miserable. Miranda is going to have her seventeenth birthday with her father instead of me, and I may have to buy out the mall to feel better, and I can’t really afford to do that, and my feet hurt because I forgot to change my shoes, and I’m so hungry my blood sugar is dropping and I may eat my new boots.”
He laughed. “Don’t do that. Shoe leather is a proven carcinogenic. Why don’t you let me buy you dinner, instead?”
“I was thinking onion rings and a milkshake.”
He shook his head and took the shower curtain out of my hands. “No, we can do better than that. How about crab cakes and a nice martini?”
I suddenly felt funny, kind of wobbly inside. Maybe it was hunger pangs. “You don’t have to do that, Ben. Honest.”
“Don’t be silly. I want to. Come on. Legal Seafood is right here.”
So we ended up in a very nice, cool booth, and after a few sips of martini and a shrimp appetizer, I felt much better.
“So, I’m here for therapy. What are you shopping for?” I asked him.
He was nursing a beer, looking very un-plumber-like in a button-down shirt and corduroy jacket. “A client. She picked out some fixtures from the Restoration catalogue, but I wanted to see them in person before ordering them. She’s been driving me crazy, but she’s got big bucks and lots of friends, so I’m being good.” He grinned. “I’m branching out. After doing your bathroom this summer, I found that I really enjoyed the planning and design part, so I’m expanding my scope. Not just plumbing. I’m tired of getting my hands dirty, and my back could use a break.”
“Really? That’s great, Ben. Does Patricia know? She could drop your name in the right places.”
He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“She’s in France right now, Paris. When she gets back, I’ll tell her. We’ll keep you busy.”
“Thanks. So, what’s with Miranda?”
I sipped more martini. “Brian planned a party for her, and she said she didn’t want to disappoint him, but I think she’s excited because it’s going to be at a fancy place, expensive, and she got to invite a bunch of friends, and frankly, I couldn’t afford to do something like that for her, not this year anyway.”
He frowned. “Money problems?”
I shook my head. “No, not really. But things aren’t settled with Brian yet, the financial part, that is, so I’m not exactly sure how much discretionary income I’ve got.”
He dipped some bread in the sauce from the garlic shrimp. “What’s the hold-up with Brian?”
I shrugged. “It’s bullshit, is what it is. We’ve been going back and forth over stupid stuff, ever since that day last summer, remember, when he came to the house? He’s just busting my chops because I pissed him off.”
“The guy is a jerk.”
“Yep.” I smiled at Ben. It was nice to be able to just talk to someone, and extra nice when the someone looked as good as Ben.
The waitress came and set down our dishes. Ben had the crab cakes, while I opted for grilled sole. I looked at my plate appreciatively. “This looks fantastic. And see, a normal portion. Last time we ate together, I had enough food for the Russian Army.”
He laughed. “I didn’t hold it against you, honest. But I must say, for our second date, this is a much better setting.”
Date? Did he say date? “So, we’re on an official date again?”
He took a bite. “Sure. Why not? As long as you don’t mind that I didn’t bring flowers.”
I shook my head. The fish was delicious. “No, I don’t mind. But I don’t put out for just grilled fish.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What if I buy you dessert?”
I sighed dramatically. “Sorry.”
He smiled, and I watched him take another bite of crab cake. God, he was handsome. His hands were long-fingered and strong looking, and his eyes flashed electric blue. I glanced around the restaurant, and sure enough, at least five women at other tables were looking at us. At him. I felt like jumping up and screaming, ‘Hey, he’s my date, can you believe it?’
We were on a date. Were we really? No, not really. We just happened to meet and he was being nice to a frazzled woman who happened to be his client and sometime friend. But being in his company was soothing. He was someone you could lean on. I suddenly shook myself. Thinking of him as someone to lean on took my brain where it usually went when imaging actually touching him in any way, and that meant naked skin and lots of sweat. Not the appropriate thought process for a quiet dinner.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
I almost choked on a snow pea. I’d been thinking that if he’d just lean back on that nice leather seat, I could climb on top of him and have enough room to do whatever I wanted without knocking into the table.
“Good sole. Looking forward to the holidays?”
He made a face. “David has already asked to spend Thanksgiving with his roommate, who lives up in Maine, and Ethan is going to be in Florida. Disney, actually. His school’s marching band is doing the Magic Kingdom parade on Thanksgiving Day. It’s a big deal, and he’s so excited, but it’ll be a bust for me. Christmas should be better. We all go to Vail and ski over Christmas week. It’s a great time.”
I personally hated skiing. I had tried it once or twice, and could not understand the attraction to a sport that required you to spend hours in the freezing cold in clothes that made you look puffed-up and frumpy. The après-ski part sounded like fun, though.
She sank back onto the bearskin rug, aware of the raging blizzard outside, closing her eyes as the warmth of the roaring fire reached her. Suddenly, she felt him move against her, his hands running beneath the thin cotton of her shift. She opened her eyes and saw him, half smiling above her, and she reached up to grasp his hair and draw his head down.
Good Lord, there I go again.
When dinner was over, we wandered back into the mall, went back to Restoration hardware and had a very detailed discussion about polished chrome versus pewter, and then he walked me out into the parking lot and to my car. He held the car door open for me, and after I got in the car, he hunched down so we were almost face to face.
“It was really good seeing you again, Mona,” he said. “You don’t have to just wait for a pipe to burst to call me, you know. If you ever want to talk or grab some coffee, just give me a call.”
I was so startled that I my jaw dropped. “Okay,” I sputtered.
He smiled, straightened, and slammed my door shut. When I got home, the girls were back and I felt much better about just about everything.
Striking back against the Miranda Birthday Debacle, I invited my usual crowd for Thanksgiving, that is, Brian’s mother Phyllis, Rebecca, MarshaTheBitch and her husband Frank, their three almost-adult children, Patricia, Anthony, and, of course, Lily. Brian did not make the cut, nor did Dominique. I could have been hugely disappointed, not to mention embarrassed, by the number of refusals, but as it turned out, only MarshaTheBitch declined, citing dinner with her husband Frank’s family as the almost plausible excuse. I also invited Mitch, but he was taking his parents to Vicky’s. She was thinking about moving to Florida, and this might be the last time they would all be together for a while.
So I called Ben and asked if he’d like to join us. He said yes. He also offered to bring wine and pumpkin pie.
I had not spent much time talking to Brian’s family the previous summer. Phyllis had often come down to the shore house for a week or two when the kids were younger, but had stayed in Brooklyn for the past few years and had not even mentioned visiting during the few conversations I had with her. Rebecca had called me several times over the past six months, but we hadn’t seen each other since a quick lunch date in May, when she gave me a blow-by-blow description of her surprise party.
I was a little worried about the Phyllis/Lily situation. Phyllis, after her initial reaction to the separation and pending divorce, seemed to have settled back into her Brian-the-good-son groove. Lily had, if anything, become more virulent in her anti-Brian feeling. The potential for disaster was high. I hoped that the presence of Ben would put all the women in the room, not to mention Anthony, in a much more benevolent frame of mind.
Thursday morning, Rebecca arrived at eight in the morning. She did that every year. It was a tradition, along with the ready-to-bake homemade cinnamon rolls she brought with her. God knows how early she had to get up to make them and let them rise, but they were perfect, hot and moist and sweet, with a crunch of pecans. She knocked at the back door, hands full of baking pans, a very distinguished gentleman trailing in her wake.
“This is Julian,” she announced, pulling off one of several scarves. “I hope you don’t mind him coming. It was rather last minute, but you always have so much food.”
“Not at all,” I said, meaning it, although if I had known I’d be receiving strange male visitors this early, I’d have been lounging in my kitchen in something other that ratty sweatpants and a tee shirt sans bra.
We played kiss-kiss, I popped the pans in the oven, and poured coffee.
Rebecca is very tall, with silver hair swept up in a simple twist, making her appear ever taller and very regal. She was hazel eyes and pale skin. She’s quite beautiful, even with wrinkles and laugh lines. She dresses in a kind of rich-hippie style, long skirts and gauze blouses, with lots of silk scarves and real gold.
Julian was shorter than her, but had the same silver hair, swept back off a high, handsome forehead. He looked like Clark Gable would have looked at seventy, without the mustache but with a small gold hoop earring. He sat at the kitchen counter, drinking his coffee, while Rebecca and I caught up.
“How’s the divorce?” she asked, sipping coffee.
I shrugged. “Brian had been giving me a hard time, then suddenly he agreed to everything. We now have a court date. January eighth.”
Rebecca nodded knowingly. “Dominique started pushing.”
I looked sharply at her. “How do you know?”
Rebecca looked smug. “It seems that Dominique and Marsha have become very close. My sister seems to think that any day now Dominique will convert and become a perfect Jewish wife. There’s about as much a chance of that happening as pigs flying, but Marsha is hopeful. Marsha mentioned that Dominique got tired of waiting.”
“Is she pregnant?” I asked.
Rebecca made a face. “Don’t think so. I think Dominique knows that if she really wants to marry Brian, she’d better do it soon before somebody else catches his eye.”
I looked at Rebecca in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
Rebecca sighed. “Brian is a man who has proven his unfaithfulness. You’d have to be pretty stupid to trust him now. Dominique is many things, but not stupid.” She smiled at Julian. “Are we boring you, dear?”
He smiled back. “Your company is never boring, Rebecca, and your family machinations never cease to amuse.”
She beamed at me. “Isn’t he marvelous? How are the girls?”
“I don’t know. None of them are speaking to me.”
“Really? All three at once? That’s a rare occurrence, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes. There must be some sort of distortion in the space-time continuum, because usually only two of them are mad at me at the same time. All three is rather sinister. I’m thinking End Of Days.”
Rebecca patted my hand. “As far as I know, there are no unusual metaphysical forces at work. It must be plain bad luck for you.”
I sighed. “Well, it’s good to know, I suppose, that it’s not the universe, just my life, that’s in the toilet”
Rebecca laughed. “Start at the top. What’s Miranda’s problem?”
I sighed again. “The car. Brian said he would give her five thousand dollars towards a car. Now she wants me to give her five thousand. Can you believe it? Ten grand for a car? When she can walk to everything? So I told her no. She could take the money her father gave her and get something perfectly adequate. She doesn’t need anything fancy. God, my first car was a 1963 maroon Comet that had one hundred thousand miles on it.”
“And I’m sure it was just what you wanted,” Rebecca said gently.
I glared at her. “No, of course it wasn’t. I wanted a Datsun 240Z with a moon roof.”
“I loved those cars,” Rebecca murmured.
“I had one,” Julian said. “Black with red pinstripes.”
The house was starting to smell of sugar, which should have put me in a happy place, but I was on a roll. “Lauren has become a vegetarian. Just last week, in fact. She wanted me to make Tofurkey for today.”
Julian looked puzzled. “Tofurkey? Is that a real word?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “It’s tofu pressed into the shape of a turkey, seasoned with herbs, and baked. It’s supposed to be quite good, and taste just like real turkey.”
I snorted. “Rebecca, you know I love you, but that’s a crock of shit. Nothing takes like real turkey except real turkey. She’s in a snit and wailing that she’s going to starve. We’re having sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, creamed onions, green bean casserole, roasted Brussels sprouts, stuffing and two kinds of rolls besides the bird. And four different pies for dessert. I somehow think she’ll find something else to eat.”
Rebecca nodded in agreement. “And Jessica?”
“A tattoo.”
“To be expected.”
“Yes. And seriously, I wouldn’t mind something small, like a Chinese character or a musical note.”
“But?”
I sighed. “She wants this shoulder to elbow thing, all swirls and colors, and it will cost a fortune besides being something I know she’ll regret if she ever decides to get married and wear a chic sleeveless dress.”
Rebecca gave me a look. “Because we all know how likely it is that Jess will wear a chic sleeveless dress. Or even get married.”
Lily swept into the kitchen. “Good morning, Rebecca. Lovely to see you.” She gave Rebecca a kiss and Julian a hard look. “Is this the new beau? He was at Miranda’s little fete, I’m told.” She held out her hand. “Lily Martel.”
Julian stood up and kissed her hand. “Julian FitzPatrick. At your service.”
Lily raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my. Rebecca, I always knew you were the only one in that family with any class.”
“Aunt Lily,” I began, but she waved me off.
“Not to worry, Mona. I’m on best behavior today, promise. After all, it’s not Phyllis’s fault her son is an unmitigated jackass. Are those your famous rolls, I smell, Rebecca?”
“Yes. About another ten minutes and they’ll be ready. You’re looking well, Lily.”
“Thank you. I’m feeling quite good these days. Blue algae is the secret. I take it twice a day. Cleans out the system. Of course, your poop is bright blue, but well worth it. Mona is not a believer, but I think the girls are coming around.”
Rebecca smiled. “Did you mention the blue poop to them?”
Lily shook her head.
“Well…” Rebecca said slowly.
Lily brightened. “Excellent idea. I’m sure that will do the trick. Can I help you with anything right now, Mona?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Good here. I’ll call the girls in a bit.”
“Excellent.” She had poured herself some coffee and was heading for the den. “Oh, I meant to ask, is Mitch coming?”
I shook my head. “No. Couldn’t make it. But I asked Ben.”
She stopped in the doorway to the den and gave me a sly smile. “Oh, how lovely. Do you think he’ll take off his shirt?”
I almost dropped the carton of eggs I was taking out of the fridge. “No, I don’t think so. But don’t ask him, please?”
She looked sorrowful and disappeared into the den.
Rebecca had found a bowl and was cracking eggs into it. “Mitch? And Ben?”
“Mitch is the man I’ve been seeing,” I explained, putting the frying pan on the stove to heat up. “About four months now. He’s really nice, and the girls seem to like him.”
“Is it love?”
“Not at all.”
“Sleeping with him?”
“As often as I can.”
“Good girl. Is he the rebound guy?”
I chuckled to myself and thought about Doug. “No, I had one of those. Mitch is the alternative relationship guy. You know, the-dipping-the-toe-in-the-water guy. For now it’s good, but who knows how long it will last.”
“And Ben?”
I pulled the rolls out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. “Ben is my plumber. He’s divorced, and his sons are away, so I thought it would be nice for him to be around people instead of all by himself.”
Rebecca glanced over at me as she whisked the eggs. “Is he the same plumber who’s really good-looking with the hot body I’ve been hearing about all these years?”
“Yep.”
“Sounds yummy. Is the table set?”
“Yes, but could you get the juice? I’ll start the eggs in a minute.” I went into the hall and yelled up to the girls, and the day began.
You’d think the hours between hot cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs and the actual sitting down to turkey dinner would drag, but they don’t. Rebecca and I can talk for hours, the girls sit and watch parades with Aunt Lily, and there’s all that food to get ready. Around noon, the bird had already been stuffed and put in the oven. Patricia arrived, apple pie in one hand, a bottle of my favorite port and a huge bouquet of flowers in the other. She greeted everyone, dazzled Julian with a smile, mixed herself a martini and supervised the setting of the table. She pulled glasses and bowls out of my breakfront that I forgot I even had, arranged the flowers beautifully, and started on her second drink. Rebecca watched as she always did when around Patricia, in utter amazement.
Anthony arrived a short while later, with cherry pie and brie wrapped in pastry.
“We’ll pop it in the oven for about twenty minutes,” he said, “so we’ll have a little something to nosh.” Victor was with him, Victor of the beautiful yoga body and air of serene wisdom. Anthony gave him a tour, introduced him around, parked him with Lily and the girls, and came back into the kitchen frowning.
“Why is there an extra place at the table? I thought Mitch couldn’t come.”
“He can’t,” I explained. “But I invited Ben.”
His face dropped. “Ben? Ben is coming here?”
Patricia, sensing a crisis, swooped in.
“Why did you invite Ben?” Anthony hissed.
I’d been trimming the Brussels sprouts, using a very sharp knife to remove the little stems and make a tiny slit in the tough end. “I invited Ben because I ran into him and he told me he’d always had a mad crush on you, and he wished he could spend a little time with you so he could ask you out. Too bad you brought Victor.”
Anthony clutched the front of his cashmere pullover. “Oh, God, no.”
“No,” Patricia said firmly. “She ran into him, he told her he’d be alone, and she made a very friendly gesture in inviting him here.”
Anthony was breathing heavily. “I could pretend to get really sick, have Victor take me home, then come back here by myself. What time is dinner? When did Ben say he’d be here?”
“Anthony,” Patricia said, raising her voice. “Think a minute. Do you really imagine, even for a split second, that if Victor weren’t here, Ben would suddenly look at you, give up a lifetime of women, and ravish you on the dinner table?”
“On the dinner table? Oh, God, would he really?” Anthony’s voice cracked as he slumped against the counter. “I can’t breathe.”
I was trying so hard not to laugh that I could barely speak. “Anthony, I invited him after we had dinner together. And I never mentioned that you’d be here. Honest.”
He straightened up and narrowed his eyes at me. “You two had dinner?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because when I mention his name, you get apoplectic, that’s why. Calm down. We’ll all have something really nice to look at besides Patricia’s centerpiece and my turkey. The brie should be ready. Why don’t you take it around?”
Anthony got his breathing under control, gave me a hard look, and grabbed the brie.
Patricia also gave me a hard look. “You shouldn’t do that to him,” she chided.
“I know. I just can’t help it.”
“How are you cooking these?” she asked, nodding at the sprouts.
“Just salt, pepper, oil in a hot oven, why?”
“Toss them with some balsamic. And pancetta if you’ve got it. Trust me. Why did you really invite Ben?”
“God, Patricia, why do you think? The man’s beautiful.”
“What about Mitch?”
“Nothing about Mitch. Mitch couldn’t come. This has nothing to do with Mitch.”
“If Mitch were coming, would you have invited Ben?”
I had to think about that one. “Probably not. But Mitch knows I invited Ben.”