Read Every Other Saturday Online
Authors: M.J. Pullen
Tales from the Man Cave
#390: Natasha Redux
Dear Natasha:
On the one hand, I wish you had showed for our first date: obviously because I didn’t enjoy waiting alone at a pricey restaurant (don’t apologize again, please; it’s behind us), but also because I would give you a different nickname. Natasha doesn’t fit you at all.
On the other hand, it’s probably appropriate that our first date wasn’t technically a first: because it didn’t feel like one. Maybe it was the weird circumstances meeting up at a fundraiser, sporting formalwear. Maybe it was just that I felt comfortable with you pretty much right away.
I don’t have much to say about your dating habits, other than your unfortunate choice of hockey teams, and that other thing we aren’t going to mention again. Once you actually showed up for a date, you were kind and funny and real. It was a pleasure hanging out with you.
With affection,
Dave from the Cave
# # #
“And we’re back with what you’ve all been waiting for,” Sherm said, as the commercial break ended. “Forget the Falcons and their run at the postseason. Don’t even worry about our Hawks or college ball. We’ve got the real scoop on everyone’s favorite topic, the dating life of our favorite sports blogger.”
“I heard we are changing the name of the station to DateZone next week,” Phil said.
“DaveZone, you mean,” Sherm said.
“Hey, you guys brought this on yourselves,” Dave said. “I seem to recall it was the two of you who started this whole thing. Don’t hate the player.”
Sherm pointed a long finger at Dave. “Never say that again. Ever.”
Dave shrugged. Nothing was going to bother him today. The response to Sandy’s blog had been tremendous, he had two brand new sponsors, and Max was helping him find a real agent to field calls from talk shows and magazines all over the country. The best thing about it all was that the experiment was almost over—two more dates and he was back in control of his own Saturday nights again.
“Natasha is the one to beat at this point,” Phil was saying. “There’s a poll on the Morning Breath Facebook page. Go check it out and vote for your favorite of Dave from the Cave’s dates.”
“Natasha is definitely in the lead,” Sherm said. “Which is interesting, because she’s the one who stood you up, right?”
“Yeah, I ended up making an exception for her.” Dave kept his voice neutral. “And we had a nice time.”
“Now, I know you’re not going to tell us anything about how you’re leaning,” Sherm said. “But based on the comments on the blog and our poll, your readers seem to think Natasha has a chance in January.”
“They do love her.” Phil scrolled away at his screen. “But there has been a decent showing for Carmen Sandiego, too. A couple of votes for Jessica Rabbit and a few for Frances Houseman. And a few comments writing in somebody named Diana. Which one was that again?”
“Diana?” Dave said. “Doesn’t count. She wasn’t a date; she’s a friend.”
Phil and Sherm exchanged a look. “A friend?”
“It’s cute when you guys say things at the same time,” Dave said. “Totally not disturbing.”
“I remember Diana.” Phil ignored him. “She was the one who doesn’t believe in soul mates.”
“Is this the same ‘friend’ who takes you antiquing on the weekends?”
“She paints old furniture,” Dave said. “We’ve never been antiquing. And she is just a friend.”
“Uh-huh.” Sherm looked at his monitor. “She’s gained a little ground since we’ve been talking about her. Diana is now neck and neck with Frances Houseman.”
“She can’t be neck and neck with anyone,” Dave said. “She’s not in the race. Not that it’s a race, I mean.”
“Speaking of necks, does Diana have a nice one?” Phil could smell blood in the water and Dave knew it. “Or are you going to tell us you’ve never examined it?”
Julia’s rose tattoo appeared in Dave’s vision, as clearly as it had when she’d stood in front of him in her shower, shampoo lather running down her ivory skin.
The half-second of hesitation was all Phil needed. “Oh man! He’s not denying it. I’m officially on Team Diana.”
“I’m sticking with the front-runner,” Sherm said. “Team Natasha.”
“There’s no Team Diana, guys. She didn’t sign up for this. And don’t forget there are still two more dates to go.” Dave had been looking forward to the end of the experiment, not thinking of the very public decision he would have to make soon after. As Kenneth signaled that they would start taking calls, Dave found he wanted the next two weeks to go very slowly. In fact, he was clinging to them like a life raft.
Adam had agreed to meet for lunch the first week in January. But even if Julia could talk him out of forcing the sale of the store, or into giving up his share altogether, the reality was still grim. The shock of Adam’s ultimatum had forced her to take a hard look at the store’s financial outlook, and she’d spent the past week poring over the books and researching everything she could think of to save her father’s legacy. She had no solid conclusions yet, except one: she could no longer do this alone. She had to talk to Caroline.
Conway House was a gorgeous white antebellum mansion with dark green shutters, nestled amid the steel and glass skyscrapers of Midtown Atlanta. It had original hardwoods, a fireplace in every room, and gardens so lovely that the pictures taken there conjured the English countryside more than five lanes of Atlanta traffic.
Julia parked the minivan in the back of the gravel lot behind Conway, next to Caroline’s SUV. She went to the vendor’s entrance in the back, where the onsite wedding coordinator directed her upstairs. “They’re in the bride’s dressing room. Up two flights, through the anteroom on your left and into the boudoir.”
They?
Caroline must have brought Louie.
Julia made her way up both steep flights of stairs, admiring the polished wooden banisters and soft, antique floral carpeting. When she gained the third floor, she heard voices at the back of the house. Probably setting out the snack table for the bride and bridesmaids in the dressing room, the kind of thing that set Caroline apart from caterers.
She was so focused on thoughts of the store, that when she walked into the boudoir, it took a moment for her brain to process what she was seeing.
“Caroline!”
“Julia! Shit. This isn’t…um…”
“Oh my God, Caroline.
Sean
?”
They sat on the chaise lounge, with fabric the same color as her living room wall, Julia noticed absurdly. They’d been making out—silly term for a woman over forty—when she walked in, and Sean’s freckled hand was still on Caroline’s thigh. Both were breathing heavily, shocked white faces contrasted against lips red from kissing.
Julia turned around, clutching her stomach. “Oh, God,” she said again. “Sorry.”
For what? Barging in? That Caroline was cheating on Ben? That she had entertained the idea of the Irish bastard herself?
Julia stumbled back toward the stairs. She gripped the polished wooden banister, steadying herself. How long had they been doing this? What else were they doing? Had Sean gone out with her just to make Caroline jealous?
Her sister called out behind her, voice shaking. “Julia, wait.”
“I quit, Caroline,” she yelled back. The inevitability of those three words hit her as she said them. Julia realized she’d been saying them in her head for weeks.
“Just stop, please,” Caroline called.
No, thanks.
She raced down both flights of stairs, past a confused-looking wedding coordinator, and out to the minivan. She started the engine and threw the car into reverse, only to be stopped by a black van, probably belonging to the band. She slammed the car back into park and gripped the wheel—surprised to find herself laughing. Half-hysterical at first, and then a full belly laugh that left tears streaming down her face.
Before the van behind her moved, Caroline pounded on the window. “Julia, let me in.” Caroline had no jacket, and she shivered against the late December chill in her catering shirt and skirt. Her arms were crossed and she was already trembling. “Please.”
Julia wiped her eyes with a Starbucks napkin and pressed the unlock button. Caroline walked around the front of the van and gingerly moved Julia’s purse and Mia’s preschool backpack from the front seat before sitting down. At first they said nothing, both staring at the ivy-covered brick wall in front of them. Caroline’s teeth chattered and Julia turned up the heat.
“I am. So. Sorry,” Caroline said at last. “I didn’t know until today that he took you out on Thanksgiving. I thought he was just flirting with you at work, to try to get to me.”
“
Get
to you?” Julia stared at her sister, brow furrowed in pain, eyes brimming with tears. She looked like a very young child in a middle-aged body. “What the hell is going on? Are you sleeping with him?”
“No. It’s…never gotten that far.” Caroline stared down at the center console, where a sticky rectangle marked the outline of a juice box long past, and a couple of stray Cheerios were visible between the cracks. Her kids hadn’t eaten Cheerios in the car in years. Julia had to resist the impulse to wipe at the console with another napkin. “It’s just a flirtation.”
Julia snorted. “What I saw up there was way more than flirtatious.”
Caroline put her head in her hands. “Ugh. I know, it’s awful. I’m awful.”
She was beginning to feel a little sorry for Caroline, but not enough to disagree. “Care, how long?”
“A few months. It was just flirting, for the longest time. He’s just so…cute, and things are simple between us. And the
accent
.”
Julia nodded. “I know.”
Their eyes met and they both laughed.
“I promise I didn’t know you liked him,” Caroline said. “Maybe it doesn’t matter, but I never would’ve hurt you on purpose.”
Julia took a breath. “It doesn’t hurt me, not like that. But what about Ben?”
Her sister’s head snapped up. “Oh, God. Does he have to know? Technically, I didn’t—”
“
Caroline
.”
“I can’t. He’d be crushed.”
“Yes, he will. I remember the experience vividly.” Julia didn’t try to hide the bitterness in her voice.
Caroline curled her fingers and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Holy shit. I’m
Adam
.”
“You have to tell Ben,” Julia said evenly. “I won’t help you keep this from him.”
“He’s going to hate me.”
“Maybe. A little.”
“What if he leaves me? I can’t handle it. I’m not strong like you.”
Julia laughed without humor. “Strong? You must be thinking of your other baby sister.”
Caroline grabbed Julia’s hand and held it hard. “You are so strong, Jules. I’m sorry I haven’t told you that before. I’ve watched you this last year with the store and the divorce and the kids, especially Brandon… I admire you so much. You wouldn’t do anything inappropriate like this.”
Julia remembered lying on her back in the freshly painted living room, with the completely inappropriate Dave Bernstein between her thighs. She looked away quickly. “That’s not exactly true.”
Caroline sighed. “Are you really quitting?”
She considered, and then nodded. “I needed to do it weeks ago. Today just…helped me realize the absurdity of the whole situation. I can’t keep working like this, Care. I’m exhausted, and I don’t get enough quality time with the kids. And, heaven forbid, my PTA duties are being neglected.”
Caroline smiled. She had always said the PTA gig was ridiculous.
“Anyway. Adam wants out of the store and I can’t afford to buy his share. I have to quit pretending I can hold this thing together alone.”
“I should help you more with the store. Ben and I own half and I haven’t been there in weeks.”
Julia shrugged. Her resentment about the store seemed minor at the moment. “I think it’s beyond help. We’ll be lucky to get out of it and break even. But at least I can get a normal job, whatever that is.”
Caroline stared into the ivy again. Julia could tell her thoughts were miles away. “I can stay and help tonight,” she said reluctantly. “If you want.”
“No. It’s an easy venue and I accepted your resignation. Besides, it will be better to deal with Sean if you’re not here.”
“But you’re going to deal with it, right?” Julia said. “Ben has to know. Like, today.”
Caroline nodded and took a deep breath. “I love you, Jules.” She opened the passenger door and the chilly wind swept into the car. “Wish me luck.”
“Love you, too.” Julia watched her sister run back into the old house before pulling away, happy for once to have her own life and not someone else’s.
She steered the van onto the interstate toward home, wondering what to do with herself on her first free Saturday night in months. The sun was just setting; the sense of liberation was intoxicating. She could finish the painted rocking chair she was making Mia for Christmas. She could sit alone at a coffee shop and read a book.
Twenty minutes into her freedom, Julia realized with clarifying sadness that there was only one person she wanted to see right now. She kept picturing him, grinning at her in his paint-splattered Ramones t-shirt. But although she was free to do as she liked tonight, he was heading out on Date Seventeen.