The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (12 page)

Chapter 13:

Two Beds Are Better Than One

I
soon discovered that, although at first humiliating and painful, separate beds actually meant oodles of freedom. You get double the space, you can watch late-night movies, make long-distance calls (it was irrelevant that I didn’t know anybody long-distance) eat in bed, receive a booty call or whatever took your fancy.

When I got home from work a couple of days later, I found a simple but pretty bouquet of wildflowers wedged into the door knocker, with a note:
I think you’re great. One day I hope to be able to tell you in person.
I stared at it blankly. Paul. Or a joke? It had to be. You, a smart chick, might have already figured out who it was, but believe me, it took me quite a while to put two and two together, and even then it still made no sense to me.

* * *

A week later, I had to leave the safety of my car and venture into the school yard with the risk of seeing Julian as the school was having a bake sale and baseball match and I’d had the suicidal idea of volunteering, just to show Julian Foxham I wasn’t the total loser of a mother he thought.

Don’t ask me why—they say the heart has reasons that reason cannot comprehend—but that day I took extra care with my grooming. I guess I wanted to make sure I looked tidy, clean, and stable, the exact opposite of Julian’s first impression of me, so I wore my best (and smaller-sized) skirt and a nice green top. Proper, but still casual and not trying-too-hard like. I’d got over my cold and sent that damn burlap sack-of-potatoes coat and dress to the dry cleaner, hoping maybe they’d misplace them for me.

I baked the biggest and prettiest cake I could, and after greeting everyone politely (him included—I didn’t want him to think I was a nasty grudge-holder), I clung to the cake stand and served fruit juices, strawberry, orange and even a green kiwi that matched my top.

And then, he came to stand next to me and helped with the drinks (personally I could have used a Bloody Mary), making apparently harmless chitchat. He told me that he had moved to Boston from England when he was a
lad
and that he was bullied because of his accent.

“No, what accent?” I said and he grinned, his eyes twinkling, reaching some deep, deep layer inside me. I found myself smiling back and gulped down an entire glass of kiwi juice in one swig. He seemed to have that effect on me—the dry throat, I mean.

So far everything was going okay, he informed me. The kids (my kids) were having fun and had I said or done anything particular lately, because they seemed happier?

“Mr. Foxham,” I said softly, but with an edge of impatience, like when I told Ira off on that famous evening way back into the annals of our story, “they
are
happy kids. Maybe a bit wiser than those that come from more solid couples, but I can assure you that everything is going to be all right.”

“What happened to calling me just Julian?” he asked quietly.

The same thing that happened to my erotic dreams about you and my desire to lick you from head to toe
, would have been an honest answer, but I shrugged, and he paused awkwardly. Boy, was I being a real bitch or what? But he could hold his own, too.

“So then the letter—the part about you and your husband—it isn’t true?” he asked softly.

I turned to look at him and tell him it was none of his business, but the look in his eyes made me laugh. “Like I said before, not the baseball bat part, no. I mean, we do have one in the remote chance someone tries to break in. He’s still a Jersey guy at heart, but Ira—my husband—would never ever hurt us. And before you ask, the kids are in no kind of danger. Ira is not a violent man.”
At least not physically
, I thought to myself.

And I realized that Julian Foxham didn’t need an office and a big desk to make me feel like I was under a microscope. He managed to do it right here in the open air on a sunny day, with his sexy yet professional gaze (how did he
do
that?) sweeping across my face. Oh, sure, he was pleasant and all that, but I knew what was going on behind those bedroom eyes. His personal Spanish Inquisition.

I pictured him and his perfect looks, his perfect job and perfect life, retiring in the evening to a practically perfect woman, and sighing about how un-perfect Warren and Maddy Lowenstein’s mother was. And to think I’d worked my butt off to make them happy, feel integrated and not stand out—the contrary of my own childhood. At least they were popular and good-looking kids.

A sigh escaped me—a deep, sad one, as if I was moaning, crying and gasping for air at the same time. It was all I could do from breaking down into tears. I took a deep breath and choked on my saliva, gasping for air, and he swatted—again—a hand against the space between my shoulder blades. One sharp blow, but it didn’t hurt.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, and I nodded and blinked him an apology as I drank to the end of my juice. To avoid looking at him, I filled a few more cups, lining them along the edge of the table, pretending to be absorbed by the task. But all I could think of was the effect his hand had had on my back.

He looked at me kindly, his eyes soft, almost like a friend’s.

“Erica Lowenstein,” came his deep, sympathetic voice. I knew in a way he felt sorry for me and it annoyed me tremendously.

“Erica
Cantelli
,” I said, warding off that dreaded surname.

“Erica Cantelli,” he repeated musically. It sounded nice, the way he said it, with that British twang. Ira always made it sound like
Erica—can’t tell ye
. If he was questioning my using my maiden name, he didn’t show it, the poker face.

“You are undeniably a good mother. One of the best, judging by those letters.”

I lifted my head. “Really? You’re not just trying to reel me in?”

“Erica, I just wanted you to know that I’m very sorry for upsetting you the last time we met. But you see, we were very—”

“Yeah, yeah. Worried about the kids. I get it. Okay, headmaster, what do you want to know—if my marriage is a happy one? No, it’s not. But then again I…” I stopped, biting my lip. This was none of his business anyway—nosy, gorgeous bastard.

“What? What were you going to say?”

“That if you want you can come by any time after school to check on us. Then you’ll see that they live in a comfortable, warm and loving home. Feel free to bring your social services, your guidance teacher or anyone you like.” There. I’d said it. And then he was blinking at me. Finally he sighed and took a sip of his orange juice as a kid approached with some change to buy a slice of cake.

“Did you bake that?” he asked me, reaching into his pocket to buy a slice for himself. I nodded and as he offered me a slice, I shook my head. Experience told me that men didn’t like women that ate. Besides, I was as disciplined as could be. The two most delicious things in the whole wide world were at that table and I was struggling to keep my hands off both of them.

Again he sighed. I knew I was being difficult but this guy was really getting on my nerves, what with the prying and the unsaid sentences left hanging in the air. I preferred him when he stuck to killing spiders.

“Mmm… delicious. From scratch?”

Again, I nodded.

Julian pointed towards the baseball diamond. “Look at Warren—he’s just stepping up to bat, see? He’s a real champion.”

Sure enough, Warren was readying himself, his legs finding their right stance, his hands testing his grip around the bat, his little face pale and his lips tight. This was going to be one of those historical moments in his life where his reputation would be made or broken.

I truly felt for my little guy, and, I know it’s corny, but in that instant, as he stepped up to base, I saw the first steps he ever took, and the look of sheer stupor on his toddler’s face, followed by pure joy. The same look he had now as he hit the ball and sent it right out into space.

I squealed and cheered for my boy with the rest of his team and everyone else, so happy I managed to punch my son’s principal in the chest with all my strength, but he didn’t flinch. Instead he grinned and pulled the trophy off its stand to present Warren and his team with it.

“Great game, lad,” Julian said, slapping Warren lightly on the back. I watched the exchange from afar, so proud of my boy I thought I’d burst into tears right there and then. The principal wasn’t such a bad guy after all. And he liked his students. He knew everything about them—and the parents. It occurred to me I knew absolutely zilch about him.

“If you don’t mind my asking…” I said to Julian later as we were all saying our goodbyes and slowly making for our cars.

“Anything,” he said with a good-natured grin.

“You don’t sound like normal English—what kind of accent is that?”

He grinned. Can teeth be sexy? “I’m Liverpudlian.”

“Like the Beatles?” Duh—could I have asked a
dumber
question?

“Like the Beatles. But my family moved around a lot while I was a kid in England.”

“Have you ever met your real parents?” Brownie points for me for remembering.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to?”

He thought about it. “I don’t want to break my mother’s heart.”

“You could always do it secretly. Who’d know?”

Julian shook his head. “If my real mother wanted to find me, she’d be able to trace me. Besides, I’m a bit of a mess with lies, I’m afraid. I tend to forget what I’ve said so just don’t bother.”

“The ideal husband, then,” I said on instinct, and he flinched. “Sorry.”

“No worries. I told you Warren’s a trooper,” Julian exclaimed, changing the subject masterfully.

“Sorry about the punch, by the way,” I said.

He grinned and I grinned back, and together we charged for my son, along with his teammates who threw themselves all over him again. Warren caught my eye and winked, like I had taught him when he was little. My little guy. It was all I could do from bursting into tears all over again.

“You’re a fine mother,” Julian beamed at me and I said, “You know, what, Headmaster Foxham? At times like this, I think so, too!”

“And Erica? Do call me Julian. We are, after all, getting acquainted outside the school.”

What he was
really
thinking was, “After all, I’ve seen you in your underwear—and they weren’t the prettiest I’ve ever seen either.”

I shrugged. If he could call seeing my worst underwear acquainted, I couldn’t wait to get to know him
very
well.

Chapter 14:

The Superman Syndrome

I
n the month leading up to Christmas, I was so miserable I barely ate, losing, as a result, quite a few pounds and two dress sizes. I had gone from a size twenty to almost a sixteen without even noticing. Now
that
was a diet I wouldn’t recommend any woman—
The Husband Diet
. It was so sad, I burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. Would it ever stop hurting? Would I ever be able to forgive myself for not being able to lose weight and losing my husband, my children’s—albeit absent—father?

But on the other end of my roller-coaster feelings, being lighter made me feel lighter
inside
, like those infomercials where you see a woman stepping out of a rubber flab costume to reveal her new splendid self. I was still far off from splendid, but even I could see how much better I looked. It was a great feeling.

Losing my weight as a teenager had implications nowhere near the ones I was experiencing now. Now I was a woman with so much more at stake. It wasn’t about chasing my crush down the street anymore. This was about the direction my life would be heading. I was now the one in the driver’s seat. And although I hadn’t had much control over my life in years, I was beginning to recognize the familiar flavor of freedom. Only back then I’d called a lack of a man
loneliness.
What a difference an unloving, cheating husband made.

If I couldn’t shift the pounds, it meant that my strong personality, for which everyone respected me, was just a scam. If I couldn’t lose weight, I was just a fake. And I was going nowhere near defeat.

Paul’s part was to continue dragging me to tango classes, my only source of exercise if you didn’t count lugging laundry baskets up and down the stairs, vacuuming, making beds and everything else. I was slowly but surely losing weight. It was finally happening for me.

* * *

On parents’ night, I masterfully avoided speaking to Julian, although I saw him excusing himself from a couple when he spotted me. I really didn’t need any more encouraging or sympathy, so I whirled around and pulled out my cell phone to dial Ira who was supposed to save face and be there for the kids.

“Can’t you handle it?” he said tiredly.

I closed my eyes and swallowed. “Of course.” And then I hung up. We’d only communicated for the benefit of Maddy and Warren. Now there was nothing else to say.

When I managed to get home without meeting the object of my erotic dreams face to face, I sent the babysitter home and looked in on the kids, who were sound asleep.

Contrary to what Ira had always thought, my bed was the best place on earth and I fell into it without even getting undressed. If I had figured it out right, the minute I closed my eyes my projection of Julian would come into my room as usual, slip under the covers and hold me, caress my hair and whisper sweet words of encouragement. That would gradually become more heated until I clung to him and he’d initiate crazy-amazing sex, and soon we’d be swinging from the chandeliers and bouncing off the walls. And that was when I’d knock my head against the headboard and wake up alone.

* * *

On our way to Italian lessons (yes, we were finally getting a hold of our own life now that we were free), I caught a glimpse of my sister in a plaza, coming out of a supermarket. Before I could call her, she jumped into a shiny new jeep and the man inside grabbed her and shoved his tongue down her throat. It was not her husband Steve. I was so shocked, I rammed my Kia van straight into a parked car. What the hell was wrong with everybody?

“Mo-om!” Warren wailed.

Shit.

“We can’t be late! We can’t be late! Please, Mom!” Madeleine begged. “We’re doing
colors
today!”

I dared a glance in Judy’s direction. My little crash had brought her back to earth, and she turned to look at me in surprise. For a moment our eyes met. She had a look I’d never seen before. She spoke to him quickly, and they drove off. Meanwhile my crash victim had materialized, yelling and cursing at me.

“What the hell, lady—you blind or what?”

I guessed I was. More than I had thought. Judy had a lover. After three kids, and an eleven-year marriage.
And
a fantastic husband like Steve.

I sat there, stupefied, and when things couldn’t get worse, who (you guessed it) happened to come out of the sports store but Julian Foxham? He spotted me and the yelling man and instantly (wouldn’t you know it) came over to see what the kerfuffle was all about.

“What’s the problem here?” he asked. “Erica, are you okay?”

“Hi, Mr. Foxham!” Warren and Madeleine chimed in unison. Actually, Maddy said Mr. Foxham and Warren said Mr. Fox. Fox? It figured. And then he added, “We’re going to be late for our Italian lessons!”

I sighed as my hand drove through my hair. “We’ve just had a little fender-bender, that’s all.”

“This chick ran into my car!” the man spat.

Julian turned to him. “Easy, mate. Let’s see your insurance.”

Oh, just great. The last thing I needed was Julian coming to my rescue. “I can handle it, Julian, thanks.”

The man stared at him. “You’re Julian Foxham! The former Red Sox baseball champion! Man! I can’t believe it! Can I have your autograph, sir?”

Huh?

Julian grinned. “Absolutely—just as long as you don’t give my friend here any grief.”

“Nah,” the guy said as he disappeared to rummage through his glove compartment for pen and paper. I stared at him in disbelief, then at Julian who shrugged his shoulders with the cutest, most annoying grin.

“Glad to help,” he said.

“Gee, thanks,” I said more sarcastically than I meant, and Julian studied me with a strange light in his eyes. It was my turn to gape. I was standing elbow to elbow with a sports star and I’d had no idea.

“All this time and I’ve been acquainted (my underwear flashed through my mind) with a baseball star?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“And now you are a principal?
Why?
”

Julian shrugged again, turning red as if I’d caught him stealing. “I broke my arm a few years back, lost my swing. So I decided to use my degree in education after all. My dad is a die-hard scholar. Teaches English literature over in Oxford. Plus I like kids.”

“I just called a tow truck—for both of us,” the man volunteered as he returned, and Julian paused before signing his autograph.

“What’s your name?”

“Larry. Larry Dignam. Thank you, sir. Wow. You just made my day. Is there any chance you might be considering a comeback?”

Julian stilled. “I don’t think so, mate.”

The man looked into his eyes and it was as if there had been an understanding that would’ve gone way over my head if I hadn’t understood the pain he’d been through. Losing your status as a champion must have been really hard on such a young man.

I stood there with my arms folded and watched the exchange. Julian had managed to turn my nightmare into his own. Now that was what I called sharing. But it wasn’t fair, although he rebounded quickly.

“Erica, why don’t I take the kids to their Italian lessons? It’s the one on Sudbury Street, isn’t it? I’ll be back in five minutes. Okay?”

I couldn’t argue with him. But when Julian drove off with my waving kids in his jeep, I resented it. This was
my
family,
my
problem, and it was up to
me
to solve it on my own.

I sighed at the thought of my sister and her face-eater. The cat was out of the bag, and I didn’t know what to do with it.

Julian came back in time to take me down to the mechanic’s. I had totaled the front and the radiator as well. Taking the bus home or calling a cab was not an option for Julian.

“I live right near here,” he said. “I can drive the kids to school in the morning, and then take you to work until your car’s ready,” he said as he was driving me home. Didn’t he have a life?

“Uh, no, that’s okay, thanks.” That was all I needed—Headmaster Foxham on a twenty-four-hour guard duty.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“I have a husband, you know,” I lied, then turned to check his face. Did I mean I had a husband that could drive me or a husband that wouldn’t appreciate me driving around with a really good-looking guy?

He nodded dutifully and said, “If you don’t mind my asking…”

I sighed. “Let’s have it.”

“When the mechanic asked for your registration document, I couldn’t help noticing you had a lot of parking tickets in your glove compartment.”

And his point was? Why did everybody think I didn’t know how to park? This guy was worse than a damn bloodhound. Why was he constantly on my case?

“Speeding—
not
parking—tickets,” I corrected tersely, then shrugged, because I knew he was going to ask me anyway. “I’m always in a hurry—and always late.”

“Not picking up the kids you aren’t,” he said kindly.

I smiled. At least he noticed the good things, too. “No, and work. Except for those two I’m late everywhere else. You name it—the beautician’s, my dentist appointments. So eventually I stopped going. To the beautician’s.” Not that that was info he needed. Besides, it showed big time. I sighed. I was still—always—a mess. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?

He turned to grin at me—I know it was intended to be a friendly one to put me at ease, but the fact was that I found it—him
—sexy
as hell. Now
that
was pure un-motherly behavior, forget skipping a school meeting or whatever.

“Where am I going?” he asked, tearing me out of my reverie.

“Oh—uh, Quincy Shore Drive. Make a left at the lights. It’s all the way down, number thirty-five-sixty-six.”

I was sure he’d already driven past the house to make sure it wasn’t a dump or a fake address. Some principals could be real paranoid. Some mothers, too.

“Can I ask you a stupid question, Julian?”

He threw me a wry grin as we crossed a busy intersection. “Of course.”

I hesitated. It wasn’t any of my business. “Are you sure you can’t go back to playing baseball? Or at least coach outside the school? Or give the kids counseling or anything baseball related? Warren tells me you’re the best coach a boy could have.” There. I’d been as nosy as him. But it felt right to reciprocate, to show some level of caring.

He chewed on his lower lip for a while before answering and I could tell it was costing him a big effort. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?

“That part of my life is over, Erica. For good.”

Wow. That sounded pretty final. “Don’t you miss it?” I insisted, getting braver by the minute.

He hesitated and then shrugged. He was worse than me, this one, and I could tell by the angle of his shoulders it wasn’t his favorite topic of conversation.

“Every day,” he whispered. “But life goes on.”

I gaped in surprise. I hadn’t expected such a candid admission from a guy who seemingly had it all together. I opened my mouth to say something equally intelligent and honest, but he looked out my window and I turned too. We’d arrived.

“Nice,” he whistled.

“Thanks,” I said as I catapulted myself out of his car as if the seat had suddenly caught fire. At least mine had. The physical attraction for this guy was becoming more and more unbearable by the day. Funny, when you think he thought I was a real mess. And then I put my foot in it.

“You really should come by—for coffee. And to see that I’m not such a bad mother after all.”

He searched my face to see if I was serious, and finally grinned. “I’d love to, thank you.”

I slapped my forehead. “Aw,
crap
.”

He sat forward. “What’s wrong?”

The kids. I’d almost forgotten them. Where had the time gone? Great. Now I’d never get him off my case. There was no way I was going to confess to him that much. “Er, what time is it, please?”

“Six. What time are the kids done at Sudbury Street?”

“In five minutes,” I said meekly, knowing I was never getting rid of him now.

He grinned that oh-so-sexy grin at me again, motioning to me with a flick of his head as if beckoning me back into his bed after a hot session of no-limits sex. “Hop in. I know a shortcut.”

I eyed him, embarrassed, then obeyed. “You’re right—I
am
the worst mother in the world. But I swear I’ve never ever—”

“Erica,” he said softly, “I’ve never indicated anything like that. Why are you so paranoid?”

“Hello? All those questions about my family life?” I said defensively, ride or no ride.

“I’m sure you make everyone’s life better,” he said as he turned to look at me, his eyes X-raying me to the core. I swallowed. It wasn’t fair that he was so hot and in a position to judge me. Normally I can pulverize any hot man who tries to make me feel uncomfortable, but Julian—how do you pulverize your kids’ principal, especially when just looking at him makes your skin tingle?

* * *

“Oh, lighten up, Erica. Everyone nowadays has someone,” Judy drawled after I’d dashed through the door to the ringing house phone and said, “Oh. It’s
you
.”

Who did I think it was—Julian calling me from his jeep thirty seconds after dropping us all off, saying, “Hi, I just wanted to tell you what a great time I had acting as your taxi driver today?”

“You could use some
umph
yourself,” she said. “Get yourself a lover.”

I was surprised Marcy hadn’t spread the word yet. Maybe she was mellowing a bit. “A lover? I would never do that!”

“Of course you wouldn’t—lest you find some happiness.”

Judy was right—
I
was one to talk. The kids were still oohing and ahing about being picked up by their champion principal, and I had to admit I wasn’t totally unaffected either. Maybe Judy’s wandering eye was contagious? Or even genetic? I hadn’t manifested it in twelve years of marriage, so why was I suddenly feeling jittery and breathless after sitting next to my kids’ principal in his jeep? Just because my marriage was over didn’t mean I was going to throw myself into another relationship. I was done with love. But the erotic dreams of Julian were mine forever.