The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (14 page)

Chapter 16:

Hungry Eyes

T
onight was the school Thanksgiving play and both the kids were starring in it, Warren being the Indian chief and Maddy a devoted pilgrim. Despite my courtesy car, Julian offered to drive us and, would you believe it, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not that I’d refused vehemently.

So I was going to see him again. Another woman’s heart would flutter at the thought, but my insides squished and contracted like they were trying to free themselves from a vise. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with something—I’d barely got over my last cold—but there was one thing that I still absolutely needed to do before anything else.

“Lucy, do me a miracle,” I pleaded as I sank into a chair at Lucy’s Hair Salon. This was maybe the second time I’d been there in many, many years. My hair grows slowly, and it comes out in curls, which I’ve been pulling back into a tight bun that hurt my face for years. I’m convinced it really has acted like a facelift. If only I could do that to the rest of my body.

Lucy combed back my wet hair, talking to my reflection in the mirror. “What’ll it be?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. Chop it all off, but don’t make me look like an idiot. I have no time to do my hair in the mornings—or on weekends for that matter.”

When I let it down at the weekends, my hair, finally free, didn’t know which way to turn, like prisoners that feel out of place in society once they get out after forty years. “Or just shave me bald; I don’t care anymore. I give up.”

Lucy looked at me for a long minute and then sighed, shaking her head. “You know how many distress calls like this I get?” she asked me, and before I could think of the right answer, she wrapped her arms around herself (which required quite an effort, seeing as she was twice my size—and then some) and tsk-tsked.

“You’re just having a bad hair week, that’s all,” she said.

“More like a bad hair
life
,” I corrected her as she ran her hands through my wet, shampooed, heavy mane.

“Naw! Give me an hour and you’ll see! Now, what do you do for a living?”

Was she going to charge me according to my earnings? “I’m a hotel manager.”

“Aha!” she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at me. “So you gotta look good always, and in no time—am I right?”

Was that not every woman’s dream? “Uh, yes.”

Now I remembered why, among other reasons, like never having the time between making paper dolls with Maddy or doing some baseball swings with Warren, I’d never returned to this place. Lucy was odd. And her assistants were two gossipers. They reminded me of my two youngest receptionists, Lindsay and Leslie—remember them, the ones that missed working in joints? These two were dead ringers for them. Every time their heads joined to exchange some information, Lucy whirled around and gave them a glare very similar to my hairy eyeball. It worked. They parted as if on fire and scrammed back to their stations, busying themselves with rinsing sinks and wiping off seats.

She turned back to me and lifted a lock, examining it. “You never cut it, never style it. Why?”

“No time,” I replied, and she shook her own sleek head.

“Your hair could be so much more beautiful and glossy with a haircut and a protein mask. And your face is so pretty. Why do you let yourself go like this?” she asked as if talking to her best friend and not a customer she hardly ever saw. “Look at this skin—like a porcelain doll’s!”

Yeah, I thought to myself. A doll’s head on a stuffed elephant’s body. I used to do that to my toys when I was a kid—pull Barbie’s head off and stick it on another toy, possibly a fat animal. If I couldn’t be slim, then neither should she. Boy, did I come up with freaks of nature. And for punishment, now my head looked like it belonged to my body. It served me right.

Lucy clipped and feathered, layered and pulled as I wondered what freak of nature I’d surface looking like. Anything would be an improvement.

When I finally emerged from Lucy’s beauty salon, I didn’t recognize myself. I actually loved my hair—feathered, but full, and really glossy. It even made my face look slimmer, classier, as if I had it together and wasn’t a delusional maniac constantly searching perfection. If perfection existed, it was my hair tonight. I passed shop windows, barely recognizing myself as I admired the new me. I had to make a point of going out more often.

* * *

Paul came over that afternoon more dramatic than his usual dramatic self, and just in time to help me get dressed.

“If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is,” he said out of the blue.

Fate? I wondered as Paul adjusted my new blue jersey wrap dress—the one that made me look twenty pounds slimmer. Could he be right? Could it be some mysterious galactic force that had brought Julian and me to the same spot? Could Julian really be interested in me as a woman? But then the usual pragmatic me took over.

“It’s just a school play, not the Royal Wedding,” I groaned, handing him the silver lace shawl
Nonna
had made me. “Ira can’t come and my car’s still at the mechanic’s (that much was true) so Julian offered to drive us.” I never mentioned the courtesy car, which was sitting on the driveway in full splendor, with a green
McMasters—You break it, we fix it
logo along the sides.

Paul beamed at me as he did my make-up. I knew I hadn’t looked this good in a long time. Like hell I could have worn something like this a few months ago. My policy of not eating everything in sight and shaking my ass in tango classes was working nicely.

“What, he’s showing up tonight with you and the baggage—no offense to the kids—in front of his whole school? That’s practically professional suicide. Man, he must really have the hots for you, girl.”

The doorbell rang and I jumped. “It’s him! Be a star and let him in. Offer him something to drink—but no liquor! He already thinks I’m damaged goods.”

“Relax! I got it,” Paul said as he sauntered gracefully down the stairs. I listened as he opened the door and said in an exaggeratingly polite voice, “
Hello!
You must be
Julian!
I’m Paul, Erica’s best friend.”

I cringed because wily Paul had lowered his voice and now they were speaking in soft tones. That was all my kids’ principal needed—a pass from his students’ very fairy godfather on my behalf. I didn’t need a pimp—I could push my own goods. When I was ready. I strained my ear to listen, without success, and glanced in the mirror, feeling just a bit guilty as I removed some lip gloss—Paul always exaggerated—and took another look. Dress—clung just perfectly in the boob area, keeping away from the bulges. Hair? Still fresh from this morning. Eyes? Still green, only prettier with some artfully applied eyeshadow that made them look huge. That was the only huge thing I wanted tonight. Except for maybe, uhm…? No. No thinking about sex. I wasn’t going on a date—this was my children’s Thanksgiving play. Had I absolutely no shame (or patience)?

With a deep breath, I scooped up my dainty clutch, so far from my everyday Mary Poppins leather bag, and floated down the stairs to find two gorgeous Latino-looking men at the kitchen table deep in conversation, like they’d known each other forever.

Julian looked amazing in an elegant dark grey suit, a light-grey shirt and no tie. That was him. Elegant but casual. He reminded me a bit of my brother Vince. Not that I’m attracted to guys who look like my brother, mind you. We’re weird in my family, but not
that
screwed up.

Maddy and Warren were already at the school, so it would be just the two of us in the jeep. Convenient, you’d say. I couldn’t be more embarrassed or nervous in my whole life. Or maybe I could.

“Take care of my doll, Julian, and bring her back in one piece. Or not—whichever way the evening may take you,” Paul said with a giggle.

I turned to spear him with my Evil Eyebrow but he just beamed at us and gave me a smack on the rump (oh, God, he was doing his best to be a pest tonight) and shoved us out my front door.

* * *

Being alone with Julian in his jeep was like skating on thin ice with red-hot blades. I knew I was going to go under, capitulate. I made a superhuman effort to drag my eyes away from his strong hands as he caressed the wheel. Strong forearms dusted with a sprinkle of dark hairs. Veins on his hands. Definitely not a wimp’s hands. These were hands that had worked hard. I wondered what it would be like if those hands touched me again, and the thought that he’d actually ripped my trousers to shreds simply because I asked him made me shiver all over.

He turned to look at me. God, those
eyes
. “Cold?” he whispered.

No, just horny
, I imagined answering and shivered again.

He turned a dial and soon it was nice and warm. “Thanks,” I whispered and he smiled, his eyes lingering on mine, before he turned his attention back to the road.

* * *

Even in the theatre hall, Julian kept stealing me glances in the dark while I battled not to turn around and meet his eyes, and I could almost feel them calling me. I clapped as hard as I could at the right times to show him I was totally swept away by the children’s performance when actually I can’t remember a single scene (except for when Maddy and Warren appeared on stage).

After a smashing success and rounds of applause, Julian extricated us from the crowd and drove the four of us home.

As the kids chattered nonstop, he glanced over at me again, only for longer, the ocean in his eyes flipping my stomach. And I felt a deep, deep shiver coming up from my insides.

“McDonald’s?” he whispered to me so the kids wouldn’t hear.

I turned to look at him again. “Don’t you want to go to your own home and get some peace and quiet? I mean, haven’t you had enough of us for one evening?”

“Never,” he said and grinned his boyish grin.

“Mackie D it is, then,” I answered with a smile and the kids in the back shouted a big, “Yay!”

The kids sat at the next table, but I kept a trained eye on them.

“Your children are adorable,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes as he watched them.

So are you, I wanted to add, along with drop-dead sexy. “Do you have any yourself?” I ventured.

He shook his head wistfully.

“Are you involved with anyone?” Uh-oh. What the hell was wrong with me?

Again he shook his head, blushing. I found that endearing, a chink in his headmaster’s armor. “No.”

Picking at my fries, I looked up and caught him staring at me. I mean really looking
hard
, as if trying to figure out what he was doing there on a Friday night (it just occurred to me it was a date night) with someone like me.

“Sorry for staring,” he said quickly. “It’s just that since the first time I saw you in the restroom, you seem… different.”

“That would be because I have my pants on,” I giggled, and he grinned.

“And because I’ve lost some weight,” I added, chomping on my fries with more confidence. (You’d think I’d eat daintily for his benefit and that I’d learned from my marriage, but that’s precisely what I
had
learned. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not—eventually your nature will catch up with you and the transformation will send him screaming for the hills. And when he comes back,
if
he comes back, he’ll be angry at you for duping him.) Who cared if he thought I shouldn’t be eating fast food after going to all the trouble of losing weight? And if I continued eating everything in my path at this rate, I’d be back where I started in no time, not to mention a ruptured intestinal tract.

I expected him to say, “Aha! That’s it!” but he didn’t. Instead he looked at me and said, “Congratulations, but that’s not it.”

“I know—it’s your hair. I’ve never seen it down. It’s very beautiful.”

I stopped, my mouth full of fries, my hand stealing to the back of my neck. “Maybe you always see me on my way back from work. I always wear a bun. It makes me look meaner. The staff is scared stiff of me.”

He chuckled. That deep, low chuckle that I had become accustomed to yet that still made my stomach flip each time. Julian was too dangerous for someone like me. You couldn’t just have a flirt (assuming he’d ever want one with me) with someone like him and go home and forget about it. You’d want more. No question; I was out of my depth.

And the kids—assuming I ever had a fling with anyone in the near future—how could I protect them from becoming too attached and then getting their hearts ripped out by another man leaving my life? I could handle it... but Maddy and Warren didn’t deserve another disappointment. Their own father had been more than enough. No, my future fling would have to be carried out away from my kids’ eyes, when instead all I wanted was to be with Julian and the kids, just like we were now. But I couldn’t afford to fall for him. And neither could the children.

I looked at my watch and feigned a polite yawn. “Thanks so much for everything, Julian, but I really have to get these guys home.” Pretending I wanted to end the evening—I should have won an Oscar just for that.

He didn’t blink, but smiled. “Sure, Erica. Let’s go, kids.”

Once outside my front door, I scooted them out of his jeep, thanked him for a nice evening and said “Good night, Julian. Take care.”

“You too, Erica. Thanks for your company. I enjoyed it very much.” And then, to cover the awkwardness of the fact that we were standing around, I said, “Would you like to come in?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and said, “Uh, no, thanks—it’s getting late. I have to go. Good night.”

“Oh. Okay. Good night,” I said back and closed the door behind him, leaning on it, shaking my head. Stupid, stupid idiot! Why did you have to invite him in and ruin the great vibes? It was a miracle I hadn’t torn his clothes off, horny as I was, but did I have to go and ruin it?

After I put the kids to bed, Paul called. I was annoyed that he hadn’t been there waiting for me. I wanted to gossip about Julian all night.

“Did he kiss you good night with that gorgeous English mouth? Did he touch your English muffin?” he asked with a swoon.

“Haven’t you got a good book to read or toenails to varnish?” I quipped, pretending to be bored by the subject.