The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (15 page)

“Did he kiss you or not?”

“Of course not.”

“He likes you-ou,” Paul singsonged.

“You’re wrong, Paul. Trust me. He thinks I’m some career freak and thus incapable of taking care of my kids. He’s keeping an eye on me so I don’t end up starving them to death or something.”

“You are a supreme fool, my dear,” he said, and he cupped his mouth to form a pretend megaphone. “The.Guy.Has.The.Hots.For.You.Big.Time.”

While I was considering Paul’s science-fiction tale, I got a “call waiting” beep. “Hang on a sec, will you?”

“Don’t leave me hanging too long!” Paul hollered as I clicked the phone.

“Hello?”

“Erica. It’s Julian.”

Just the man.

“Is it too late for you?”

Was it too late for me? About twelve years too late, but who was counting tonight? “Oh, hi,” I said, trying to sound calm and collected. And possibly sexy at the same time.

“I wanted to thank you for such a good time.”

I was the one who should have been thanking him. But it sounded too lame to confess. And desperate. “Likewise,” I echoed shyly.

“By the way, Erica—you looked very pretty tonight.”

No I didn’t—not as pretty as the other moms—but my stomach flipped anyway and I grinned to myself, rolled onto my back and stuck my legs into the air. They looked slimmer that way.

“It’s all thanks to Paul. He’s an image counselor and make-up artist.”

“He had an easy job with you.”

Flattery had already gotten him into my deepest, darkest fantasies. I knew I’d lie awake yet another night and think about the mess I was getting myself into.

“Erica?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to go for a cup of coffee tomorrow afternoon?”

If I hadn’t been lying down I’d have fallen over. Now, an invitation for coffee with a man the likes of him sounded like the perfect way to start something completely inappropriate with your kids’ principal.
I loved it!
But why me? I was ages away from his kind of friends—baseball champions and beautiful girls. I could give him nothing. What could he possibly want from me?

“Er, can you hang on a second? I have an incoming call,” I lied.

“Sure. I won’t budge from here.”

“Should I accept Julian’s invitation to go for coffee?” I whispered to Paul over the phone as if Julian could hear me. I could almost see Paul jump with glee.

“I knew it! Is the hot principal waiting on the other line?”

I rolled my eyes. “Should I go or not?”

“Of course you have to go! You can’t let him get away from us! He’s my impossible dream! You have to keep him around, if only for me to gape at, honey! Plus I want to know what he’s like in the sack
.
”

“Stop that,” I said. “He’s my kids’ principal. Plus I don’t want Ira knowing anything about it.”

“Honey, you’re separated, albeit in the same house. How long does Ira need to move out, for Christ’s sakes?”

“Right, I get it. You’re so
not
the person to talk to in this situation. Or maybe you are. What do I wear?”

“Aha!” Paul exclaimed in triumph. “You see, you
are
interested in him! Your green cashmere dress. It brings out your eyes. And makes your boobs look really nice but not too revealing. You don’t want them to scream,
here we are!

I rolled my eyes again, my nerves ready to snap. “Gotta go. Talk later.”

The green dress. Was it still in the wash? I clicked back to Julian and his suave, deep voice filled me with a strange warmth. This was absolutely ridiculous. I was not going to continue this crush on my kids’ principal. I was a grown woman. A lonely, separated grown woman. And Julian was too involved in my children’s life. So I’d have to forget about him and find someone I’d feel less guilty about. Like a nineteen-year-old student.

“Okay for the coffee.” Now all I had to do was figure a way of not jumping his bones the minute he showed up at my door. As much as I wanted to do coffee (among other things) with him, I didn’t know how I was going to get through it without confessing to him that instead of sleeping at night I’d stare up at the ceiling, wishing I was in another life, one where he would fall in love with me, have mind-blowing sex with me every night, marry me and finally drag me off to Tuscany. That alone was enough to make any guy move to another city.

“Brilliant. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said and I closed my eyes. “Erica?”

“Huh?”

“You still there?”

“Yah,” I answered, nodding vigorously to myself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

Sleep well
. All he had to do was add a
sweetheart
to that and I would kill for him. Any woman would kill to be with someone like him.

Chapter 17:

Catharsis

A
t about the time I should’ve been out with Julian that day I had another major fight with Ira. On the phone. Because things weren’t going very well at his office and there was no one else to take it out on.

His twenty-five-year-old secretary, Pristine Maxine (so dubbed by me because she always wore white and had her hair coiffed like Lady D. Someone should have told her the eighties were over) wanted a raise but he couldn’t afford to give her one, so she had threatened to leave.

That was very out of character with the girl I’d met, but I couldn’t blame her. Ira could wear out anybody’s patience. And now he was taking it out on me, saying if I had been a good wife all these years I’d have offered to do her work on the weekends.

Memories of me scrubbing his urinals while he watched baseball games and pigged out on the office sofa came back to me on a regular basis. I squared my shoulders and whispered into the phone, “Those days are over, sweetheart,” and hung up. I was at the end of my tether. And while I was at it, I wasn’t doing his laundry anymore. Among other things. I was officially off wife duty.

I rang my Aunt Maria and ordered a roast chicken and potatoes to go. “Can you throw some veggies in there as well?” I asked. “And a nice big
tiramisù
?”

“You inviting The Hunk over?” she asked.

“No, of course I’m not—why do you ask?”

“Paul told us you had an invitation for coffee. So it’s serious?”

Arrgh, there he went again. I’d have to talk to him about discretion. “No, there is nothing going on between me and the hu—my children’s principal.”

“Of course there isn’t,” she laughed and said, “Martina, pick up the phone, will you? Erica’s got a date with The Hunk!”

I rolled my eyes as
Zia
Martina squealed “No way!” somewhere in the background.

“Listen, you two—I’m not going out with Julian Foxham! And that’s that!”

“Can I have him then?”
Zia
Monica chimed, presumably from a third phone, and
Zia
Martina snorted. “Don’t take her seriously. She’s got the hots for Father Frank.”

“I do not!” she assured me.

“Oh, he’s nice—go for it,” I said. Had these women suddenly lost their morals? Had we all become like Marcy and Judy?

“Erica?”
Zia
Maria said softly.

I knew that tone. “What?”

“We’re not going to do all that again, are we?”

I groaned. “All what again?”

“You married Ira because you thought you were too fat for anyone else to marry you. And now that you’re a free woman, you won’t let yourself love Julian because you’re afraid to jump in case you make the same mistake again.”

“Actually, I married Ira because I loved him.”

“And because he knocked you up,”
Zia
Monica sentenced.

“Guys, please...”

“Let me tell you one thing, sweetheart,”
Zia
Maria said. “A man like Julian will love you forever.”

I
wish.

“And you know what else?”
Zia
Monica added. “Nothing should stop you from having a little fun.”

“Heaven knows you’ve earned it,”
Zia
Martina echoed.

“Just how much have you and Paul been talking?” I asked.

“He must be amazing,” Monica swooned and I winced. Picturing Julian in my bed—or, better still, me in his—was easy. He popped into my mind every day, at any given time. But how was it possible that a former hunky baseball champion who’d dated models found me interest-worthy? Things just didn’t happen like that in real life—or at least not in mine. Not with my track record of doomed relationships.

“You’re simply too paranoid.”

No shit? I wanted to snap, but I knew they meant well.

“Now get over them before you sabotage this relationship and the chance to be happy ever again.”

Man
, they had me down pat, those three. Between them and Paul there was nowhere left to run.

“There is no relationship,” I sentenced.

“Nonsense—go and enjoy him,”
Zia
Monica cut in.

“I can’t go and
enjoy
him—we’re just… acquainted.”

“Honey,” said
Zia
Martina. “Remember the day you married Ira?”

Did I ever. Paul had given me six days to leave him—a week before the wedding—and my aunts had told me that even if I was a Catholic who had been knocked up, marrying Ira was still a little too much punishment. You see what I mean about them now?

“Right. Gotta go!” I chimed and hung up.

* * *

As I was getting ready for bed, I tiptoed to the bedroom door, locked it and did something I hadn’t done in a while: looked at the external me—really up close. I took off my pajamas and scanned my naked body in the mirror. For a long time, studying my skin critically. I really was looking so much better, I could see it.

And then, without warning, I started thinking what my junior high crush Tony Esposito would say if he saw me now, and imagined him standing behind me, looking at me in the mirror, his hands searching for my boobs like that day a million years ago. In my imagination, he had grown into a gorgeous man, maintaining the same features that had made him so yummy in my schoolgirl’s eyes.

As I watched him, he turned into Peter DeVita, my junior high boyfriend who moved to Florida right before the year-end dance. I then imagined Josh, my lifeguard, and his hands grew bolder, running over my thighs, parting them, his beautiful head ducking to kiss my mouth. For a few weeks of my younger life, I had wanted him so much I thought I’d die of lust. And all that time I’d only been dying for an orgasm.

And then, (there was no point in denying it by now), in my mind Josh turned into Julian, his hair wet from the rain (because I figured he’d look
really
sexy with wet hair) and his arms warm around my waist as he kissed the side of my face and the hollow between my neck and shoulders, sending a tingling shiver down to the soles of my feet, like in the historical romances I’d devoured as a kid.

Julian, so strong yet gentle,
so
not the guy for me, yet a constant thought trickling endlessly, like a bubbling brook, through my mind when I least expected it. It scared me. I couldn’t afford to lose my head.

It got so bad I even contemplated changing the kids’ school so I wouldn’t have to see him anymore, but I knew I couldn’t do that to them, so I resolved to never look towards the school while I was picking them up because he had a habit of waiting outside to greet parents. He liked to have a rapport with them and everyone always stopped for a quick chat. Everybody loved him.

As I settled into bed, I suddenly realized that in the short pageant of the desirable men in my life I’d totally skipped Ira.

Chapter 18:

Bullies and Baseball Bats

F
inally at home after another grueling day, I was preparing some nice veal and aubergine casserole
for dinner. (Ira never had dinner with us anymore now that he had his own life.)

Once dinner was in the oven, I’d have a long hot shower and change into fresh gym pants and a sweatshirt to do some squats or something and then go fetch Warren from baseball practice. Julian had started a team, which he coached every Monday and Wednesday until six, so I had time to help Maddy with her homework and catch up on my chores.

And while I worked, I thought of the kids and how things were going well lately. I knew their needs, their rhythms, their passions, their insecurities and strong points. I was ahead of the game and it felt great. Like I was on top of the world for once.

As I was dicing the mushrooms and scooping them up—whoops, right against my Sex Pistols
Anarchy
T-shirt—the doorbell rang.

“Stay put,” I said to Maddy who’d already jumped to her feet from her complicated ballet pose that looked more like a yoga position. One day she’d get her long legs all tangled and fall flat on her cute little face, if she took after her mommy.

I dabbed at the brownish stains on my T-shirt as I pulled the door wide open.

“Hi,” Julian said, gloriously sexy in a pair of jeans and a Lacoste polo the same shade as his eyes. Did this guy have an image consultant or something? Weren’t men supposed to be color-blind? Forget the grab-me-now smile on his face. Forget the width of his shoulders that seemed to embrace me.

Something from inside him leapt out at me and grabbed me by the shoulders, screaming,
You may not know it yet, but we were made to roll on soft beds together!
As if I’d have a chance in resisting him. Resist? Who are we kidding here?

“Nice T-shirt—love the Sex Pistols,” he said, although his eyes were not smiling.

And again the tingle down my spine, dammit. Not to mention the state I was in. I wish he’d
called
. But I played it cool. “Aren’t you supposed to be coaching your Little League?” I asked.

“I was, but now I’m on my way to the hospital.”

Oh, God. “Warren…?” I squeaked, and he lifted his hands.

“He’s perfectly all right. But in big trouble. He’s split a boy’s head open.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I’ve brought him home to save you a trip, but I have to run to the hospital now. I’ll call you later.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, backing a step into the house, ready to grab my coat and bag. The story of my life. “I’ll just get Maddy and drive to—”

“No need.”

I searched his face. “Is the boy okay?”

“He will be,” he assured me, but there was something he wasn’t telling.

“The parents are suing, aren’t they?”

Julian sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

My eyes swung to his jeep where I could see Warren crouched, his enormous eyes fixed on me. He was no doubt terrorized.

“Let him out,” I sighed, straightening my shoulders. Julian gave me a last, are-you-going-to-be-okay look. I nodded and he turned to open the jeep door. Silently Warren slid out and I stepped aside for him without speaking. I was shaking so badly I was afraid I’d fall apart.

“Erica?” Julian whispered, his eyes studying me.

I stood up straighter. “I’m fine, Julian, thanks. Just let me know about the boy, please.”

“All right,” he said softly, then, with one last glance and a meaningful nod to Warren, he drove off.

So much for me knowing what my children were feeling. I realized I was clueless.
Just what the hell is the matter with you?
I wanted to scream at him, but held my tongue, because that was exactly how Ira would have reacted.

I only hoped Julian didn’t think Warren had learned this behavior from Ira, because Ira couldn’t lift a finger to swat a fly out of its misery. With words and vicious expressions he was great in demeaning you, but in no way was Ira a
physical
person.

“Maddy, sweetie, why don’t you go and color in your bedroom, honey?”

My eight-year-old daughter slid off her chair again and looked at her brother, making a face like,
Boy, are you in for it.
Which was of course an understatement.

Once alone with him, I sat down at the kitchen table and, my fists supporting my cheeks, I looked at him squarely, unimpressed to say the least.

“Mom…” he began bravely.

I watched him, my eyelids swelling with the tears that were dying to spill, and he watched me back, his own eyes shiny.

Good. Let him cry. He needed a reality check. At this point, I think we both did. I had never been so disappointed in my whole life.

“Why did you do it?” I asked finally, my voice barely audible.

He drew a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye.

“It doesn’t matter why. Just give me my punishment and let’s get it over with. I’m sorry.”

And that’s when I lost it. “Sorry?” I cried. “
Sorry?
There’s a boy in the hospital with his
head split open
, and all you can say is sorry?”

Warren looked at me with his solemn green eyes and bowed his head.

“Why did you do it?” I demanded, and he flinched. “Warren!”

My son looked up at me with the eyes of a grown-up and it scared the crap out of me. “I had to. He said you and Mr. Fox are sleeping together.”

I swear I felt my eyes pop. I hadn’t known my twelve-year-old son had any concept of what sex was. Hell, at thirty-four,
I
still didn’t.

“And you believe that garbage?” I barely managed, and he shook his head vigorously.

“Of course not, but you don’t know what it’s like at school if someone gets on your case.”

I
didn’t know?

“You always taught me that violence is not the answer,” he offered.

“Oh, good, I’m glad you remember that—now.” I stood up. The meeting was over. “You’re grounded for a month. No sports, no Internet or any computer games.”

I have to tell you, he didn’t flinch. “Yes, Mom,” he whispered, his hands stuffed in his pockets. I groaned and sat down again, my forehead in my hand. Where had I gone wrong? Maybe if I’d spent less time at work, or less time day-dreaming—

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I am so sorry I disappointed you.”

“Yes, Warren, so am I. Now go wash up for dinner and help your sister pack her school bag for tomorrow. And don’t forget her math book.”

He nodded again and went. I confess I felt a slight pang of sympathy. Warren was like me—he’d sit there and take it without ever lashing out until he could take it no more. But it was not an excuse for violence.

My behavior was obviously reflecting badly on my kids. Not that I was bonking Julian or anything, but you know people. First he shows up with me at the Thanksgiving play. And then we go to McDonald’s where everyone can see us driving off in his jeep. Then he shows up for coffee. Although harmless encounters as they had been, they were only making me more and more lustful for the guy. He was only being nice and checking on me. I loved being with him, but I needed not to.

I needed a carefree man for sex—not someone my children adored. This relationship had disaster written all over it. I had to stop seeing Julian,
period
, and find myself another guy.

* * *

A few hours later when I came out of the shower, Julian was there, waiting on the sofa. I sighed and padded into the living room.

“Hi. Warren let me in,” he said.

“He’s going to need an ally,” I said as I sat down next to him, my legs tucked under me. “How’s…?”

“Billy. Billy Blackmoore. Eight stitches.”

I sank lower into the sofa, muttering, “Jesus Christ Almighty. What have I done wrong?”

Julian’s voice was gentle. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Erica. Kids can be cruel sometimes, and see filth where there is none.”

I looked up at him. “So Warren told you what set the fight off?”

“Of course. Warren tells me everything.”

Uh-oh. “Well, not
every
thing,” I laughed uneasily as my hand went to my wet ponytail.

“Everything,” he said gently. Did he mean the imminent divorce? “Like how you drag them across town to take them roller-skating and to the movies and for a hamburger or bowling. And how you always manage to cut yourself or fall.”

“Well, what parent doesn’t?” I said.

Julian looked at me strangely. Really strangely.

“What?” I asked. “Is there more?”

Julian cleared his throat, but his voice was very low, almost raspy, his eyes a darker color, but at the same time brighter, more luminous. “Forgive me for telling you this, but Warren also told me how you cry yourself to sleep under the covers. And Paul told me—”

“About the divorce,” we said in sync as I nodded knowingly. The little shit had ratted me out to Julian as well.

“I don’t want you to be sad, Erica…”

I looked up at him. His eyes were kind and understanding, almost urging me to let myself go. And suddenly I was too tired to keep it all bottled up inside. I felt the tears come in a gush of shame. I tried to stop, but I wasn’t very good at anything these days.

“It’s so difficult to pretend everything is okay,” I sniffed, and he nodded.

“Nothing is easy, Erica. But you’re doing a great job.”

“Yeah, I’m doing a fan-bloody-tastic job,” I snorted, and sniffed loudly into a tissue, but soon needed another one to blow my nose. Julian leaned over and handed me the tissue box on the coffee table. God, what a sight I must have been, with my track pants, T-shirt, red-and-white-striped socks and wet ponytail on the top of my head.

“You’re not alone, Erica. Paul loves you like a sister and I am here to help you in any way I can.
And
…”

I blew my nose and looked up at him hopefully.

“… good news. The parents are not suing, provided you foot the medical bills. Billy admitted he was bullying Warren.”

I blew my nose again and sputtered in relief, “Oh, thank God! You’re a good principal, Julian. Thank you so much.”

“I have to intensify recess watch. Billy had been badgering him about... us for some time now. I must make my mission statement clearer.”

And speaking of being clear. “We have to stop these... rumors,” I breathed. “About us. I can’t see you anymore. For my children’s sake. And for our reputations.”

Julian lowered his eyes. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Erica,” he whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back. “But I don’t want anybody else to get hurt. I’m very grateful to you and what you’re doing for the kids, but this is where I take a step back.”

He took my hand, still not looking at me, and, sighing, nodded. “Erica... I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble. But please remember I’m just a phone call away. Whether you need help from the school or a shoulder to cry on.”

“Okay. And… I’m extremely flattered for all the time you’ve dedicated to me. You’re very generous and selfless,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that we were sitting on my sofa, holding hands, our thighs touching, only a ‘yes’ away.

“Selfless? No, lately I’ve been extremely selfish, thinking only about happiness, and not worrying about others. Forgive me, Erica,” he whispered as he took my hand and brought it to his lips, his thick black lashes lowered. I watched as he kissed my hand, his beautiful mouth on my skin, and I almost melted from the scorching pleasure that ripped through my insides without warning.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then shook his head. “Call me if you need to chat,” he urged as he stood up. “I promise to behave.”

I nodded and followed him to the door. He gave me one last look, concerned but at the same time sexy. I leaned against the door, smiling like an idiot as he waved and drove off. Next time I was yanking him back in and making love to him until the school board issued a search for him.

“How come you’re seeing so much of Julian?”

I turned to see that Ira had pulled up, just in time to see Julian driving off. “Are the kids having problems at school?”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Of course it wouldn’t remotely cross Ira’s mind that Julian might be attracted to me. I almost wish he was my lover—he was definitely excellent lover-rebound material. He was built for sex, that guy, with a smile that’d take your panties off in one go. I loved the way he looked at me, and the way he spoke to me— the opposite of this jackass here.

There was no way I was telling him that Warren had given me and the school a few problems. Not this time. Ira would only give the little guy a hard time, and now that things were okay, I didn’t need a major regression.

“We’re just keeping a closer eye on the kids, that’s all.”

“Good. They’re good kids, aren’t they?” Ira grunted, already having lost interest as I ducked back inside as he pounced on his mail, which he tore open and read avidly.

“Yes,” I agreed, happy we were managing a conversation. “Julian’s coaching a Little League and Warren’s in it. He’s great.”

Ira kept on reading for a while, a smile forming on his lips. Then he dragged his eyes away from the letter and looked up. “Yeah? That’s great.”

This was the longest conversation we’d had in weeks. When I got to Tuscany we wouldn’t have to converse with him at all. He’d be a long-distance, forgotten memory. The thought made me shiver all over with delight.