The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (16 page)

Chapter 19:

Losing a Friend?

I
told Paul about Warren hitting Billy Blackmoore.

“You can’t blame the kid. You must be hot news all over the school.”

“What?” I said, panicking. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I hoped that we were never really a topic of conversation. I didn’t know many other mothers and the few I knew were acquaintances—not people who would pull me aside and discreetly warn me I was regarded as the school slut. But if this episode was anything to go by, we were in shit. Deep shit.

“Erica’s in love with the pri-inci-pal,” Paul sang as he painted my toenails, each one a different color. I had a high ponytail and my cow jammies on with my matching stuffed-cow slippers by my side that even had ears. Or where they horns? If only my fearful hotel staff could see me now.

“And the principal’s gonna get fi-ired because he can only keep it in his pants for so lo-ong!”

“Sto-op,” I said, slapping his arm, giggling. But the thought of Julian warmed me from the inside, like a glass of brandy. Not that I ever drank any. Paul and I were wine freaks, especially Italian wines, which he brought back from Italy in copious quantities despite the fact that I always got it for free from Dad’s Italian Gift Store.

“What would you do,” Paul said with a cute Kermit the Frog-like burp, “if Julian rang the doorbell right now and wanted to take you upstairs?”

I stopped munching on a mini Mars bar and stared at him, then slapped his shoulder. “Why is it always about sex with you? First of all, he doesn’t even like me—not the way you think, at least.”

“He do-oes,” Paul insisted. “Believe me, I know when I see a horny guy, and he’s super-horny for you.”

“Horny for me—Julian? Yeah, sure, in a science-fiction movie or
The Twilight Zone
.”

“Really—say you could make a wish and it happened.”

“Oh, so we’re talking
Fantasy Island
stuff, then?” I didn’t have to think about it, but pretended to.

“That is the worst impersonation of someone thinking I’ve
ever
seen,” he said disgustedly. “Admit it—you like him too. A lot more than you think.”

“If I admitted that,” I whispered, and he leaned closer.

“Yeah?”

“I’d have to kill you.”

Paul stomped his feet and said, “I don’t care; I know you’d sleep with him! Oh, Erica, he’s
so
the guy for us.”

Could he be right?

It was late, the kids were asleep and we were watching some oldies. Paul’s choice was
Sooner or Later
.

“Okay,” he said. “You take Julian—I’ll take Rex Smith. Man, I looove him.”

“He’s not gay, Paul. Actually, he’s a real ladies’ man. Didn’t he find out he had a son years ago?”

“Imagine that—finding out you have a son somewhere. That would freak me out,” Paul said with a nod as he guzzled down some wine.

“If you’d slept with a woman
I’d
be freaked out
too
,” I informed him, and Paul took another swig of his wine, swallowed and suddenly went serious.

”God, I still miss Carl after all these years, you know?” He sighed, and I stared at him. Ages and battalions of men had gone by since Carl.

“What do you miss about him? You always used to say he was boring.”

He shrugged. “Dunno. I just do. Life is a bitch without someone to love. Without a family, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “I have you.” Which was true. No matter how many lovers I found, I would always be happy with Paul, the—albeit gay—man in my life. As long as I had him, my safety net, I’d be fine.

“I wonder what he’s doing now?” I asked about Carl.

“Probably still writing scripts. He was good. Maybe I’ll be costume designer for one of his movies one day. We’ll look into each other’s eyes and realize we made a big mistake splitting up.”

I was still staring at him. In all the years I knew him he had never got sentimental, except for when Warren and Maddy were born. God, you should have seen old waterworks then. He couldn’t pick either of them up without bawling.

“Oh, Paulie.”

“I’m so lucky to have you, Erica. You’re my family,” he said flatly. “And I love you.”

“Sweetheart,” I whispered. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let go of the cask now, before you keel over.”

He stared back at me with his large dark eyes and burst out laughing and soon, for no reason at all, we were rolling all over the floor in hysterics.

“
Okay,
I confess,” I managed between my cackles of delight. “If Ricardo Montalban put a lei around my neck and said
Welcome to Fantasy Island,
I’d immediately say,
Point me to
Julian!”

“Ha! I knew it! No woman can resist the shoulders on that guy!” Paul shrieked in triumph. “And have you seen his hands? They’re enormous. I say, let’s make a toast to his hands and what he’ll soon be touching,” Paul giggled and jabbed me in the ribs. And so we made a drunken toast to Julian’s hands with our empty glasses before reaching for another bottle.

* * *

The next morning at work, the ringing phones sounded like Quasimodo had gone berserk on the church bells of Notre Dame. Between my ears. Damn the wine.

Clutching my temples, I looked around for Jackie, who was nowhere in sight. Sighing, I distractedly picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Lowenstein?”

Not for long
, I wanted to answer. I glanced at the display. It was an external line. Someone must have asked for me specifically.

“Yes?”

“A friend of Paul Belhomme’s?”

Aw,
crap
. The bastard had tried to set me up with another one of his rare heterosexual friends again. “Er, yes?”

“We have your number down as his emergency contact. There’s been an accident, ma’am.”

I gripped the receiver. “Is he all right? Where is he?”

A heavy silence fell, and then I knew.

“He had a car accident.”

My knees buckled and I hit the chair hard. “This is some kind of joke, isn’t it?” I pleaded, as they all do.

“No, ma’am.”

Paul.
Last night he was painting my toenails, and now he was dead.
Oh,
Paul
.

“Ma’am?”

I sat up. “Yes. Where am I going?”

“Boston County Medical Center.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

I don’t remember how I got there, except that I was in an elevator going down to where the morgue was located, according to all the blue signs on the walls. And I suddenly gagged.
Paul.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face seeing Paul’s lifeless body. But if I didn’t, who would? I was his best friend. The only friend he’d want here.

I pushed down the frog in my throat as the elevator doors pinged open. The entire floor was tiled white, just like you see in the movies, and all around was a stench of decay smothered in bleach. I pictured him, lying flat on his back, eyes closed, and clamped my hand over my mouth, swallowing the bile of my despair and approaching the woman in the white coat sitting at a desk.

“Excuse me?” I choked and she stood up, her face grave.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as if she had known him. But she hadn’t been that lucky to have him in her life. I swallowed again and clenched my fists to stop them from shaking.

“May I see him?” I asked.

“Of course, whenever you’re ready.”

I huffed and wiped away the sweat from my forehead.
Oh, Paul…! Why did this happen to you? Why did you leave me?

You know the saying,
Only the good die young
? How true was that? Can you think of someone here that should’ve gone way before everyone else, someone I’d been sending off for years in my fantasies? It served me right. All this time desiring Ira’s death and karma came round to kick me in the ass, taking from me the adult I loved the most in the world, more than my own siblings, more than my own parents.

Paul had been everything to me—my friend, my brother, my maid, my cook, my image consultant, my therapist, my life coach, my babysitter. Had he been straight, and assuming he desired me, I would’ve never needed anyone else. And now, this gem of a man was gone from my life for good. How was I supposed to go on without him? How could anything ever be bearable from now on?

“Ma’am?”

“I’m ready.” Which was so not true. As she beckoned me to follow her, my legs turned to rubber and I swayed. She turned to take my arm.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

Of course I’m not okay!
I wanted to scream.
My best friend is dead and I’ll never talk to him again!

But instead I squared my shoulders, took another deep breath and nodded. She nodded back and we approached The Drawers.

She lifted the sheet as I bit my lower lip to keep from screaming.

I screamed.

“That’s not Paul!”

She stared at me, then at the old man on the slab. “Not—who?”

“Paul!” I screamed. “Paul Belhomme, my friend!”

She quickly covered the body with a whispered, “Oh, my God, aren’t you Mr. Smith’s daughter?”

“No, I’m not! Where is Paul?” I screeched, my whole body shaking, unable to understand what was happening.

“Just one moment, someone must have misplaced him,” she said, her eyes darting everywhere.

“You mean to tell me you’ve
lost
him?”

“What’s his name again? Paul?”

“Paul Belhomme! B-E-L-H-O-M-M-E!”

She gave me another quick, apologetic look as she rifled through her files and then finally picked up the phone as I slammed the flat of my hands against her desk.

“Where the hell is he?” I boomed.

“He must be in the new morgue. Just one moment, please,” she pleaded with me, on the verge of tears herself.

I closed my eyes and began to bawl. “I don’t know anything about a new or old morgue; all they did was tell me to come—”

She raised a hand to shush me and I almost grabbed her by the lapels to give her a good shake. They’d lost Paul and now she was
shushing
me?

She put the phone down. “They’re getting back to me in a few moments. I’m so, so sorry. Can I get you some coffee, Mrs. Belhomme?”

I slumped into a chair and let the tears roll. Even in death he was being mistreated! Why couldn’t people respect him for what he was? He was gay. A wonderful, loving gay man who was my anchor. My lifeline. And my lifeline had died in a stupid, stupid
car accident
.

I couldn’t catch my breath, wiping at my tears as they appeared, but they were too fast to keep up.

The phone buzzed and she pounced on it, but missed her mark as she tripped over the cord and fell under her desk.

“Ow, ow...” she moaned.

I leaned over the desk and peered down into her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yah,” she whispered and I stepped over the killer cord to help the poor thing up. Her nose was bleeding like bloody Niagara Falls.

“Here, hang on to me,” I said as I lifted her bodily (she was practically the size of Yoda) and gently placed her on a chair and pulled out some tissues from my bag. I twirled two tiny bits and gently wedged them on the inside of her nostrils like I always did with Warren’s nosebleeds. “There you go, how’s that?”

Yoda looked up at me in total misery, her eyes as red as her face. “Blease doh’d tell addybuddy. It’s by first day here and I really deed dis job.”

“I won’t,” I promised. This day couldn’t have got any worse now.

The phone on her desk rang and we turned to stare at it, or rather, cower from it. Paul. Where the hell had they put him? “Shall I answer if for you?” I offered, seeing as she sounded like she was talking from the bottom of the ocean.

“Do, blease dod’d!” she cried and threw herself on the phone as if her life depended on it. “Yes?” she breathed and listened. “Yes. Where? I udderstad. Thack you.”

“What?” I glared at her as she put the phone down, deadly pale. Paul was already dead—what the hell could be worse?

“He’s dot here,” she whispered.

“Not here?” I whispered back. “What do you mean?”

“He bust be in adother borgue.”

Another morgue? I stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. “What? How many morgues are there in Boston?”

“Several. Are you sure it was Bostod City Borgue and dot the Boston
County
Borgue?” she asked, trying to be helpful.

I stared at her as my mind began to clear. “Why, which one is this?”

“Dis is the Bostod
City
Borgue,” she answered apologetically. “Baybe he’s at the Bostod County Borgue?”

Did I detect
hope
in her voice?

I fell into the chair again, my hands wrapped around my head. This was a nightmare. Not even death was simple anymore.

“Baybe I could call for you, save you the trip?” she suggested politely.

“Why, you think he’s taken the bus home?” I snapped, and she blushed and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for being a bitch but you understand, right?”

Her eyes met mine. “Of course. I’b sorry, too. Let be bake that call?”

I sighed, my insides turning outside in frustration as my cell phone rang. I didn’t want to answer it, didn’t want to tell anybody about Paul yet, in case it wasn’t true, in case I’d dreamed this whole thing up and he was sitting in my backyard waiting for me with a couple of margaritas. I pushed my knuckles into my eyes and answered the damn phone.

“Hello,” I said, trying to clear my throat.

“Hey, sunshine, what’s keeping you—are you okay?”

Chapter 20:

Gaining a Lover?

I
hated waking up with a headache. My whole face hurt, as well. I yawned, my mouth tasting like scotch tape.

On the ceiling above me were the worried faces of a man in scrubs, Paul and Julian. What the hell were they doing in my bedroom? Paul could’ve been a figment of my hopeful imagination and Julian the usual guest star of my dreams. But a
doctor
?

“Are you okay, sweetie?” twin voices, one deep and one effeminate, penetrated my foggy brain.

I tried to sit up and Julian supported my shoulders, along with Paul whose arm was in a sling. Had I been dreaming?

“You scared us for a minute, sunshine!” Paul grinned, taking my head in his good hand and kissing me.

I looked at him, trying to make sense of his words but my mind was very foggy. “You’re not dead?” I squeaked.

“Do I look dead, sunshine? When you didn’t arrive, I thought you’d be, well... somewhere more exciting, so I called Julian’s school,” Paul explained.

I looked up back and forth between them. Clear as mud.

“Paul had a car accident. But you misunderstood and went to the wrong place, thinking Paul had died.” Julian added. “Why didn’t you call me?”

I looked up at the three of them. Paul? Alive? This wasn’t making sense. “I went to the wrong morgue?”

“Forget it; we’ll explain on the way home,” Julian whispered and I clutched his sleeve.

“Where’s Yoda? Is she still bleeding?” At that they all laughed.

“She’ll be a little loopy for a bit,” the doctor said. “Let’s get her up here.”

At that, Julian bent over and lifted me into his arms and onto the stretcher. Just like that. No huffing and puffing. “No blowing big houses down?” I asked him, and he looked at me for a second and then grinned. “Come on, Little Red Riding Hood. Let’s get you checked out.”

“Three Little Pigs,” I corrected them.

“Gee, thanks, sunshine. We really needed a compliment after dying,” Paul chuckled.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,” I insisted, and Julian looked at Paul, who nodded. “A margarita will set her straight.”

“No alcohol,” the doctor said. “She’s still got the dregs of shock. Just keep her warm and get her to lie down.”

“I’m not lying down in a morgue—whether it’s Boston City or Boston County,” I sentenced. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

The doctor checked my blood pressure.
I’m not the one who’s had the accident,
I wanted to tell him. “Paul…” I murmured, and he bent over me.

“Nice to know you’d miss me, sunshine, but really! You think I’d die in a car accident and get blood all over my Armani?”

And that’s all I remember.

* * *

When I woke up again I was in my own bed (I recognized the cow jammies hanging on the back of the door) and Julian, Paul and the kids were there, Maddy curled up in the crook of my arm.

“Mommy’s awake!” she hollered into my ear.

I jolted up as Warren checked me out and then hugged me as Maddy tugged on my hand. “Mommy!”

“Sweetheart,” I whispered, kissing the tops of their heads as my eyes swung to Paul’s. He wasn’t dead. My darkest fears had not materialized today. The idea of losing Paul was something I couldn’t stand.

“Oh, boy, am I glad to see you,” I breathed, and, realizing how stupid I sounded, began to sob. Not a loud sob—just a sniffly, teary thing under my breath so the kids wouldn’t be alarmed.

“Okay, kids, you’ve seen your mum’s okay. Bedtime now,” Julian said in his deep, deep voice that was tender but commanding as well. Julian in my bedroom. For real, this time. Oh, wow. Although this wasn’t exactly the way I’d pictured it, with Paul in it as well.

Maddy and Warren gave me one last look and a kiss before they allowed Julian to usher them out.

I sat up and looked at Paul in the lamplight.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Well, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he quipped and I held my forehead.

“Stop, my head is killing me.”

“Serves you right, burying me before my days,” he said as he reached out his hand and caressed my cheek. “I meant what I said yesterday. You are my family, Erica.”

I nodded and let him hug me as I cried my eyes out on his good shoulder. “I was a complete idiot. I was so afraid something would happen to you one day and I’d be in real trouble without you and when the hospital called I completely lost it.”

“Well, not quite, luckily for me,” he said, patting my shoulder and helping me sit up with his good arm.

“I thought I’d lost you, Paul...”

“I’m here, sweetie...”

“You know how much you mean to me, right? I can’t even
think
of life without you.”

“You don’t need to, sunshine. I’m not going anywhere.”

After a few quiet moments of me leaning contentedly on Paul’s good shoulder, Julian came back into the room with a tray full of sandwiches and wraps and fruit and nuts.

“Ooh, yummy,” Paul said and grabbed one as he hopped to his feet and headed toward the door. “See you later,” he chimed.

I panicked. “What? Where are you going?”

“I have to see Bobby; I promised him,” he shrugged and wiggled his eyebrows at Julian. “He’ll stay here and take care of you, won’t you, Julian?”

“Absolutely,” Julian replied, his eyes tender on me, his face turning red.

“See ya, lovebirds,” Paul sang and closed the door on my protests.

Lovebirds? I glanced at Julian, the most magnificent male in Creation, sitting on the edge of the bed with a tray full of food for me. What else could a woman want from life? I looked away so I wouldn’t have to see the look in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Julian. As much as I love him, Paul doesn’t have a firm grasp on reality.”

Julian cleared his throat. “Erica… I think you and I need to have a serious chat.”

Hoo boy. Here it was. “Thanks for being here; I don’t even know why Paul called you.”

Julian cleared his throat. “I brought the kids home.”

“Oh.
Duh.
”

Julian smiled, his eyes studying my face. “Why didn’t
you
call me? You know I would’ve come running.”

I looked up, confused. What was he saying? “I—I didn’t… there was nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve been by your side. You should never have been on your own in a moment like that—ever.”

“I’m a big girl, Julian. Everyone can see that,” I said with a giggle when instead I wanted to pull back the covers and jump his beautiful bones, just like I had endless times in my fantasies.

He took my hand and squeezed it. “Let me be there for you.”

If I was thinking of a fling, this sounded like more. What did I want? “Don’t waste your time on me, Julian. I’m just a pseudo-suicidal-homicidal housewife. Stay away from me.”

He grinned, lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. I looked into his face as my skin began to tingle. It would’ve been so easy to lock the door and let him slide under the covers with me. Or rather, it would’ve been easy for me. For him, not so much, because I’d never let him go again. Ever.

I watched him, long lashes fanning his red cheeks, as his lips touched my hand. And then his eyes searched mine. “I’m sorry, Erica…”

I nodded. “It’s okay; you don’t have to apologize for staying away.”

He shook his beautiful head. “I’m apologizing because I don’t
want
to stay away. Not anymore. I think you are the most beautiful, kind and caring woman in the world.”

I swallowed to stop my heart from jumping out of my mouth. “And I think, Julian, that you’re absolutely nuts. Go home, and leave a poor woman her inner peace.”

Julian lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Erica, I didn’t mean to—I don’t want—” he swallowed, his cheeks hot as he gathered my hands in his, bringing them to his heart, palms flat on his chest. I could feel it pounding inside him, could almost see his shirt twitch under the force of it. He leaned over the tray, his breath shallow, his expression solemn, like I’d never seen him before, and took my face in his hands.

I could’ve closed my eyes, but I didn’t want to miss a thing. I didn’t want to miss Julian’s beautiful, beautiful lips searching mine, didn’t want to miss the sight of his face an inch from my own, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his incredibly green eyes.

He kissed me. Delicately. Tenderly, face to face, his eyes searching mine. No one had ever,
ever
kissed me like that. And then he kissed me again, only deeper. A real,
real
kiss.

My head spinning, I broke away and fanned myself. “Whoa. That was, uhm…”

At that, he silenced me with a third kiss. I could get used to this kind of treatment, I thought as I wrapped my arms around his neck like a drowning woman and kissed him back, all barriers down, and boy, let me tell you it was the sexiest, most erotic moment of my life.

I let my hands roam over his shoulders and back, enjoying the feel of his strong lean body against mine, more than aware that I was anything but lean myself. I envisaged him kissing me more, his hands slipping under my shirt and touching my roly-poly body. And I instantly stiffened. I had lost weight, but I wasn’t at my very best physically yet and probably never would be for him. And if I ever was, it would be time to find myself a toy boy with an expiration date—not my kids’ principal whom I couldn’t stop thinking of.

“I think you’d better go now,” I whispered before I tore his clothes off and he would have to (out of sheer British courtesy) reciprocate. “Thanks for everything. Especially for the kisses. Yum.”

“There’s more where that came from,” he promised with a grin and a wink as he gathered my hands in his and kissed them one last time.

When he closed the door, I sat back and let out a huge sigh. I’d have to be very careful. There was no way I was shelving my Tuscan dream for anyone, not even Superman here. I’d already done the falling in love thing and look where it’d got me. Sex? Yes please and lots of it, thank you. Love? Not happening until I touched Italian ground and an Italian family man.