The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (18 page)

Chapter 23:

Birthday Suit

(Stilettos and Panties)

T
he day before my birthday, I decided to give myself a little carefree present— precisely a pair of red stiletto heels and a pair of lace panties, just like Ira’s lover. Only my target wasn’t Ira. If I was indeed going to continue having this fling, I had to set the pace and tone for myself for once. Be in charge. Be able to have sex playfully, not just as a chore as it had been with Ira. No, from now on there would be fun in my (or Julian’s) bed. To hell with my good resolutions about finding another guy. I didn’t want anyone else.

I pulled out my old trench coat to make sure it didn’t smell like moth balls, my heart beating like a schoolgirl’s. I knew it was cheesy, maybe even ridiculous, but played right it could be fun. I’d always wanted to do something like this but Ira never let me get away with it.

But, if I could start off my relationship with Julian on a sexy, playful note, I’d already have a better relationship than I’d ever had with my husband. If Julian was game, I was home free. And if not, simple—the kids would be very happy at a new school.

* * *

Of course I had some backup clothes in the car, but for now I wrapped the trench coat tightly around me and rang Julian’s door bell. His jeep wasn’t there but I rang all the same, out of courtesy. After all, it was his house. Nothing. I bent to fit the key around my neck into the lock, punched in the code, and, in my birthday suit, stepped over the threshold.

My feet were killing me already with the new shoes. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wear them until he got back? I shrugged out of my coat and looked in the hall mirror, my naked breasts glowing white in the dying light. “You have completely lost it, lady,” I said to the woman in the mirror and burst into hysterical laughter.

I wasn’t a raving beauty but Julian was right—I did have beautiful breasts and my curves were generous. I liked generous. He liked generous. So why was I so friggin’ panicky? Wasn’t this what I’d always wanted?

I found a beautiful chaise by one of the living room windows, a room we’d bypassed on my first visit, and adjusted myself on it like a Hollywood star. Waxed within an inch of my life and as fresh as a rose, I leaned back, my too-tight stilettos dangling from my toes, my long hair all on one shoulder, looking sultry and relaxed on the outside while on the inside I was having multiple mini-strokes by the minute.

There was still time for me to get up and go home. I didn’t have to go through with it. But I really wanted to. At thirty-five, this might very well be my last chance to have sex like a young woman without looking pathetic (if I didn’t already). As a sudden wave of panic washed over me, I bolted back to the mirror, checking my B-side and all the other sides to make sure I didn’t have anything gross on me like a major pimple or wart. Was I really doing this? Damn right I was.

I heard a car door close and then recognized Julian’s car alarm bleep. Dashing back into the living room, I slipped my feet (ouch) into my red stilettos and spread myself out on the chaise, saying a silent prayer. It was do or die. I held my breath for my surprise exhibition.

“Erica?” he called as he came down the hall.
Shit,
my Kia was in the damn driveway, wasn’t it? Some surprise. “Sweetie, where are you?”

He appeared on the threshold, still as a rock, his jaw dropping open, speechless. Which was the effect I’d been going for. But in the slanting rays of the sunset, I made out another figure. A woman. When realization hit, I screamed and dashed behind the chaise longue, lacy butt momentarily exposed, clutching at the upholstered back like a drowning woman to a raft in the storm. Julian had brought a
woman
home? Why the hell had he given me his key then? They both stared at me with enormous eyes and the silence was so thick you could’ve cut through it with a knife.

“Erica?” he choked, then coughed politely. “I, uhm, this is my mother, Maggie Foxham.”

His mother? His
mother
? Wanting to fall through the floorboards, I stuck my head out from behind the back of the chaise just long enough to show half my face, and raised my hand. “Hello, Mrs. Foxham, it’s so...
nice
to meet you—sorry about the—ah...” and then I simply shut up. What would you have said?

Her eyes swung to Julian’s as she tried to stifle a laugh and warmly waved from the hall. “Hallo, pet, I’ve heard so much about you. I’m glad I got a chance to finally meet you,” she said graciously in Julian’s same funny Liverpudlian twang, then kissed Julian on the cheek. “We’ll do the papers some other time, dear. No hurry.” And then she turned to me once more and smiled. “Hope to see you again soon,” and was gone.

“Preferably with my clothes on,” I cringed to myself as Julian saw her to the door. What a classy lady. Cool as a cucumber.

When Julian came back in, I was fumbling around on all fours for my trench coat. Where the hell had I put it? Damn, was I a total loser, or what? Never had I done something more disastrously embarrassing than that. It was a sign. I had to scram. If I could just—

“Looking for this?” he asked, my coat hanging from his index finger, a strange look on his face.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I mumbled. “I wanted to surprise you, and...”

“Well, you certainly did,” he agreed, chewing on the inside of his cheeks to stop from laughing. “What were you planning?” he whispered as he came into the room, slowly, like a panther stalking a big juicy rabbit.

“I—I... nothing,” I said, reaching for my trench coat.

“I’d like you to continue where we interrupted you,” he said, his eyes hooded.

I swallowed. “You would?”

He nodded, taking his own coat off and throwing it aside with mine.

“Lie down again,” he directed me, “just as I found you.”

As I obeyed, he knelt between my feet. “Open your legs,” he whispered. Hoo boy, this was suddenly looking up. I obeyed, my heart pounding in my ears.

“I’m going to love you now from head to toe,” he growled softly. And with that, he took my stilettos off (thank God) and gently brought my foot to his mouth, sucking my toes, one by one. As I watched through half-closed lids, he kissed my ankle, my shinbone, travelling up my leg and thigh, his eyes never leaving mine. Before he reached my panties, he pulled himself up and kissed me on the mouth, deep and hard as I melted into a puddle at his feet.

“Erica, before we go any further, I have to be honest. I lied to you.”

My eyes snapped open, alarmed. “What? You’re married?”

He chuckled. “No, silly. I’m single. But this,” he said, his mouth easing its way back down to our target, thank God, “
does
come with strings attached.”

I frowned. “Strings… what do you mean?”

His mouth swept over me right there and I lurched like a bolt of lightning had hit me, almost knocking a nearby lamp over. “I simply mean that this comes with dinners, dates, movies. The works.”

“Oh,” I exhaled in relief.

Julian sat up, his hands keeping my thighs apart. “I mean it, Erica. I don’t want to be just your rebound boy.”

I stared at him. “Rebound? What are you talking about?”

“That I don’t want you to start this if in your heart you know I can’t be more for you. I’m serious, Erica.”

Yes, lately my world had fallen into the
Twilight Zone
, no doubt about it.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so I simply nodded, feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world as he bent over me once again. He made love to me on that chaise and somewhere in the middle I remember him carrying me (I kid you not) to his bedroom upstairs where it started all over again. Bless the Brits.

Chapter 24:

Ti Amo

A
s I was climbing into my car after work the next day (not that I’d got much done, as you can imagine), someone was waving, running towards me. Julian. I almost hadn’t recognized him with his clothes on, so branded in my mind was the image of his beautiful, statuesque naked body. Face flushed and excited, he made his way over as my heart lurched. God, why was he so sinfully gorgeous?

“Erica, am I glad I caught you!” he exclaimed, his other arm pinned behind his back.

“Julian—is everything okay?” Did he want to call it off? Had I not performed well enough?

He produced a giant bouquet of red roses and planted a delicious kiss on my mouth that almost bowled me over. “Happy birthday, my girl.”

Wait, how did he even know about my birthday? Had he checked the school files? Sneaky, sneaky fox!

“
Old
girl, you mean,” I gushed, taking the flowers from him. “Thank you so much, Julian.”

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging me gently. “What’s with the face?”

“I
feel
like an old girl.”

“Erica, stop. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re luminous. Brilliant. Besides the fact that you look sexy as hell sprawled naked on my living-room chaise.”

I liked the sound of that, although I was unfamiliar with the concept. I nodded finally, and Julian took my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Uhm, I can’t. I have to go home to the kids.”

“That’s where we’re going,” he assured me.

“You want to come home with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a devilish grin.

I stared at him, trying to recover, and finally nodded, realizing my mouth was still open. “Okay, but I need to go to the supermarket to get some stuff first.”

“Cool.”

* * *

So I let him come grocery shopping with me on my birthday—in my car, with me driving, as I didn’t want to depend on him for the slightest thing. I didn’t want to
need
him. And most of all, I didn’t want him to hurt me. Neither did I want to mess it up.

“Until you take me on board as your cooking student, you’ll have to settle for an English meal.”

I turned to him. “You cooking me a meal?”

He grinned his hallmark sexy grin, the one that made me want to jump over the counter in one swing and pull his clothes off. “It was the least I could do—plus it’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to cook on your birthday.”

Madeleine and Warren had taped balloons and crepe paper all over the living room and kitchen. Julian’s roast beef with potatoes and vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and the works was delicious. Just like him. The kids had got me a gift—a beautiful make-up set, with Warren’s money from his paper run and Maddy’s allowance (and I suspect with a little help from the school principal).

Julian had taped a Happy Birthday sign high up on the wall, framed with balloons of every color.

“Ready for my gift?” he asked, and winked at the kids.

I widened my eyes. “There’s
more
?”

He handed me an envelope. Inside there was a ticket to Paris, and a booking for a five-star hotel, l’Athénée!
And
free entry for a week to the Musée d’Orsay, my favorite Impressionism museum in the whole world.

“I saw your books on painting,” he said with a grin. “And I’ve seen your own lovely work hanging around the house.”

Lovely work? Did he see what
I
saw in my paintings? Did he see the yearning for a dream landscape, my craving for freedom that dotted every corner of my home?

I gaped at it. “Are you crazy? I can’t accept such an expensive gift!”

“Of course you can.”

There was no way I was going to fly to Paris courtesy of another man and give Ira any ammunition in a court room. I shook my head at Julian, opening and closing my mouth, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I don’t know what to say.” Except for that I was dying to use that ticket, and fly to Paris and roll over and over on a French mattress with him. I remembered my aunts telling me to go for it, Paul telling me to go for it, Julian’s
eyes
telling me to go for it. So why wasn’t I going for it?

“Say thank you, Mommy!” Maddy exclaimed, her beautiful eyes shining.

I looked over at Julian and blushed. “Thank you, Julian.”

Then
he
blushed. “You’re very welcome, Erica.”

What was happening here? Why did he feel it was okay to give me such an important gift? Just because I’d slept with him? What did the kids make of it? Did a law pass that it was okay to jump from one man’s bed (although the first had been cold) to another’s? I had acknowledged and accepted that I was a goner for Julian. But that didn’t mean it was okay. Did it? In his presence I’d lost all sight of the righteous way.

Because all I had to do was close my eyes and feel him, even when he was on the other side of town. Once you’ve slept with a guy you like and the sex is mind-bashing, he’s virtually inside you (or
me
, in this case) forever. Now, how the hell was I going to not get hurt again? I’d survived Ira. I definitely would not survive Julian.

Sure, he was great to the kids and me, but how did I know he really cared for me as a woman, and that he didn’t simply suffer from Superman syndrome, thinking he could save me from all forms of evil and danger, myself included? Sure, he made everything perfect, but how did I know he wasn’t going to lure me off my straight path, into his bed for a painfully brief spell and then lose interest in me once he woke up and realized he wasn’t a superpower and that, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t solve my issues? I mean, let’s be honest here. He was a gorgeous ex-baseball star. I was an overweight, under-loved wife and mother of two, who when at home dressed like Ernie from
Sesame Street
on her better days. I was still slowly getting back in the saddle. We had bupkis in common. Could you even
remotely
see us together? So could I.

Chapter 25:

Free to Be

Y
ou know those days at work when it looks like it’s going to be a breeze, when you can link your hands behind the back of your neck for a minute or two and relax because this might finally be the day everything will go, at least for a couple of hours, reasonably smoothly? If you do, then I envy you.

I had just flown in from San Francisco and was sitting at my desk with a thumping headache, trying to fight jet lag. It was pointless going home as the kids were in school and I didn’t want to be there alone. Plus I was actively avoiding Clinton Street Public School, Julian’s kingdom.

My stomach felt queasy and my legs hollow, and if I hadn’t known any better I’d have thought I was pregnant. There was no point in denying the deeply buried truth. I, too, had succumbed to a lover. And it felt great.

I had married Ira out of fear of remaining single. Let’s be honest. All my life I’d lived in the shadow of gorgeous women like Marcy and her sisters. If all three of those gorgeous, intelligent and talented women were still on the shelf, what hopes exactly had I had?

Oh, why the hell did I have to go and get a schoolgirl crush on my kids’ principal? Why did he have to be so damn sweet and sexy and inaccessible? And where the hell had he been twenty years ago when I was looking for a boyfriend? But this was not Fantasy Island and I wasn’t fifteen anymore.

And what was worse, in my dream I kept experimenting with these amazing sex positions I never even knew existed (and I’m sure I must have invented a couple) and felt such intense climaxes that I’d wake up aroused, my heart pounding, my body more than ready. I needed another Julian fix pronto. I knew this was going to happen. Not that he’d want to sleep with me—but that I wouldn’t be able to stop.

Jackie craned her neck into my office. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” she managed, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex.

“What now?” I groaned.

“Better go see for yourself. Room 1312. It’s been like that for hours.”

I gave her my evil eye and got to my feet. There were some days I really wish I’d stayed at home.

The occupant of room 1312 was Mr. Dupré, a businessman from Chicago. I stopped just outside his door, listening to the bedsprings squeak and heave, squeak and heave, nonstop. Either he and his mysterious partner in there were going at it like jackhammer rabbits or there was a real problem.

I knocked discreetly. “Mr. Dupré?”

“Come in!” came an imperious voice.

I wish I hadn’t obeyed, because there he was, in his undershirt and boxers, jumping up and down on the bed. What the—

“Hi!” he exclaimed as he thumped away.

I crossed my arms. “Hello…?”

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I can’t stop.”

“The springs in our mattresses are that good?” I asked nonchalantly.

“It’s just that I had breakfast this morning you see.”
Thump, thump.

I sighed. Something told me this was going to be a long day. “Yes?”

“And by mistake—”
Thump, thump
... “—I had regular coffee.”

“Right.”

“But I can only drink decaf… because
this—” Thump, thump
“—is what it does to me!”

“It makes you want to test all the mattresses you sleep on?” I couldn’t help saying.

“It charges me with this nervous adrenaline!”
Thump.
“And this is the only way I can get rid of the caffeine in my system!”
Thump, thump, thump.

The way I saw it, I had two alternatives. Either shoot him down, or let him deal with it as he thought best. He wasn’t doing anyone any harm—only trying to flush something harmful out of his system. I made a mental note to make sure the bed was okay once he’d checked out. And maybe even try it myself. It looked like
fun
. I smiled and left him to deal with it his own way.

* * *

I wanted to call Julian, to tell him about the crazy man. I picked up the phone, knowing (or at least hoping) I was one of the few mothers that had his personal number. And then I put the phone back down.

If I called him, it would only mean one thing.
Let’s pick up where we left off.
Wasn’t my life complicated enough?
Hell no
. Even if I was still the betrayed wife, part of me demanded the right to be myself, but only with a little more enjoyment, a tiny moment for Erica Cantelli, if not downright—every now and then—
fun
.

Besides, how long could straw lie next to a burning fire before it bursts into flames again? How could I resist a possible round three?