Better Off Without Him (15 page)

“Isn’t that more like practice sex? This is very confusing.”

“No, not really. He’s my fuck buddy.”

“I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t either,” I admitted.

“So are you doing any actual dating?”

“Dinner, once. Drinks . A movie. Mini-golf.”

“Well, that sounds fun. And the sex is good?”

“Great.”

“Well, there you go.” She frowned again. “The girls?”

“They know about the dating part. I don’t think they’ve figured out the rest. In fact, the reason they picked Doug was because they didn’t think there’d be any, uh, temptation.”

She had arranged all the ears of corn in rows in a big baking pan, in preparation of shucking. Now she shrugged. “Well, he is kinda ugly.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“But he’s got a great body. And all that curly hair. His eyes are squinty, but that mouth of his…” Her voice drifted off, and she looked thoughtful.

“Exceeds expectations.”

“Well. Yeah, I’d do him.” She picked up the corn. “Shall we?”

We went back on the porch and shucked the corn and chatted happily. The girls came back and took turns in our outdoor shower, which is not nearly as nice and private as Scott and Steve’s, but gets the sand off. Finally, Doug showed up with all seven boys, in a line like so many dwarves. We ordered the kids outdoors to sit at the long picnic table under the scrub pines in the back yard, while the adults stayed on the screened-in porch. We all ate burgers, hot dogs, corn and potato salad, and had cut into the second watermelon when suddenly Fred, who had been comatose for most of the afternoon, lifted his head and barked.

We all stared at him. He knows everyone on the block, and anyone he doesn’t know he still considers a best friend.

“Hello,” came drifting around the corner of the house, and Fred barked again. Someone came teetering up to the porch in spike-heeled sandals and a fuchsia sundress. Vicki Montrose.

She was looking quite pretty. It was hard to get past the boobs, of course, but she was thin everywhere else and was quite attractive, with bouncy blondish hair and big eyes.

“Hello everybody,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I heard all the laughing and thought, well…”

I stood up. “Of course, Vicki. Have you eaten? We haven’t put anything away yet. Or maybe some watermelon?”

She smiled. “Maybe just a teensy drink.”

Doug leaped to his feet. “Allow me.” He bowed, looking directly into her considerable cleavage. “What can I do you? Get you?”

She batted her lashes. “A Cosmopolitan would be divine.”

He took off into the house.

The Keegan boys had been seeing Vicki in various states of dress and undress for almost two weeks, so they weren’t staring too hard, but the Riollos were having a tough time of it. The boys were falling off the picnic benches trying to get a better angle. Even Al didn’t quite know where to look. Tom Wilson immediately put his sunglasses back on so no one could accuse him of anything later on.

“So, Vicki,” I began, “does this mean you’ll be staying another week?” All rentals ran from Saturday to Saturday, and today would have meant a changing of the guard.

“Actually, I took the place for the whole summer. I told you, I really needed to have some alone time. But I came over to tell you that my brother will be joining me sometime near the end of the month, and I thought the two of you might go out.”

I stared at her blankly. “Out where?”

“Now, you, stop teasing me. You told me all about it, remember? Practice dating? Well, now you can practice on Mitchell.”

Doug returned and handed her a drink. “Mitchell?” he asked politely.

“Yes,” Vicki explained. “Mitchell is my brother. I think he could really help Mona and her practice dating.”

Al Riollo looked puzzled. “Mona, are you really dating again? That’s great. I had no idea. But, of course, Marsha never tells me anything.”

“Actually, honey,” MarshaMarsha said gently, “I just heard about it myself today.”

“Honest? Practice dating, did you say? What is that, exactly?” Al looked around hopefully.

MarshaMarsha turned to me and beamed. “Tell Al all about it, Mona. Go on.”

I cleared my throat. Doug, I could see from the corner of my eyes, seemed intent on scratching Fred’s ears. “My daughters seemed to think that I needed some practice before diving into the dating pool, so they suggested that Doug and I go out a few times, just as, you know, a warm-up.”

“Honest? What a great idea.” Al was genuinely interested. “And how did that work out for you both?”

MarshaMarsha began to choke on her drink, and Tom Wilson patted her gently on the back.

“Yes, you never did tell us,” Tom said. “How did that go?”

“Fine,” I said smoothly.

“We’ve been having a great time,” Doug said. “Tuesday we played mini-golf.”

“I’m just not sure I’m ready for Phase Two,” I explained to Vicki. “You know, going out with a stranger. My daughter Miranda says I need to work up to that gradually.”

“Excuse me,” Mrs. D. suddenly yelled at Vicki, “but don’t they hurt?”

Vicki looked confused. “Don’t what hurt?”

“Your boobies. Your back must be killing you.”

Vicki turned red. So did MarshaMarsha.

“Mom,” she said loudly, trying to tactfully divert her, “Mona is dating Doug. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Mona? Dating Doug?” Mrs. D. was successfully sidelined. “Doesn’t Brian have anything to say about that?”

Vicki frowned. “Who’s Brian?” she asked.

“My husband.” I sighed.

“Mom, Mona’s getting a divorce, remember?” MarshaMarsha plowed on.

“Divorce? Did you tell me that?” Mrs. D. asked.

Al tried to help. “Yes, we told you all about it, Mother. Remember? Brian left last spring.”

Mrs. D. suddenly smiled. “Yes, I remember. He was cheating on her. Is Big Boobie over there the one?”

“No,” MarshaMarsha said quickly. “Vicki is renting down the street. She wants Mona to go out with her brother.”

“But isn’t Mona dating Doug?” Mrs. D. frowned again. “How many men is she going out with anyway?”

Al tried again. “They’re practice dating, Mother D.”

“Practice? What the hell is that? Who needs to practice dating? You go out, and it clicks or it doesn’t.” Mrs. D. shook her head. “What the hell is so hard about that?”

Vicki leaned in. “He cheated on you?” she breathed. “Oh, you must be devastated.”

I conjured up my Joan-of-Arc face. “It’s hard,” I admitted.

“How brave of you to soldier on,” Vicki continued.

“Yes. Well.” I managed a weak smile.

“But I think Mitchell would be a good step for you.” Vicki was smiling again. “He’s a very successful entrepreneur.”

“Next thing you know,” Mrs. D. was yelling, “they’ll be having practice sex.”

MarshaMarsha buried her face in her hands. Al downed the rest of his beer. Tom and Annie Wilson both snapped their heads in my direction.

“Entrepreneur?” I asked. “How interesting.”

“Yes.” Vicki was bursting. “He owns three comic book stores. He’s thinking about trying to franchise.”

“Imagine that.” My head hurt. “Doug, he owns comic book stores.”

Doug was keeping a straight face. “Whereabouts?”

Vicki held out her empty glass and waggled it at him. “Hoboken. Jersey City. And Chatham. That was his first store. The Chatham one. That’s where he lives. With our parents.”

“Oh?” Doug finally broke into a grin. “He still lives with his folks? Hard to figure.”

Vicki shrugged. “It’s not like he doesn’t have lots of money, you understand, but Mom is so good to him, you know?”

“Oh.” Doug chuckled. “I know.” He got up and took her glass. I finally glanced over at Tom and Annie, who were looking as though the sun had suddenly risen on an entire new world. I smiled weakly at them, then turned to Mrs. D.

“Can I get you more iced tea?” I asked her. She shook her head, then frowned again.

“Are you going to have sex with Big Boobie’s brother too?”

I could not even begin to formulate a response.

“Mother,” MarshaMarsha was trying to insist, “it’s not about sex.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Annie muttered.

Tom frowned. “Mona and Doug?” he asked his wife, who rolled her eyes and knocked back the rest of her drink.

“Mom.” Miranda, who had been sitting on the back picnic table surrounded by the Riollo and Keegan boys, appeared on the porch, cell phone in hand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Oh, God. Please,” I said.

“Dad wants to know if we can spend a few days with him. He says he hasn’t seen us in a month, and he’ll take off a few days. He said he’ll take us to the City. Can we go?”

Now my stomach hurt. “How do your sisters feel about this?” I asked.

“They’re cool. He wants to take us shopping. Is it okay?”

I took a long breath. Far be it from me to keep my children away from their only father if they really wanted to spend time with him. “Of course it’s okay, honey. Whatever you girls want to do. When can he be here?”

“Hold on.” She put the phone to her ear, turned her back, and mumbled. She snapped the phone shut and turned back. “He’s crossing the bridge.”

“What? He’s crossing the bridge? What bridge are you talking about?” I felt a sudden rush of anxiety.

“You know. The bridge. Onto LBI. We’d better pack.” She yelled to her sisters, and the porch was suddenly full of girls, then empty again. My jaw was still somewhere on my chest when Doug reappeared, Vicki’s new drink in hand.

“What did I miss?”

“Brian is coming to get the girls for a few days,” I told him.

“So? Why do you look so upset? When is he coming?”

“In about fifteen minutes,” I told him.

I had not seen Brian since he walked out of the house in April. We had phone conversations, e-mails, and plenty of lawyer-related exchanges. I even left a message for him at his office that he could come and pick up an assortment of items, ranging from his golf clubs to his high school football trophy, that I thoughtfully had thrown into a huge pile in the garage. But nothing face to face. He picked up the girls and returned them home without leaving the Mercedes, and all I had seen of his actual person was his silhouette.

Al and MarshaMarsha were gathering up Mrs. D. and calling for their boys, and the Wilsons were standing and shaking hands, murmuring goodbyes. Vicki gulped her drink and hugged me.

“I’ll call about Mitch,” she whispered, and left.

MarshaMarsha gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she promised.

And Doug and I were sitting alone.

“Can I clear a room or what?” I said at last.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

I shook my head, and he left, brushing his hand across my shoulder.

I sat a few minutes longer, looking around the porch. Everyone had arranged their empty glasses neatly on the coffee table, so I gathered them onto a tray and went into the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Brian was coming. Would I actually see him this time? And if I did, how did I look?

I ran into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Damn, I looked pretty good. Tan coming along nicely. Hair soft and curly. I’d put on my company bra, so the girls were high and in place. Manicure and pedicure intact. And I looked great in blue.

I went into the living room and turned on the reading light, then sat and began to read a magazine, so that when Brian pulled up, he was sure to see me sitting there alone. I turned the pages, listening to the girls squabbling upstairs, and finally car lights swept up the drive, a car door slammed, and Fred went crazy, racing up from the kitchen and flinging himself against the screen door, barking like a mad thing. I heard Brian talking to him from the other side of the door, so I casually called for him to come in.

Brian looked thinner. And tired. He stood in the center of the room, hands in the pockets of his khakis looking down at me as I continued to carelessly turn the pages of my magazine.

“Hello, Brian.” I sounded cool. Composed. Totally detached. “How are you?”

“Good. Good.” He spoke heartily. “Doing fine. Thanks for letting me get the girls on such short notice. I was on my way back up from Atlantic City. A bunch of us from work brought Joe Heddon down for his bachelor party last night. I just took a chance I’d be able to scoop them up.”

“You hate Atlantic City,” I said. “You always bitched and moaned when we went there.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

“And you hate Joe Heddon.”

He looked shocked. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You once called him a malevolent rat-bastard with a really tiny dick,” I said.

He became thoughtful. “Really? When?”

“When he fired Susan Lucas.”

“Yeah, I remember now. Well, people can change.”

“Oh? Did he grow a bigger dick?”

He chuckled. “No. He’s Dominique’s boss.”

“Ah.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘ah’ ”?

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. You’re here now, that’s the thing.” I smiled tolerantly as I flipped another page. “They hadn’t seen you in so long, and they seemed very excited. Miranda mentioned shopping.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I thought I’d take a few days, you know, take them on a little spree.”

I turned to a fascinating article on the benefits of cranberry juice. “And how’s Dominique? Will she be shopping with you?”

“No,” he said shortly. “She’s taken off to see some friends in Phoenix.”

“Phoenix? I hope she doesn’t fry. The heat in Phoenix in the middle of July can be brutal.”

He shrugged. “That’s what I told her, but she was determined to take a few days to herself. They’re going to some spa out there.”

I finally looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Trouble in Paradise?”

“No. No, nothing really. Well, just a little dry patch, that’s all. Nothing that can’t be, ah, managed. Every couple has them. You know, dry patches.” He walked over to the staircase and yelled upstairs to the girls. I could hear a rumble of activity above me. He turned to me and cleared his throat again. “You look great, by the way. How are things going? I mean, are you getting out and around? I’d hate to think you’re down here just, you know, sitting around.”