Better Off Without Him (19 page)

I poured some more champagne and added some cheese to a cracker. I took a bite. Very sharp cheddar on multi-grain. I glanced up at the sky. Maybe a chivalrous helicopter pilot would come by, and I could flag him down. How would he know to drop down a ladder so I could escape like Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies? Could I carve out a message of some sort on the deck?

Peter was pulling himself out of the water and climbing up the side of the boat by way of a rope ladder. He was dripping wet and, I must say, looked like a water god. Sleek. Sun-kissed. Glistening.

He walked past me and the pile of his clothes on the deck and went below. I listened for a few minutes, and sure enough, he called for me. Crap.

He was lying in the middle of his giant, satin-swathed bed. He was still glistening. He was smiling. He had an obvious hard-on. Holy crap.

“Peter, listen.” I chewed my lip. I didn’t think he would rape me, but it’s wise not to get on the wrong side of the only person in the world who can get you back on dry land.

“Peter, I’m very flattered. Really. And you are quite the man, obviously. But the thing is,–“ Think fast. I needed something that was not so much as a rejection as a turn-off. “I didn’t bring any condoms.”

He was still smiling. “Don’t need ‘em. I got snipped. Come on over here, Mona.”

“But what about, you know, spreading something?”

“We’re wasting time here, Mona. Not to worry. I’m clean as a whistle.”

“But I’m not. I’m actually in the middle of, ah, a flare-up right now. And without a condom, well - ”

He sat up. “You’ve got - ?”

“Oh, yeah.” I made a careless gesture with my hand as I watched with some satisfaction his reaction to the news, the anatomical equivalent of the sinking of the Titanic. “But, if you’re willing to take the chance…” I started unbuttoning my shirt, and he scrambled off the bed.

“No, Mona, honest. I don’t think I, ah, I mean we should risk anything.” He went past me and pounded up the stairs. I followed him slowly, and when I got topside he was back in his clothes, looking very nonchalant, munching on a cracker.

“More champagne?” he asked.

“Sure.” I sat back down and drank some more. He sat, nodding his head occasionally, for about ten minutes. I was watching the ocean, feeling very relieved and quite impressed with myself. Finally, he suggested we head back.

“What about dinner?” I asked, trying to look hurt.

He cleared his throat. “To tell you the truth, I’m not feeling so good. Maybe too much sun. Next time?”

Forty minutes later, I was in my car heading home, shaking with a mixture of rage and hysteria. When I pulled into my driveway, I parked, threw myself out of the car and ran to Scott and Steve’s. They were in their backyard with, of course, Doug.

Scott got to his feet. “What happened? Why are you home so soon?”

“He was a sex fiend,” I yelled.

Steve frowned. “We knew that.”

Scott nodded. “Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t.” I was still yelling. “I didn’t know that. I asked you guys.”

“Well,” Scott said reasonably. “You asked us if he was a drunk.”

“Or a drug addict,’ added Steve. “You never asked if he was a sex maniac.”

Doug was laughing out loud.

“You knew,” I shrieked at him. “You knew and you just let me go off on a boat with him.”

Doug composed himself. “I figured you could take care of yourself.”

“I had to tell him I had a sexually transmitted disease.”

Scott clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent. Quick thinking. Can I get you a drink.?”

I was still standing over Doug. “I could kill you,” I said, my voice still shaking but much quieter.

Doug grabbed my hand. “I have a much better idea.”

I snatched my hand back. “You thought I’d be easy pickings?”

Doug nodded. “Sure. The guy’s crazy, but he’s got a great boat and I’ve heard he’s well, physically well-endowed. If that’s not a turn-on, what is?”

I turned and started to walk away, but Doug’s voice stopped me. “Tom and Ann took your daughters for pizza in Beach Haven. They mentioned the water park.”

I turned.

“They just left. Fifteen minutes ago. They’ll probably be gone ‘till nine.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Nine?”

Doug nodded.

“That’s hours from now.”

“Yes.”

I looked at Scott, who was trying to look totally disinterested.

Steve cleared his throat. “So,” he asked, “ was Peter, well, as impressive as they say?”

“Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights.”

Doug stood up and stretched elaborately. “I think I’ll say good-night, boys. Thanks for the drink.”

He walked past me and around to the front of the house, I followed him, grabbed his hand, and pulled. He followed me across the street and into my house.

Easy pickings.

To: Anthony

From: Mona

Date; July 22

Subject: GRRRR

All men are scum. I hate men and don’t think I can make a go of it with women. Is there a third sex? Mona

To: Mona

From: Anthony

Date: July 23

Subject: Practice date

Oh, babycakes, I hope you aren’t angry, but I told Marty to call you this week. You know Marty, right? Starbucks Marty? He runs the place, may even own the franchise. He’s always behind the counter. Anyway, Marty has always been a big fan of yours. Victor and I have been logging in serious coffee time, and I got to know Marty pretty well, and when he told me he was down in Beach Haven for the next two weeks, I mentioned you were down there too, and he told me he thought you were a very nice woman, so I gave him your number. You like Marty, remember? You said he was a real sweetie, and he is. He’s also kinda hot in that pseudo-Mafia/ Michael Corleone kind of way. Please don’t be mad. I love you, Anthony. PS – if there was a third sex, believe me, I’d have slept with it.

To: Anthony

From: Mona

Date: July 24

Subject: Marty

Oh, Anthony, of course I’m not mad. And you’re right, Marty is a sweetie. When he calls, I’ll be charming and I bet we have a great time. I love you, too. Mona

Starbucks Marty and I agreed to meet at a very popular Italian restaurant that was around the corner from the house he was renting. It was also in walking distance of my house. Public place, close to home. The restaurant was a bring-your-own-bottle family place, so he couldn’t get drunk before I got there. And he probably wouldn’t be naked. I was hoping I’d be safe.

We had to wait for a table. We sat on a bench with a bunch of other hungry diners and I got a chance to take a look at him without his requisite Starbucks black with snazzy green apron. He was attractive in a very macho-roman kind of way. Thick wavy hair, dark, sprinkled with gray. Olive skin, black eyes, heavy brows, red mouth and very white teeth. Dressed in standard summer uniform, khaki shorts and white polo shirt. Very respectable-looking. We smiled politely without saying a word until we were seated across from each other.

Marty frowned, centered the vase of plastic flowers, placed the salt and pepper shakers on either side of the vase, and said, “Well.”

“Yes. Well. How are you Marty?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good.”

The waitress came by, declared her name to be Tina and she’d be our server for the evening, and filled our glasses with water. Marty ordered an iced tea, and we looked at the menus.

“Have you ever been here before?” he asked.

I nodded and sipped water. “Yes. Everything’s good. I think I’ll try the Veal Marsala.”

“You eat veal?”

I looked up from the menu. “Eat veal? Yes. Don’t you?”

He sighed. Very heart-felt. Deep. “What they do to those baby cows…”

Okay then. The waitress came back, set Marty’s iced tea on the table, and looked at us expectantly.

“I’ll have the Chicken Marsala, with pasta on the side. Ziti. Small salad, oil and vinegar. A side of garlic bread. Marty, do you want to split an appetizer?”

Marty lifted his shoulders. “They don’t have those little rice balls, do they?”

I looked at Tina. She shook her head.

“No, Marty. How about calamari?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I really wanted rice balls.”

I turned to Tina. “No appetizer, I guess. Marty, what will you have?”

Marty cleared his throat. “No Osso Bucco?”

Tina shook her head. “No. Only what’s on the menu.”

Marty sighed. “No lamb chops either?”

Tina smiled patiently. “Is it on the menu?”

Marty shook his head. “No. So I guess I’ll have the pork chops. Can he make those with hot peppers?”

Tina was still smiling. “On the menu?”

Marty’s face could not have looked more morose. “No.”

Tina remained chipper. “Pasta?”

“No, thanks. Baked potato.”

Tina’s smile finally cracked. “No baked potato. Sides are pasta, steamed veggies or rice.”

Marty looked close to tears. “Pasta. No, rice. I’ll have rice, please.”

Tina wrote happily. “And on your salad?”

“Balsamic, please.”

Tina snatched up the menus. “Not on the menu. Oil and vinegar okay?”

Marty shrugged his shoulders again and waved her away. He took a sip of iced tea, grimaced, and shook out his napkin. He examined the hem of the napkin, shook his head, and settled it on his lap. He rearranged the silverware, making sure the edges of each piece were the exact same distance from the edge of the table.

“So,” he said, “the food is good here?”

“Okay,” I backpedaled. “Nothing great, but okay. I like it because it’s close to home.”

Marty nodded. “Yes, it’s close to where I’m staying as well.”

“Great. How’s your place?”

He rolled his eyes. “The mattress is lumpy. There may be bugs. There’s a sticky place on the kitchen floor. Don’t get me started on the bathroom.”

I wouldn’t dream of it. “Have you spent time down here before?”

“No. Usually I go to Ocean Beach. Maryland. But the house I usually take burnt to the ground over Christmas, so I thought I’d take it as a sign and try someplace new.”

“And how are you liking it so far? Aside from the house being, you know, icky?”

He took another sip of tea. “The water is really cold here. The sand looks dirty. I know it’s not, I mean, not any dirtier than any other sand, but it looks dirty. And it’s very course. Gritty. I stepped on a shell and I think my heel is infected. I’m also allergic to the sunscreen I bought.”

We had already ordered dinner. I was trapped. Back in Westfield, behind the counter of Starbucks, Marty was smiling, sweet and engaging. Here and now, he was the most depressing man I had ever met. The good news was that the service was usually good here, and I could be back out on the street in about an hour.

I looked around the room. No sign of Tina and our salad. “Have you met anyone down here? People are usually friendly. Any nice neighbors?”

He sipped more iced tea, making another face. “The people next door had the police there Monday night. Across the street is a three hundred pound woman who sunbathes in her front yard every morning. In a two-piece. And the couple on the corner had a fistfight on the sidewalk yesterday around dinnertime.”

“Oh.” Where the hell were our salads?

“Anthony tells me you’re getting divorced,” Marty said, breaking a small silence.

“Yes. I am. My husband left me for another woman.”

“My second wife did that,” Marty said.

“Oh? Left you?” Can’t imagine why.

“Yes. For another woman.”

Ouch. “That must have been very hard.”

“It destroyed me, I gotta say. We’d been married six years.”

“Well, it must have been difficult for her to suddenly realize, after all that time, that she was really a lesbian.”

Marty lifted his shoulders. “She said she wasn’t before we were married. She told me I drove her to it.”

How long did it take to make a few salads? Were they growing them a leaf at a time back there?

“So, you’ve been divorced?”

He nodded. “Four times.”

Mercifully, Tina appeared with salads and my garlic bread, as well as the oil and vinegar, extra butter for the bread, and a shaker of parmesan cheese. She set everything down, left, and I sat for a few extra moments while Marty rearranged the plates and condiments. We finally began to eat, and Marty shook his head sadly.

“Iceberg,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Iceberg lettuce. I hate iceberg lettuce.”

“There’s also green leaf in there, and red stuff, what is that, radicchio? It looks fine.”

He looked skeptical and tasted. He lifted his shoulders. “Oh well.”

“Well, here, have some garlic bread.”

He took a bite, and smiled for the first time. “Good.”

Thank God. “We could get another order, if you like.”

“No. I’ll just have this piece.”

I ate some salad, which was quite good, by the way. “So, you were talking about being divorced. Did you really say four times?”

“Yes. Can you believe four different women divorced me?”

What I couldn’t believe was that four different women married him in the first place, so I just shook my head and kept my mouth full.

He took another piece of garlic bread. “My first wife took off in the middle of the night and left a note. She said she had to go and find herself. She went to Alaska. Then Diane left me for Joan. Maryanne went back to her first husband. While they were still married, she had a restraining order against him, but she told me he’d gotten help and was a lot better. Sarah, well, she was drinking so bad in the end, it was just as well.”

“Oh my.” This called for an immediate change of subject. “How did you get attached to Starbucks?”

“Well, I had a degree in chemistry, but after I’d been at my first job for a couple of years, there was a small, well, accident. No one was hurt, but the owners of the company didn’t handle things well, and I was basically blackballed from the industry. I tried teaching, but too many parents complained about test scores, you know how that goes. Then I went into sales, pharmaceutical sales, because that’s the future, right? But the company went belly-up. Very unexpected. And for a while I was with an internet company, very promising. I was actually partner. Lost everything. So I was looking for a sure thing, and I think Starbucks is the answer.”