Better Off Without Him (21 page)

I was suddenly frightened. Really. Who was this man? I think at that moment I would have cut off my little finger to have Mickey come lumbering out of the kitchen. But I didn’t need Mickey. I had Ben.

She pulled away in terror, running for the stairs, and suddenly Phillip was there, his dark cloak whirling behind him as he hurtled down the steps. He drew his sword in one swift, fluid motion, its sharp tip against Griffin’s throat. ‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked, his eyes glittering. ‘Did he even touch you?’

“Brian,” Ben said quietly, coming in from the hallway. “Good to see you. Mona, you okay?”

Brian narrowed his eyes and looked from Ben to me and back again. “Got the plumber on your side?” he said in a nasty tone.

Ben spread his hands. “Side? Are there sides, Brian? I though the two of you had settled everything quite amicably.”

Brian leaned in to me and whispered, “You screwing him too?”

I stepped back, angry and shaken. “Leave, Brian, before I call my lawyer and see if I can arrest you for something.”

Brian lifted his shoulders, then dropped them as he turned away. “Whatever, Mona. I’ll get my stuff from the garage. There’s nothing here I want anyway.” He slammed the door behind him.

Ben crossed over to me and put both his hands on my shoulders. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yep. Fine.”

“Why don’t I go and help Brian with whatever moving he needs done. You stay right here, alright?”

I nodded again and he left. I sat back on the couch, and after a few minutes Lana came up on my lap. A few minutes later, she jumped back down again. Olivia came by, and in the manner of all kittens everywhere, started chasing a dust mote in the most adorable way possible, quite distracting me until Ben came back in.

“Well, he’s gone. Where’s Lily?”

I shook my head. “No clue.”

Ben disappeared upstairs, then returned a few minutes later. “She was watching Brian from her upstairs window. She wished Mickey had stayed.”

I though about it. “Me too.”

Ben laughed. “No, you did fine without Mickey. Look, it’s early for lunch, but let’s go and get some coffee or something. What do you think?”

I looked up at Ben. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.”

We ended up taking Ben’s truck to a diner where I was suddenly, ravenously hungry and ordered French toast with eggs over easy, hash browns, sausage and coffee. Ben ordered coffee and a muffin. A blueberry muffin. How cute.

“So, how’s your summer going, Mona,” Ben asked when the waitress had left.

I looked into my coffee. This was my fourth cup. I’d have to think about cutting back. “It’s going okay, I guess. The girls are all fine, having a great time, as usual. The book is going along really well. I’m almost finished with a first draft.”

“Wow, that is great news. Congratulations, Mona. But what does that mean?”

“It means I’ll send the manuscript off to my agent, she’ll give me ideas about what needs to be changed, and then hopefully I’ll have something worthwhile by October.”

“I’m sure it will be terrific.”

He was so sweet. “I’m also dating. Trying to, anyway. It’s not going so well.”

Ben sat back. “Anthony mentioned something about that. What’s been going wrong?”

I sighed. “I think it’s because I have rotten taste in men and keep picking the wrong ones to go out with. It’s all Miranda’s fault. She wants me to practice on men I already know, but apparently I only know sex fiends and whack jobs.”

“Well,” Ben said easily, “you know me.”

The waitress set our plates down in front of us, but I didn’t even notice. Yes, I did know Ben.

“That’s right,” I managed at last, starting to shovel food into my mouth. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in a week.

I knew Ben.

“So,” he continued, breaking off a piece of muffin, “maybe this could be one of your dates.”

I almost stabbed myself in the cheek with my fork. “A date? With you?”

“We’re out, and eating, and I’ll be willing to pick up the tab. What do you think?”

I stared at my plate. On a date with Ben.

Now I may or may not have mentioned it, but I had done a lot of fantasizing about Ben. In all my imaging, however, not even one scenario involved food. Maybe grapes, ice cream, or strawberries dipped in chocolate, followed by champagne. There was the warm honey and – never mind. The point is I never pictured us on a normal, let’s-grab-a-bite kind of date. And as fate would have it, suddenly we were on exactly that kind of a date, and I was eating a breakfast big enough to feed the entire defensive line of the Green Bay Packers.

“I’ve been up since four-thirty this morning, which is why I’m so hungry.” I explained. “ If this were a normal date, I would have stopped after the French toast.”

He laughed . “Not to worry. I’m flush.”

I had to decide how to act. I’d had dozens of conversations with Ben, all comfortable and usually a little flirtatious, but what about now? Was I still allowed to flirt? Should I be serious? I took a leap.

“Well, then, we have to talk about date stuff.”

“Like what?”

I stared at him. “Don’t you know? I mean, you must go out all the time.”

He was stirring lots of sugar into his coffee. “No, not really. It’s hard to find somebody to, you know, connect with. There had to be a spark, you know? Something to pique the interest.”

“Do I pique your interest?” I blurted.

He looked at me evenly. “You are by far one of the most interesting women I know.”

‘
And I burn for you, every inch of my being. I can’t stand it. I must have you.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Please, do not deny me any longer.’

“Is that because of my myriad of plumbing problems?”

He laughed again, and chewed more muffin. “Partly. I must admit, professionally speaking, your house represents a major challenge. But you’re a funny and smart woman. And you’re a writer. I find that fascinating. I love to read, mostly nonfiction, and I just can’t imagine having the ability to put down words on paper in such a way that holds the mind, captures the imagination. It’s a great gift.”

I would have preferred his being fascinated by my dark and sexy eyes, or perhaps my sweetly irresistible mouth, but hey, from Ben I’d take anything.

I had to say something. It was my turn. “Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me. I take my work seriously. It feels good to be appreciated.”

He smiled. “So, is this good date conversation?”

“Yes, it is.”

“So, do you mind telling me why you felt the need to leave the shore at four-thirty to meet Brian?”

I set down my fork. I needed to take a break from chewing anyway. “Lily sent me an e-mail that he was coming, and she did sound a little nervous, and I really didn’t trust Brian. Things had been going too smoothly, you know? I figured he might try something, if for no other reason than to piss me off. And I was right. If I hadn’t been there, he might have tried to take stuff, and I would have hated to put Lily in that position.”

Ben grinned. “If you hadn’t been there, Mickey would have broken all of Brian’s fingers, and it would have made Lily’s day.”

I laughed. “Yes, you’re right.”

He put his hand over mine. His skin was rough but warm, and my pulse, I’ve got to tell you, went through the roof. “You’re a real class act. Brian is and was a jerk, and you did just fine, Mona.”

“You were my back-up, though. Thanks.”

He pulled his hand away. “We make a good team,” he said lightly. I almost swooned.

“D’ya think?”

“Course. Are you finished? Because I do kind of have to be someplace else.”

“So that offer to spend all day, and night if need be with Lily, was for Mickey’s benefit?”

“He really scared me,” Ben said, his voice suddenly serious. “I think he had a gun.”

“I think you’re right. Okay, I’m done, let’s go.”

He paid the bill and we drove back to the house. He pulled up in front of the driveway, and as I opened the door, he spoke.

“So, when is the divorce final?”

I shut the door then leaned against it, my head in the cab. “Sometime in the fall. Maybe by Christmas. It’s all about reaching a financial settlement, and Brian is getting picky. We don’t have a date yet, but I should know soon.”

He nodded. “Well, maybe I’ll see you before then. I hope so. We should keep the team together. Good luck. And have a good rest of the summer.”

I stepped away from the truck, and he drove slowly away. I stood and watched until the road was empty.

Ben and I. We’d had a date. And it had not been a disaster. In fact, he said we should keep the team together. Which proved there was nothing wrong with me after all.

Some days at the shore are perfect – clear skies, cool breezes, the bracing smell of salt in the air. Some days are not. Some days, the humidity is so high the air weighs a ton, the sky is beige and seems to press down on the ocean, and all you can smell is fish. Days like that, the girls hide in their air-conditioned rooms and watch soap operas. I usually lie out on the back porch and sleep over a not-so-good book.

It was that kind of day, just at the end of July, when, half-dozing, I heard a tentative voice say hello. I opened an eye. There was a figure standing outside my screened porch door. I opened the other eye.

He was a very nice-looking man. Tall, maybe six feet. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, great forearms, with dark hair and eyes, even features, well-shaped eyebrows. Not traffic-stopping, but definitely worth a second look.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but the front door was open, so I figured somebody was home, but no one answered the bell. I just came around back. Did I scare you?”

I say up and yawned. “No. Excuse me. It’s the heat. We’re all stupid today.”

He grinned. He had a great smile. He was wearing long, khaki shorts and a polo shirt. “Yeah, I know that feeling. Stupid is what I usually do best. I’m Mitch Wallace.”

“Hi, Mitch Wallace. What can I do for you?”

He shrugged. “Well, my sister thought I should come over and introduce myself.”

“Your sister?” I frowned, thinking, then it hit me. “Mitch? Mitchell? You’re Vicki’s brother Mitchell?”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

I struggled out of my chair. “Well, hi.” I opened the screen door. “Come on through.”

I was suddenly aware that I had bad humid-day hair, was wearing no bra under my tee shirt, and that I’d been snoozing in my own sweat for a while. I ran my fingers through my hair, hit three snags and gave up. “I’m Mona. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink of something? I’ve got a pitcher of Mojitos in the fridge.”

He nodded and sat. “Sounds great. Thanks.”

I went into the kitchen, pulled out the pitcher, took a quick side trip to the bathroom and groaned at my reflection. I had big red crease marks on my cheek from sleeping on the rough chair cushion, and my lips were very chapped. I was also glowing. Think severe exposure to radiation-type glowing. I splashed water on my face, gargled, and tried not to think about my frizzy hair or floppy breasts.

I went back into the kitchen, put the pitcher and a couple of glasses on a tray and hurried back onto the porch. I poured us both a drink, and took a big gulp. “You’re not what I expected,” I told him. “I mean, you’re nothing like your sister.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “No man-boobs.”

I froze for a moment, then laughed. “Yes, there’s that too. But you don’t look alike at all.” I wanted to add that he didn’t look like a still-living-with-the-folks-type loser who sold comics for a living, but I wanted to be tactful.

He sipped his drink and looked thoughtful. “Well, with Vicki, you have to make allowances. We actually resemble each other quite a bit. Or at least we used to. But she’s changed her nose, her teeth, dyed her hair, wears colored contacts and has had work done to her face. A lift or peel or something.” He grinned again. “She calls it creative use of available technology.”

“Well, good for her. Go down fighting, I say. Do not go gently into that good night.”

He frowned. “Isn’t that Dylan Thomas?”

I nodded. “Yes. It’s one of my favorite poems.”

“But wasn’t he talking about death?”

I nodded again. “Death, old age, it’s the same thing. They’re going to have to drag me kicking and screaming.”

He lifted his glass in salute. “Here’s to kicking and screaming.”

I took another gulp. “Amen to that. So, you’re down visiting Vicki?”

He shook his head. “Just stopping by on my way south. I deal in animation art on the side, and there’s a guy in Virginia with what sounds like an amazing collection of stuff. Animation stills, drawings, that sort of thing. His father used to be a background artist for the Fleischer brothers.”

“Oh?” I asked politely. “Should I know who they are?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. Unless you were a big fan of Gulliver’s Travels when you were a kid.”

I sat up. “The cartoon? I loved that movie. The cute little guy with the nose, screaming, ‘There’s a giant on the beach’, and the two songs…” I actually sang “Faithful, Forever,” the whole first verse, before I realized I was making an ass of myself in front of some guy I didn’t even know.

But Mitch was applauding. “That was amazing. Really touching. A real tribute to one of the great love duets of modern cinema.”

I bowed my head modestly. “Like Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald.”

He nodded. “Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.”

“Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney.”

“Shirley Jones and Gordon McRae.”

I put my hand over my heart and closed my eyes. “Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon.”

He laughed. “Them too.”

He liked old movies. And he seemed so nice. “Well, the collection sounds exciting,” I said. “But that seems a long way to travel.”

Mitch shrugged again. “He says he’s got a bunch of original stuff, as well as discarded drawings. Collectors go nuts for that sort of stuff. I could make a bundle.”

I frowned. “By selling the stuff in your store?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve got an internet business that’s really taking off. The stores are fun, and they’re my bread and butter, but the real money in on the Web.”

Three stores. A web site. Real money. He was sounding less loser-like all the time. I was mulling over the faint possibilities when I was rudely interrupted.

Miranda slammed open the door. “Mom, I need to go home this afternoon so I can go with Megan to New York to see My Chemical Romance. She’s got an extra ticket. We’d take the train in, right to the Garden, and then go home after the show. Oh, and I need some spending money, too.”

I turned to my daughter. “Miranda, this is Mitch Wallace. Mitch, this is Miranda, my oldest daughter, who is no way going into New York by herself, and I don’t care if God himself is playing with a heavenly orchestra and full celestial choir.”

“Mom, Megan goes by herself all the time. The train is so safe, you know it is, and besides, you owe me for not letting me go to Green Day last winter.”

I counted to three. “You didn’t go to Green Day because there was a foot and a half of snow on the ground, and the only way to get into New York was by dogsled. I don’t care what Megan does by herself all the time, that’s Megan’s mother’s problem, not mine. And the train may safe for sixteen-year-old girls, but wandering around Penn Station in the middle of the night is not. No.”

“Well, what if you drive me and I meet Megan there? It’s a free ticket, Mom, please?”

“Drive? You want me to drive to New York and drop you off in front of Madison Square Garden, and do what? Sit in my car for three or four hours? And then drive back here?”

“Well, yeah, you’re not doing anything else, are you? I mean, you’ve just been sitting here sweaty and cranky all day.”

“No.”

“Mom, it’s My Chemical Romance. I really love them.”

“Then buy the CD.”

“It’s a free ticket.”

“Then you’ve nothing to lose.”

“It’s not that far a drive to the City”

“Yes, it is, and it costs a fortune to park, and you know how temperamental Johnson gets in traffic. And if you argue any more, you’ll piss me off. No.”

She stomped out. I glanced over at Mitch.

“Johnson?” he asked.”

“That’s the van. It’s been having radiator issues.”

“Why did you name your van Johnson?” He suddenly grinned. “The actor?”

“Yeah. I love old movies.”

“Me too.” He sipped. “Sixteen is a tough age,” he observed. “You have other kids?”

“Twins. Fourteen. That’s a tough age too.”

He whistled. “Twins, huh? Are they identical?”

I sighed. “They used to be.” I heard a familiar thumping on the stair. I looked at Mitch. “I think they waited all day until they saw you come to the door, then drew straws to see who would come down first.”

Jessica slunk onto the porch. “Mom, can you take me up to Sandy Hook? They’re thinking about closing down the nude beach there, and a bunch of us want to go up to protest.”

I looked at her. She had decided not to re-dye her hair Ghastly Black, so there was a wide strip of soft brown at her roots, then black, and then a fringe of what was supposed to have been hot pink, but against all that black had only gotten as far as maroon. Since henna tattoos were all over the Jersey shore, she had three: a chain around her left calf, a spider on her wrist, and a green heart on her cheek. I refused to give her permission for any more piercings after the fourth hole in her left ear, but the fake nose ring looked very convincing. She was dressed in a black, long-sleeved tee shirt, black shorts that came below her knees, and black high-top sneakers. Her typical beachwear.

“Jessica, you won’t even show your navel. What do you care if they close down the nude beach or not?”

“God, it’s not about me, it’s about the freedom to express yourself.” She put her hands on her hips. “Listen, I know it’s hot, and you’re probably cranky, but try to think of somebody other than yourself. A lot of people use that beach every day, and it’s not fair to close it.”

“It’s also not fair that I have to drive up there and sit around and watch a bunch of naked people carrying signs, either. No.”

She looked horrified. “Mom, we aren’t going to be naked.”

“Of course you are. It’s a nude beach, for God’s sake. As a show of solidarity, everyone will have to be nude.”

“But that’s gross.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen some of the people who go to that beach. Lots of old guys. Gray and pudgy.”

“The women,” Mitch added, “are pretty gray and pudgy too. I remember going there as a kid, hoping to see a bunch of hot girls, and everyone was about sixty and sagging.”

“That’s really disgusting,” Jessica said. She looked at him with interest. “Who are you?”

“Mitch. Who are you?”

“Jessica. And you really used to go there? I mean, you’re not just trying to gross me out?”

“I really used to go there,” Mitch continued. “And when there were young girls around, all those old men got, you know, excited.”

“Yuck,” she growled, then skulked back into the house.

I gave him a look. “Did you really used to go to the nude beach?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Never. I’d have been too embarrassed. I was kind of a nerdy kid.”

“Well, good bluff,” I said as I gazed at Mitch approvingly. “Very well done.”

He shrugged. “No problem. I was just following your lead, which was quite good.”

I tried to look modest. “Well, with three of them, I’ve developed skills beyond those of mortal man.”

“I take it that was the evil twin?”

“You could tell?”

He nodded. “The cloven feet were a dead giveaway.”

I sighed. “Yes, that’s usually what does it. Here comes her bizarro world counterpart now.”

“Mom.” Lauren looked apologetic. “Mrs. Wilson is volunteering at the soup kitchen on Thursdays, and I told her I would help in the morning, but I saw her just a few minutes ago and she’s going over now, so can I drive over with her? I can always walk back if I want to leave before she does.”

“Honey, you don’t have to walk. Just call me, and I’ll pick you up. Unless you want to throw one of the bikes in the back of her car? Then you can bike home.”

She brightened. “Great idea. Thanks, Mom.” She smiled at Mitch. “I’m Lauren.”

He nodded. “Mitch.”

“Nice to meet you, Mitch. Okay, Mom, I’ll call if I’m going to be late.” And off she bounced.

Mitch whistled softly. “Wow. I bet she makes you crazy in a whole different way.”

I laughed. “Oh, God, yes. Another drink?”

He nodded, and as I was pouring. I saw his eyes go over my shoulder and his eyebrows go up in surprise. “Wow,” he said. “She looks like a million bucks.”

I turned. Patricia was standing outside, wearing a yellow sundress and sunglasses, looking cool, sleek and beautiful.

I looked at Mitch. “You,” I told him, “are not even close.”

I stood up and flew out the door. I hadn’t seen her all summer. I gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad to see you,” I gushed. “But how on earth did you find me?”

She smiled knowingly. “I just got a new car and it’s got one of those GPU things in it that tells you where to go. Very nice. And the voice sounds just like Cary Grant. I had to pay extra for that, but it was worth it.” She was following me onto the porch.

Mitch had stood up. Such a gentleman. “Actually, it’s a GPS. Hi, I’m Mitch Wallace.”

She took his hand. “Patricia Carmichael.” She was looking around. She’d never been to the shore house in all the years we’d been friends. “This is charming, Mona. I could live on this porch. Of course, I’d need something to cool me off.”

I grinned. “Coming up.” I went back into the kitchen, grabbed another glass for her Mojito, and was back on the porch in time to hear them laughing over something that somebody said that I hadn’t heard because I was in the kitchen, and I felt a twinge. Of what, I wasn’t sure. But it was a definite twinge.

“Thank you, darling,” Patricia said, floating over to the table. “I’ll pour. You look done in, poor baby. The heat is ghastly. How are the girls?”

“Good,” I told her. “They were hibernating in the air conditioning upstairs, until they realized Mitch was here. Then they trooped down here like little soldiers.”

“Yes, well that’s understandable. God forbid something should be happening and they’re not in the loop.”

“I’m really glad to see you, Patricia, but what the hell are you doing down here?”

“My goddaughter is getting married in December, I think I told you that, and her insufferable mother is throwing her a shower this weekend. The whole mess is in Philadelphia, and although it’s not exactly on the way, I so infrequently get down this far I thought I’d swing by.” She took another long sip and settled herself in a chair. “This is heaven. You can hear the ocean from here.” She tilted her head dreamily. “Heaven.” She took a sip of her drink. “A Mojito, right? How splendid.”