Dear Emily (21 page)

“Our workout suits are great, but we have to find a way to have them made cheaper. We’re not going overseas to have it done either. We make and buy American. Who wants to check into the cottage industry and see if we can’t come up with something better than we’re paying now?”

“We’ll do it,” the Demster twins said.

“Great,” Emily said. “You know, somewhere in this house is a book Ian had with names of people who gave him good prices on things. It seems to me there were two ladies in Perth Amboy who made white lab coats for almost nothing. The place where he got the material was in the book too. I’ll look for it tomorrow. I bet we could cut some kind of deal with a sneaker company, too, if we really tried. Anyone want to give that a try?”

“I will,” Martina said. “You know, we never really did make a decision about giving away those tote bags with our name on them. Maybe we can get the person who does the suits to make the bags. It really is good advertising. Rose, Helen, what do you think?”

“We’ll check it out. I like giveaways,” Helen said, “and it’s a write-off.”

“Here we are, ladies. What are we toasting this time?” Lena said, placing the tray in the middle of the circle on the floor.

“Who cares? Let’s just drink this ambrosia and plan on what we’re going to try next. We need to be more worldly. I used to order white wine when I was out because I didn’t know anything about liquor,” Zoë said.

“Harvey Wallbangers,” Kelly said. “We’ll just taste them so Zoë gets an idea of what they’re like.”

“A Mimosa.”

“That’s a sissy drink like a Shirley Temple. You drink those at brunch or for breakfast,” Martha said.

“Well, this isn’t brunch or breakfast so we aren’t drinking them. The Harvey Wallbangers are next,” Lena said.

Hours later, when they were finishing the pitcher of Bahama Mamas, Emily looked up to see a figure in the doorway. She pointed a finger and said, “Look!”

“You’re drunk. All of you! Your back door was wide open. What if I was an ax murderer?” Ben said, his face registering disgust.

“Don’t scare us,” the Demster twins giggled.

“They’re right,” Emily chimed in, then hiccupped. “Why are you scaring us? We said such nice things about you tonight. We found a way for you to get a real big bunch of money so you can send Ted to a fancy Ivy League college.”

“What?”

“What what?” Emily demanded.

“What did you come up with?”

“I can’t remember,” Emily said, doubling over with laughter.

“What are you celebrating?”

“Something. Something stupendous,” Emily said, flopping about on the floor.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t remember. Tomorrow I’ll remember. You look mad. Are you mad, Ben? Do we care if he’s mad?” Emily asked the others.

“Only if he quits,” Zoë muttered.

“Is this going to go on our resumés?” Martha asked in a squeaky voice.

“What resumés?” Ben demanded. “How long have you been drinking?”

Emily’s arms flopped in the air. “Thirty minutes,” she said defiantly.

“In your dreams. Come on, ladies, up and to bed. Tomorrow is another day, one you are probably all going to regret.”

“We’re going to sleep here tonight. We do that sometimes when we’re discussing important things. Isn’t that right, Emily?” Lena said.

“That is absolutely right. Lock the door when you leave, Mr. Jackson.” She was slurring her words so she had to be drunk. It annoyed her that Ben was right. She narrowed her eyes in order to get a clearer vision of him. He’s angry. Why, she wondered. “We’re home. So what if we had a few drinks to celebrate. I never had a Bahama Mama before. It sure beats Lemon Zinger. Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.” Emily made a beeline for the stairs, Ben on her heels.

“Leave me alone…I can throw up by myself…why do you want to watch?” Emily yelped between heaves. Her eyes watered, her stomach muscles pulled and protested the violent spasms. She was on her knees, her head in the bowl. “Go home, Ben. I don’t want you to see me like this,” Emily pleaded. “Don’t you ever listen? I’d like to be alone with my misery.”

“You’ll never make a drunk, Emily,” Ben said cheerfully.

“Thank God,” Emily muttered. She heard water running, felt something cool on the back of her neck. “I’ve never been drunk before. Like this I mean,” Emily gasped.

Ben was on his knees, his arm around her shoulders. “One more good one and it’s over.” His voice was soothing, calm, a balm to her quaking body.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been where you are. When my wife left me, I did this almost every night. I wasn’t celebrating, I was mourning. You should have stuck to the Lemon Zinger. What the hell were you all celebrating anyway? Come on, brush your teeth and use some mouthwash. I’ll make you a cup of peppermint tea and that will help your stomach a little. So, what were you celebrating?” He squeezed blue toothpaste onto a yellow toothbrush.

“Franchises,” Emily said around the bubbles in her mouth. “Some lawyers came by the offices today and more or less offered us…told us to think about it and they’d be willing to set it up. It sounded real good, but they were a pair of sharks. I hate lawyers as much as I hate used car salesmen and insurance agents.” She spat in the sink, then rinsed her mouth until Ben jerked her head backward.

“That’s enough, you’ll wear out your tongue.”

“You’re too damn bossy, Ben Jackson. I told you to go home. Now, every time I look at you, I’m going to remember you watching me puke my guts out. We’re thinking about it because it will give you lots of money to send Ted to an Ivy League school like you want. I look awful, don’t I?”

“Yeah. Wait till tomorrow when you wake up. You’re going to feel like you look.”

“Oh, shut up, Ben. Get some blankets so we can cover everyone up.”

“Mother Emily. Always thinking about other people.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Emily grumbled as she pulled blankets from the linen closet.

“There’s nothing wrong with it and everything right. It’s who you are, Emily. I think you were born to nurture.”

She was walking like a puppet on a string as Ben guided her down the steps and into the living room, where they covered the sleeping women, then led her out to the kitchen, where he put water on to boil. “I want a cigarette.”

“You don’t need a cigarette.”

“Don’t tell me what I need and don’t need. I want one. I’m going to get one. It’s my last vice, and when I’m ready to give that vice up completely, I will, but not one minute before or when some damn man tells me I have to.”

“Fine, burn your lungs out, see if I care.”

“They’re my lungs, so shut up, Ben Jackson.”

“You are the damnedest, the stubbornest female I’ve
ever
met. I don’t know why I love you, but I do.”

“What’s wrong with being stubborn? I have a right to my convictions. I…what did you say?” Her head reeled as she reached across the table to the pack of cigarettes she’d left there earlier.

“The part about you being stubborn or the part where I said I love you?”

“That part…about loving me. Are you
in
love with me or are you saying you love me. The way I love all the women.”

“I love you and I am
in
love with you.”

“That’s not good, Ben. I don’t want you to be in love with me. I don’t think I’m capable of…what we have is wonderful, an easygoing, comfortable relationship with mutual respect on both sides. I’m not prepared…I probably will never…I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Drink this,” Ben said, setting the tea in front of her. He sat down, reached for her free hand. “Emily, every man in the world isn’t like Ian Thorn. Some of us are rather nice. Take me, for example. I’m a loving guy. I treat old people with the respect they deserve. I’m kind to animals. I love children, especially my own kid. I have an honest job I work at because I love what I do. I’m considerate and I don’t think I have a malicious bone in my body. I go to church on occasion, donate on occasion, do my share of volunteer work for the community, and I try to give back as much as I can. I’m pleading with you. Jesus, I’m pleading with you to love me.” His face was full of dismay. “Good night, Emily. If I intruded, I’m sorry. I hope you feel better in the morning. Call me if you need me.”

Emily burst into tears. Ben Jackson was indeed all those things he’d said. He was everything Ian wasn’t. And he loved her. He didn’t care about her wrinkles and the fat pads under her eyes. He’d seen her puke her guts out, held her hand, made her tea, and then announced his love. He’d seen her at her worst, seen her when she was at the bottom with nowhere to go but up. He’d made sweet, gentle love with her, held her in his arms when she cried. He’d kissed away the tears. He was that oh so rare person called friend. The friend who was there no matter what, just like the women. He was part of them, part of the family. He belonged to all of them.

Emily finished the tea because Ben had taken the time to make it for her because he cared about her. She set the cup in the sink. She was still crying when she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

Emily flopped back onto the pillows. Maybe she didn’t know what love was. This warm, gentle feeling she felt for Ben was like cuddling with a giant teddy bear. Love meant putting the other person first. She’d done that with Ian, but in a sick perverted way. Days and weeks could go by where she didn’t see or talk to Ben, but that was okay because she knew all she had to do was pick up the phone and he’d be there for her. Was she using him until something better came along? Was there in fact something better than Ben Jackson? She doubted it. Where were the fireworks, the butterflies in her stomach, the wild anticipation? Were those just clichés slick magazines wrote about? And where in the hell were the multiple orgasms? Myths. Myths designed by men to make women miserable.

Emily rolled over, reached for the phone. She dialed Ben’s number from memory. She smiled when she heard his voice. “I called to say good night and thank you. Everyone is sleeping peacefully and I’m ready to turn in myself.”

“Did you turn the alarm on?”

“Yes, and all the doors and windows are locked. The television is off and so are the lights. Good night, Ben.”

“Good night, Emily. Dream sweet dreams.”

“I’ll dream about us walking through a meadow filled with clover and daisies. You dream the same thing, okay, but put a lake in your dream. Tomorrow we’ll compare notes. Thanks again, Ben.”

Emily turned off the light and rolled over. Damn, she’d forgotten to turn the heat down. Oh, well, she wouldn’t need any covers and the girls would wake up warm instead of shivering.

Emily was asleep almost immediately. She knew she was going to dream as soon as she closed her eyes and slipped into that dark place called sleep…