Every Other Saturday (20 page)

“You sure you have this? I can cancel if you want.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m going to exact my fee from their candy piles and we will all be in a sugar coma by nine.”

“Any problems, just text me.”

“Of course. I thought I’d pop in a DVD for them. Is that okay?” Julia assumed Debbie had a strict screen time schedule for Lyric.

“Sure, sure.” Dave still looked hesitant.

“She’ll be fine. Go enjoy your party. I promise to text you if anything happens. Or if it doesn’t. Every ten minutes. You’ll get tired of me.”

“I doubt that.” He flashed a smile.

Julia looked down, embarrassed, and pretended to examine the melting cheese. When she looked up, he was gone.

# # #

The Halloween party had grown bigger and more insane every year. Held at the extravagant home of Gil McGinnis, one of the biggest sports PR reps in Atlanta, the party was as close to a hedonistic orgy as Dave had ever come. The suburban mansion’s rooms—which on all other days looked exactly like the home of a successful couple and their four children it was—were filled to overflowing with middle-aged adults in ridiculous or skimpy costumes, stumbling and spilling their way around as though they were all in a frat house during rush.

Debbie had always hated the party, but Dave was required to put in an appearance, even if she insisted they leave early. Gil was not just a friend, but an important business connection. Last year, Dave had come alone and stayed late—partly because he liked Gil, partly to see whether all the rumors were true. A year later, he was still processing some of the things he’d seen through a cocktail haze in the wee hours of the morning. There was one local sportscaster Dave could no longer look in the eye, after finding him passed out naked in one of the bathrooms with half his hairy body smeared in pink glittery body paint.

Things had not reached that level of insanity yet tonight, but there were at least thirty cars parked in and around the driveway, and every light in the sprawling house was on, music blaring. He backed the truck into an open spot near the driveway.

“Ready for this?” he asked Amber, his date for the evening. She was petite with a mass of smooth, black curls, long fingernails painted soft pink, and a pair of diamond stud earrings so big he hoped they were fake. She sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded, looking more than a little uncertain.

Someone dressed as a gorilla suddenly pounded on the hood of the car, screaming incoherently, and Amber shrank back. “Who did you say your friend is again?”

“He’s kind of a friend, kind of a business associate. He’s crazy. You’ll love it.”

Dave had no confidence in that last assertion whatsoever. Amber was the first date he’d been out with who did not seem enamored with, or even interested in, the whole blog/radio show thing. In their brief exchange of messages this week, she had seemed more focused on which branch of Judaism he identified with, his family, and what his custody arrangements were with Debbie. It was refreshing, actually, to have someone interested in Dave Bernstein the person instead of Dave from the Cave, but he found himself unsure how to respond.

He opened the truck door for her, and she slid out onto the grass. She wore a mini-dress that was supposed to look like an ear of corn, with a yellow halter top and layered green miniskirt. She also wore tights, boots, and a thick cashmere sweater over the costume, which took away from the effect somewhat because they were all black. Still, it was a clever complement to his black-eyed pea, and he was impressed at her willingness to rush order a Halloween costume for a first date.

“So, what kind of blog do you write again?” Amber asked as they made their way up the long driveway toward the house.

“Part sports, part guy culture. Kind of a study in modern masculinity.”

“Interesting. Do you have lots of readers?”

“Several thousand. And I have a regular guest spot on SportsZone. I don’t know if you like sports.”

“I guess I’m a Yankees fan. But I don’t know any of the Atlanta teams.” She over-pronounced the
t
’s in “Atlanta,” a common Northerner mistake.

“You’re new in town?” They had reached the brick entryway to Gil’s house, where massive columns supported a second-story overhang. The double front doors were both thrown open and party noise spilled out.

She nodded. “I moved down here from New York a couple months ago to be near my sister and her kids.”

“Welcome to Atlanta,” Dave said expansively at the door, and held out his arm to invite her into the house first. “How do you like it so far?”

“It’s okay. Not New York, obviously.” Amber allowed him to take her sweater in the marble foyer, which was decked out top to bottom in spider webs and black paper lanterns. She took in her surroundings with an expression of frank appraisal, still talking. “It’s so hard to meet people. That’s why I signed up for J-Date. I tried my sister’s temple, but there weren’t any nice men. A couple of losers who still live with their mothers. And one guy who drives a UPS truck. Um,
no thanks
.”

Before he could ask what was wrong with a guy who drove a delivery truck, they were overtaken by a crowd of at least ten people dressed in white with red bandannas, all running after one sweaty dude wearing horns and a bull tail. The crowd jostled past, giggling and shouting “Ole!” with a trail of sloshed drinks in their wake.

Amber’s eyes got wide, and Dave couldn’t help laughing at her expression. “Drink?” He gestured toward the back of the house.

“Sure,” she said. He offered her his arm and she took it, as they set off through the crowd in the living room, where a mad scientist was playing the piano very badly for two hula girls trying to sing something he didn’t recognize. By the time they had waded through the sea of giggling and kissing and general frivolity that crowded every pathway to the kitchen, he could see that Amber shared Debbie’s view of this party. It didn’t help that several people along the way asked her what she was “supposed to be.” Apparently the corn would’ve been more recognizable if she’d worn green tights.

“Do you want beer, or some of that purple punch stuff?” Dave asked when they made it to the kitchen doorway, gesturing to a tottering woman in a bumblebee costume who carried a dangerous-looking clear plastic cup.

“Gray Goose and tonic if they have it.” Amber wrinkled her nose at the purple stuff. “Absolut is okay too.”

Dave led Amber a few steps into the kitchen and stood on tiptoe to assess the bar situation over the crowd. It turned out the purple stuff came from an actual working fountain that had been set up on the kitchen table, where both the table and surrounding floor were covered in plastic sheeting. A man in a black catering uniform and white apron stood nearby, presumably to keep the plastic cups and the fountain fully stocked. There were a couple of pitchers of water but no other options Dave could see. Beyond this was a wall of windows and open French doors to the patio, where there were two kegs in view, with people milling around both, laughing and talking.

“I’m not seeing any options besides the beer and the punch,” he said apologetically.

“Seriously? Not even
wine
?” Amber said.

“Not that I can see. Want to try the punch? Gil is a pretty good mixologist. He does something different every year.”

The bumblebee interrupted them, almost losing her balance and draping an arm around Amber’s bare shoulders. “Ooooh, look! Vegetables!” she trilled. “Want me to pollinate you? Two for one special!”

Amber looked as though the woman had just threatened to set them both on fire, but Dave couldn’t help being a little impressed that the woman had recognized both of their costumes so quickly in her inebriated state. “Thanks.” He gently removed the bee’s arm from Amber’s shoulder. “But it’s only our first date.”

“Suit yourself, HONEY! Get it? Honey? Bzzzz…” And with that, she zigzagged away toward the living room, where there was a very loud game of charades in progress.

He planted Amber next to the pantry door while he pushed through the crowd to the punch fountain. What he wanted was a beer, but by the looks of the crowd, that would add ten minutes to the journey, and he had a feeling his date wasn’t the patient kind.

When he handed her the cup, she sniffed, and then sipped carefully. Dave knew it was good because he’d tasted it at the fountain to make sure. Amber must have agreed because she took another sip. “I sort of assumed they’d have food here,” she shouted over the noise, hand on her belly. It was hard to tell by her expression whether she was complaining or apologizing. “I would have eaten at home if I’d known.”

Dave glanced around. “I see chips and salsa, and there might be hot dogs on the back deck. Want me to grab us one?”

“Um, no thanks. Hot dogs are basically poison.” Amber wrinkled her nose again. “I wouldn’t feed a hot dog to my worst enemy.”

Oh,
awesome
. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

Dave suddenly wished he was at Julia’s house, helping the kids go through their candy and eating grilled cheese. He tried to picture how Julia would react to being dragged to Gil’s party, and decided she would probably just roll with it. There had been a party girl once beneath that uptight PTA exterior, he was sure of it. Seeing her tonight in that witch costume, such an adorable, frazzled mess…

Amber cleared her throat.

“Alright. No problem. I just need to say hello to the host and then we can go get dinner somewhere.” He craned his neck over the crowd and pointed. “I see Gil over there. See? He’s dressed like a baby? Want to come say hello with me, or would you rather watch them play charades? No pressure. I know it’s a weird situation for a first date.”

He watched Amber survey her choices: the charades game where two women in cat ears gripped each other in an attempt to stay upright through peals of laughter, and Gil with his hairy potbelly hanging over an oversize cloth diaper. Draped around his neck was a blue pacifier and a sign that said “Spank Me.”

“I’ll just wait for you at the car,” she said.

Dave made his way through the crowd and spoke a few words to a boisterously inebriated Gil. When he got out the door, he found an irritated ear of corn leaning against his truck, huddled in her sweater for warmth. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He rushed over. “I should’ve given you the keys.”

He helped her into the truck and ran around to the driver’s side. “I can tell you didn’t have a great time in there. Sorry about that. I know it’s a lot to take when you’re not used to that sort of thing. Can I make it up to you with dinner?”

“It’s okay. I guess I’m just used to a more refined crowd. New Yorkers are just so much more grown-up. No offense.”

“Why would I be offended?” Dave said sarcastically.

Amber didn’t catch his tone. “I know, right? Some people are just sensitive about their towns. Especially here.”

Dave pulled out of Gil’s driveway, determined to think of an acceptable dinner option: nice enough that Amber would agree to go in and not be openly insulted, not so nice that she would ever want to go out with him again. And fast. Whatever this meal was, it damn well had to be short.

# # #

Julia signaled for him to be quiet as he opened the front door, pointing at the three lumpy sleeping bags on the floor in front of her. She was curled up in the corner of the couch with a blanket draped over her legs, and a mug of something steamy in one hand. He crept around his sleeping daughter and joined her on the couch.

“Sorry,” Julia whispered. “They were so wound up that I didn’t even attempt to put them to bed. I let them watch the
Wizard of Oz
.”

“I see you’re still letting them watch it,” he whispered back. On screen, Dorothy was clicking her little red heels together.

Julia shrugged. “It’s a great movie. A classic.” She took a sip from the mug, and the smell of cinnamon and something else warm and pleasant wafted over to him. She had changed into a sweatshirt and piled her hair on top of her head, secured with a pencil, but she still had the glittery green eye shadow of the witch costume. He had the irrational urge to lean over and kiss her eyelids.

“What are you drinking?”

“Hot spiced wine,” she said. “Want some?”

Without waiting for a response, she handed him the mug and he took a sip. “Wow, that’s good.”

“I found a recipe on Pinterest. It turned out better than the robot costume.” She grinned. “There’s more in the kitchen if you want some.”

“No, thanks.” He took another healthy sip from her mug before handing it back.

“Or you can just drink mine,” she said with a wry smile, pushing herself off the couch. She returned with a full mug for herself and a second one for him. He held them both while she reclaimed her position under the blanket, knees propped up with her toes pointed at his thigh. She had on amazingly dorky black and orange striped socks. “How was the party?”

“The party was insane; the date was awful.”

“Not another ex-girlfriend? Or an actress-slash-porn-star hoping for a reality TV audition?”

“The opposite, actually.” Several choice words about Amber ran through his mind, but he didn’t want to hash out the whole evening. “Someone with zero knowledge or interest in who I am or the blog or any of it. This was the first person I’ve been out with who didn’t seem motivated by either a dating critique or public attention. It was weird.”

“That’s good, though, right?” Julia pursed her lips to blow on her drink, unintentionally sexy as hell.

Dave staunchly ignored the tightening in his abdomen. “Theoretically, yes. In reality…she hated me. And I have to say it was mutual.” He took a sip from his mug, feeling it warm his chest on the way down.

Julia squinted at him, sizing him up over the rim of her cup. “You’re afraid that you just got a taste of real dating, aren’t you? Like dating as yourself instead of Dave from the Man Cave.”

He nodded. “I started wondering on the way home, what if I had just done what Lyric asked me to do? Just signed up on the website and gone out on a few dates like a normal person. This is probably the kind of dates I’d be having: where I want to shoot myself halfway through and I’m pretty sure she did, too.”