Just This Once

by Judith Arnold

  Josh nodded a greeting to them and let himself into his apartment. As soon as he shut the door, he pulled his phone from his pocket. The message light was flashing.

  Loretta, he thought hopefully. She’d seen that she missed his call and called him back. She wanted to tell him how much she missed him, to insist that he phone her the instant he arrived home.

  Or maybe Melanie. His smile faded. Maybe Melanie had shed her civil veneer now that he was gone, and she’d phoned to curse his puny soul to hell. And to complain about the heat. Although now that he’d experienced it himself, he’d cut her some slack on that.

  Bracing himself, he hit the message icon. “Josh? It’s your mother. The grass is so long. I know you said you couldn’t come and mow it today, but it looks terrible. The blades are supposed to stand up straight, but they’re drooping. Totally limp. When are you going to come and cut it?”

  He’d assured her that skipping one week wouldn’t damage her lawn. The grass might actually appreciate a week’s respite from the mower. Josh knew he’d appreciated the week’s respite.

  He’d overdosed on guilt during his time in Florida. He wasn’t going to wallow in more guilt now. Let his mother despair over her totally limp grass. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t his problem. He refused to feel bad about it.

  After deleting the message, he punched in Loretta’s number. Her got her voice mail again. “Hi, Loretta, it’s Josh,” he said. “I’m home and I’d really like to see you. Please call me as soon as you get this message.” I missed you. I’m free and clear and I want you. I want to spend the evening with you, and the night, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after the day after…and all those nights, too. Okay?

  He didn’t say it. But he thought it so loudly he could practically hear the words in his voice. How long had he been involved with Melanie, and he’d never said things like that to her. He hadn’t said them to Loretta, either. But right now, his thoughts were shouting.

  He tapped in Henri Charnier’s number. One of the multitude of females in the apartment answered, and she informed him Henri’s singing group was rehearsing in the basement—and in fact, they planned to perform in a talent show at a Haitian-American social club later that week, if Josh would like to attend. He jotted the information on a square of paper towel. Maybe Loretta would come with him. Maybe she’d wind up producing a show for Becky Blake about musically talented Haitian immigrants in Brooklyn.

  He lugged his bag down the hall to his bedroom, unpacked, stripped, showered, dressed. His phone didn’t ring. He returned to the kitchen, inspected the contents of his freezer and found nothing to whet his appetite, pulled a beer from the fridge and stared at his silent phone, praying for it to ring.

  As if unable to resist the force of his will, it rang.

  “Hi,” he said in his most seductive tone. He lounged against the counter and grinned in anticipation of hearing Loretta’s voice.

  “Josh? It’s Solly. Are we on for tomorrow?”

  “Solly?” He straightened up and coughed to clear his throat.

  “Are we on for tomorrow? Chess. Because I want to ask a favor of you. Phyllis organized a petition to get permission to return to the center. All these people want her to come back, and they signed her petition. They like her. And it’s not like anyone’s convicted her of anything.”

  “So she’ll return to the center.”

  “But I promised Dora Lee I’d bring her to the center tomorrow. Her first time back. It’s wheelchair-accessible.”

  Josh was jet-lagged, he was lonely, he was horny—he wanted to talk to Loretta. He could hardly wrap his brain around Solly’s dilemma. “Maybe they’ll see each other and kiss and make up,” he suggested.

  “And maybe I’ll grow a third eye. I want you there, just in case. Okay?”

  “Do you want me to throw myself between them if they start whaling on each other?”

  “They won’t. Not if you and I are both there. I can make sure Dora Lee doesn’t have her cane within reach.” He let out a weary breath. “It’s a mess, Josh. Somehow, both women are angry with me. Dora Lee is angry because I signed Phyllis’s petition. Phyllis is angry because Dora Lee is staying with me until she’s able to take care of herself. I’m trying to do right by both of them, and they’re both angry with me. I don’t understand it.”

  “Women can be that way,” said Josh, as if he were an expert.

  “So we’ll play some chess and keep the women from killing each other—or me. Can I count on you?”

  “I’ll be there,” Josh promised.

  “Now tell me, how was your trip? Did you see Loretta?”

  Solly was allowed his momentary confusion. It didn’t mean he was going senile. “I went to see Melanie, not Loretta,” Josh gently reminded him.

  “I know, I know. And then Loretta went down to see you.”

  “What?”

  “She went to see you. You didn’t see her?”

  “No.” Josh jerked upright. “You’re telling me she’s in Florida?”

  “She said she was going to see you.”

  “Why? Why did she want to see me there? She can see me here.”

  “I guess she wanted to see you while you were with Melanie, just to set things straight.”

  Oh, shit.

  The kitchen was too small for a table and chairs, so he had no place to sit, except the floor. He slid down until his butt hit the tiles, and rested his head against the walnut door of the cabinet where he stored his dishwashing soap and empty coffee cans.

  Loretta had wanted to see him with Melanie? To set things straight? She’d flown all the way down to Florida to witness him and Melanie together. Maybe she’d figured she would catch him in Melanie’s arms—and he had shared that one smoldering kiss with Melanie. Not that it had led to anything—but damn, the guilt was cascading onto him like Niagara Falls, dragging him under, drowning him.

  Loretta had gone to Florida to see him with Melanie.

  But he was here, and she was there.

  With Melanie.

  What was it Solly had just said? Something about trying to do right by both women, and winding up with both of them angry with him. Something about how it was a mess. It was a mess the way Mt. Everest was a hill. “Solly, I’ve got to go.”

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

  “I don’t know.” He couldn’t think about chess or Phyllis or Dora Lee. All he could think about was Loretta showing up on Melanie’s doorstep, surrounded by lizards and those demented palm trees and her hair all bushy from the humidity, and Melanie inviting her in, and…oh, shit. He couldn’t begin to guess what they’d talk about—although he felt safe in assuming the main topic of conversation would be him. “I’ll get back to you, Solly, okay?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Just about everything. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up, feeling an extra bucketful of guilt wash over on him for ending the phone call so rudely. Then he dialed Melanie’s number. The phone on her end rang four times, and her voice mail kicked in.

  Shit on top of shit. “Melanie? It’s Josh. Listen, a friend of mine, a woman named Loretta D’Angelo… I just found out she’s in Florida, and I think she might be looking for you because she thought I was with you and she was looking for me.” He took a deep breath and tried to slow down. “If she shows up at your place, could you have her phone me? I appreciate it.” He thought for a minute, realized that on top of deranged he sounded dictatorial, issuing commands as if he viewed her as his secretary. He had to humanize the message. “It was great seeing you, by the way. I’m glad things are going well for you. And that restaurant was excellent. A lot cheaper than any restaurants in New York. Well, anyway. Thanks for having Loretta call me. If you see her, that is.”

  He hung up and buried his face in his palms, accidentally banging his head against the beer bottle in his hand. He didn’t even want the beer. What he wan
ted was a new life. A simpler one.

  One that had Loretta in New York City rather than Opa-Locka.

  Chapter Thirty

  Loretta had been to Florida before—Orlando, with her family, when she was nine. The D’Angelos had done Disney World. Loretta had hazy memories of wandering around the park wearing a Goofy hat, eating ice-cream pops shaped like Mickey Mouse, accusing a performer in an oversize Chip costume, or maybe it was a Dale costume, of not really being Chip—or Dale—because on TV the characters were much cuter, and experiencing what was probably the pre-adolescent equivalent of an orgasm on Splash Mountain, when the log-shaped car she and her brothers were riding in plummeted down the flume chute in a blur of screams and splashes.

  But she didn’t really remember Florida. She didn’t remember the lushness of the plants, the heaviness of the air, the sultry warmth of the wind.

  She hadn’t come to Florida to play tourist this time, and she doubted her confrontation with Josh and his old flame was going to resemble any sort of equivalent of an orgasm. She’d had two entire flights—from LaGuardia to Atlanta and from Atlanta to Miami—to contemplate the foolishness of having traveled all this way. Fighting for the love of a man didn’t come naturally to her.

  Still, she’d come. That had to mean something. Whether it meant she was in love with Josh or in the thrall of a manipulating old man or else just too stupid to live, she had traveled many miles and many hours to reach her current position, standing on the welcome mat outside the door of Melanie’s garden apartment. Solly had gotten Melanie’s address for her from Francine, Melanie’s replacement at the Senior Center. Loretta wasn’t sure how or when he’d finagled it out of Francine, but if he could talk Loretta into chasing Josh to Opa-Locka, he could probably talk anyone into anything.

  She rang the bell, psyching herself for the possibility that the man and woman on the other side of the door might right this minute be involved in an activity that didn’t require clothing. If Josh and Melanie were going at it for old time’s sake—or for new time’s sake—Loretta would handle it. She’d come to Florida not to judge Josh, not to beseech him or to slam a skillet into his skull but to let him know she loved him.

  If he still loved Melanie, Loretta would feel pretty foolish. But she was feeling pretty foolish anyway.

  The woman who answered the door was fully clothed—or as much clothed as a person could tolerate in Southern Florida in July. She was clearly braless under a pale cotton tank top, and her shorts ended at mid-thigh. She had hardly any hair, which took Loretta aback. Staring at the woman’s delicate features beneath her nearly bald scalp, Loretta wondered whether Melanie had recently undergone chemotherapy. But no, what hair she did have lay short but thick on her head, like the fur on a lion’s back.

  If the poor woman had been fighting cancer, surely Josh would have thought to mention that minor detail to Loretta.

  Melanie was not sick but chic. The selfless angel of the geriatric social work world was making a statement with her hairstyle, a much louder statement than Loretta made with the trim Donna had given her yesterday morning. If she’d known she would be traveling to the tropics, she might have asked Donna to take off more. Her hair felt as heavy as a woolen scarf against her neck in the muggy evening.

  The woman stared at her, frowning. Loretta realized she needed to say something. “Hi. Is Josh here?”

  “Josh?”

  Damn. Did Loretta have the right address? “I’m Loretta D’Angelo,” she introduced herself. “I thought a friend of mine, Josh Kaplan, might be here.” Her voice curled up at the end, turning the statement into a question.

  The woman on the other side of the threshold tilted her head slightly to size Loretta up. “Loretta. Loretta from the TV show. Josh’s blind date. I thought you looked familiar.”

  “Right.” Loretta smiled weakly. Where was Josh? Hiding naked in a closet somewhere?

  “You’re Josh’s old friend.”

  “I’m not that old.”

  Melanie laughed, as if she’d thought Loretta had made a joke. “Well, come on in. Josh isn’t here, but this seems to be my weekend for visitors from New York City.” She stepped aside so Loretta could enter.

  The apartment was cool, furnished in soft greens and ambers. A piquant fragrance arose from the kitchen, which was visible on the opposite side of a counter lined with rattan stools. The apartment seemed spacious and airy, much larger than anyone living on a social worker’s salary would be able to afford in Manhattan.

  Melanie wasn’t what Loretta had expected. She was petite and gamine-like. Her hairstyle was daring. Loretta wondered whether Josh’s taste would accommodate such an extreme coiffure. He didn’t seem like the multiple-ear-piercings type, either, but Melanie had three holes per ear, one hoop, one gold stud and one diamond stud adorning each lobe. On her feet were tacky sandals with plastic daisies attached to the straps.

  “I love your sandals,” Loretta said, meaning it.

  “They’re fun, aren’t they?” Melanie swung around the counter into the kitchen. “I just got home ten minutes ago. I picked a seafood stew up at my favorite Cuban restaurant. You want some? I’ve also got rice and beans.”

  “Oh—you don’t have to feed me. Is Josh here?”

  “No. He left this morning.”

  “You’re kidding.” Loretta slumped against the counter and let the strap of her mini-duffel slide off her shoulder. The bag hit the floor with a thud. “He left?”

  “He flew down here, broke up with me, spent the night and left this morning.”

  Broke up with me resonated inside Loretta’s skull. So did spent the night. “You’re kidding,” she repeated.

  “Nope. That’s what he did. You look stunned. Are you okay?” She whirled around the kitchen, busying herself, fussing with plates and plastic take-out containers, every now and then glancing at Loretta, who sank onto one of the stools.

  “I guess I am a little stunned.”

  “What a shame, your traveling all this way and he isn’t even here. You want something to drink?”

  “What have you got?”

  Melanie pulled a bottle of pineapple juice from the refrigerator. “I used to be a chardonnay drinker, but I’ve gotten hooked on rum and pineapple juice since I got here. It’s like a piña colada without the coconut. Coconut is so high in cholesterol. Would you like one? I’m going to fix myself one.”

  “Thanks.” Loretta gave her head a dazed shake. What was she doing here? Josh was back in New York. But he’d spent the night. With Melanie? What kind of break-up was that?

  As if Loretta had any right to be jealous. He’d spent the night with her before he’d broken up with Melanie.

  And Melanie was so nice! Chattering as if they were bosom buddies, offering her a drink, making her feel welcome. What was up with that?

  Of course Melanie was nice. Would Josh have been involved with her if she wasn’t?

  But she didn’t seem like a saintly social worker. Her hair was too short. And she drank rum and pineapple juice, and wore kitsch sandals.

  She splashed rum into two tumblers, tossed in some ice cubes from the freezer and topped them off with pineapple juice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” Loretta said, although what else could she have expected when she’d shown up at Melanie’s apartment at six-thirty? “You don’t have to feed me.”

  “It’s way too much for me. The portions at Hector’s are always big enough for three meals.” She gazed at the containers lined up on her counter. “We can reheat it in the microwave when we’re ready to eat. It’s kind of spicy. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Spicy’s fine,” Loretta conceded, figuring she might as well go with the flow. She accepted the tall, cool glass Melanie handed her and lifted it in a silent toast. Then she tasted the beverage. It was shockingly sweet. Given how much Ben & Jerry she’d been eating lately, she’d developed a high tolerance for cold, sweet foodstuffs.

  Melanie circled th
e counter and motioned with her head for Loretta to join her in the living room. “Mind if I put on some music?” she asked.

  “Go right ahead.” Loretta abandoned the stool for the upholstered wicker sofa near the window. Unlike her own, Melanie’s furniture looked new.

  “I’ve really gotten into Latino music in a big way since I moved down here,” Melanie said as she pressed some buttons on her stereo.

  “That makes sense,” Loretta said. “When in Rome.”

  Once the syncopated rhythms of the first song spilled out of the speakers, Melanie flopped into an easy chair, kicked off her sandals and folded her legs under her. Loretta had never minded being tall, but she felt Amazonian next to Melanie. And absurdly hirsute.

  “Okay, so tell me—what’s your real agenda?” Melanie asked.

  So much for bosom-buddy patter. Loretta took a slug of her drink. The rum sizzled through the pineapple juice, briefly numbing her throat. “My agenda?” she croaked.

  “Why did you come here? You didn’t have to come all the way to Opa-Locka to see Josh. You can see him in New York.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t seeing him there.” Loretta saw no reason to lie. Melanie had already said she and Josh had broken up, regardless of what might have occurred last night. Last night was history. Loretta was going to pretend it didn’t matter. “I mean, he and I were sort of avoiding each other, because…” While she didn’t want to lie, she didn’t want to come right out with the truth, either.

  “Because?” Melanie goaded her.

  “There was an attraction,” Loretta said delicately. “And Josh was still involved with you.”

  “Oh, Josh. Such a gentleman.” Melanie shook her head and laughed. The short strands of her hair glittered in the light from the illuminated globe in the ceiling fan, which whirred slowly and atmospherically. “He was keeping his distance because he was afraid that if he saw you he’d jump you?”