Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations

by Leslie Langtry

  "Thank you?" I whispered as he removed his arm.

  "Isn't that better than spending twenty minutes explaining something no one in their right mind would believe?"

  The bus came to a stop, and we disembarked, corralling four squealing kids. "Why wouldn't they believe it? It happened this way, didn't it?"

  "Well," he said as he turned to me, "I still don't believe it. Do you?" He had me there.

  We kept walking. Alice and Clara danced ahead of us. He's right, I thought, it was too bizarre. Still, it was too late to turn back. We were at the gates of the park, two strangers who were once lovers, together with their kids. I had sincere doubts that they made soap opera plots this twisted. Once again, I wondered what would've happened if we hadn't changed our room.

  But all of those thoughts abandoned me as I stood, open-mouthed, in front of the place I'd dreamed about for a long, long time. It's hard to put into words the way I felt, walking through the gates of paradise. All of the colors, sounds, smells blurred into a haze of pleasure. I actually felt all of my stress slipping away, replaced with mindless happiness. Giddiness formed a bubble in my gut, rising through my throat. Wow. If they bottled and marketed this stuff, they'd make millions.

  Music from my childhood danced in the breeze. The smell of popcorn and candy (probably laced with pheromones) filled the air.

  I'd never seen anything like this, and I knew right then and there, I never wanted to leave. We were surrounded by families of all ages and colors. From the looks on their faces, I could tell they were hypnotized too. I was head-over-heels in love. With a place. With a commercial enterprise. And I didn't care.

  For a fleeting moment, I remembered that this feeling of euphoria was supposed to be for all of us—Mike included. Clara and Rory squealed with delight, and I mentally echoed their sentiment. If only that bastard was here.

  Okay, I could be miserable and think of what could have been, or I could just enjoy myself. I snapped out of it to see the same look on Alan's face. Was he thinking the same thing? Wishing Susan was here to experience this with him and the kids?

  We didn't have much opportunity to speak throughout the morning. The kids had us on a whirlwind tour. Clara had to go on every ride seven consecutive times; Rory and Jack pined for adventure. Alice was determined to stalk all of the princesses. Several times, I noticed Alan staring at me with what I suspected was curiosity. I found myself studying him when he wasn't looking.

  Over the years, when I'd thought of him, I'd only seen him as a twenty-year-old boy. He had never grown up in my mind, even though I had. On occasion, I would imagine running into him, but all I could eke out of my imagination was a Mrs. Robinson scenario. It was like being with someone I had never met, but knew an awful lot about. Some of the old familiar mannerisms were there, but they were vague, blurred by years of aging. I liked what I saw, but I didn't really recognize this man. There was something subtly erotic about that.

  "How about a nap?" I asked, feeling more like Mommy Dearest instead of Mommy-Knows-Best.

  The kids groaned in horror, but according to all the guidebooks I'd consumed in the last two years, they'd never make it to the fireworks at night if we didn't take a break. Every plea in the book was hurled at me by begging eyes. And in all honesty, I didn't want to leave either. But it would be stupid to let the kids know that.

  Standing behind them all, Alan nodded vigorously in agreement with my suggestion, "She's right. Let's go guys!" The butterflies dive-bombed my stomach.

  The bus ride back to the hotel was quiet. The girls chatted in the seat in front of us while the boys nodded off in our laps. We managed to rouse them briefly back at the hotel. They stayed awake long enough to eat a peanut-butter sandwich, but soon all four passed out on the two beds in my room.

  Alan and I wordlessly dragged two chairs outside. As the door closed, I realized that it was not my husband I was sitting outside with. And that meant that there would be actual conversation.

  "You know," he ventured, "I think that went well."

  "It's funny, but it seemed somewhat natural. Maybe since we are both parents we just fell into it." Damn it was hot. I could feel the tingle of perspiration springing from my armpits.

  Alan looked at me for a moment. I couldn't read his expression. His fingers tapped absently on his pop can.

  "Alan?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm not that uncomfortable with you, but I am nervous. Can we just forget that this is awkward and pretend we are old friends who are totally at ease with each other?" It sounded ridiculous, but it was worth a try. What did we have to lose?

  He laughed. He actually laughed and I relaxed. "That is a great idea. I don't want this to be weird. But where do we start?"

  "Well, we have a few hours, so how about the beginning?" Ooh. That was two clichés short of cool. Oh well. Maybe we could breach this divide by filling in our backgrounds.

  Alan's smile used to make me weak in the knees. He had one of those broad grins that lights up a room. His smile made things seem easier. "You first?"

  "Alright." Sure, I could go first. I mean, how hard is that?

  "Okay, well, I teach contemporary literature at Barrymore College." That's right. Clit., if you looked at the abbreviation on my office door. The freshmen really get a kick out of it. I groaned inwardly and continued, "Mike is a partner in an ad agency and travels a lot. I'm taking a sabbatical now to finish my dissertation and so I can spend more time with the kids."

  "What about your poetry?" Slam. I didn't see that one coming.

  "I don't do much with it—haven't for years." Flickers of memories flashed through my brain. I used to read him my poetry. Few people knew I ever had a passion for it. He was one of them. I couldn't believe he remembered.

  "Actually, the only writing I do now is on my doctorate thesis. Once I'm done with that, I'll have my PhD and make tenure." I didn't want to talk to him about that, so I turned the conversation around. "What about you?"

  Alan eased back in the chair, propping his feet up on the railing. He had been a jock in college. His legs were still in great shape.

  "Did you ever try to look me up?" He asked. Why did he ask that? Of course I had. I just didn't want him to know. His eyes seemed to know what I was thinking.

  I shifted in my seat. These chairs weren't actually made for lounging. "I knew you moved to New York and got married." This part would be hard to admit, but fair is fair, "I know your plays are doing well off-Broadway and that you have raised a few eyebrows in the industry."

  He looked at me, smiling cautiously. "You've seen my website, then?"

  I nodded guiltily. Every now and then I would look him up. Nothing big. It certainly doesn't qualify me for my stalker merit badge.

  "I'm flattered," he spoke quietly, looking at the floor. "I would have checked out your website, if you had one."

  I let out a breath. Perhaps we are the only ones in this hotel. Maybe we didn't even notice anyone else. The strangeness was still there, but so was an odd sense of ease. I was actually in the company of a man who was interested in what I had to say. What a contrast to my normal, daily life.

  "Well, I have little to add to that." His tone seemed more serious. "Susan is an attorney. She used to work to support me and the kids until I hit the big time, but I think she really likes it now. We haven't had the best year."

  It was an awkward gesture, but I patted him on the back. "Us too. Mike has never missed a day of work when the kids are sick. He used to say he would never miss a birthday, but this summer we rescheduled the twins' party from their birth date so he could attend. I don't see this trend letting up anytime soon." I didn't mention the affairs. It didn't seem like the right time.

  "How do you deal with that?" Good God. I hope he wasn't asking for advice! My record to date for handling such situations was pathetic.

  "I cry, scream, threaten, feel bad…not the most mature way of handling things." I checked his response before continuing. After all, I wanted to cut throu
gh the bullshit, so I might as well be honest. "If you have a solution, please share it with me because I've run out of ideas…especially with this trip."

  "Oh hell," he smiled as he replied, "I was hoping you had some magic wand that would make them see how they are really acting! Damn. There goes all hope."

  I couldn't help but laugh. Someone else had the same problem I did and didn't have a better solution. That was something, at least.

  "You know what, Alan? I feel better already."

  "You know what, Laura? Me too." Laughter again. This might work out okay. At least we wouldn't be too uncomfortable. We had the past in common. And we had this circumstance in common. This might even be fun.

  "Have you heard from Mike?" He sort of winced as he asked, in case the question was too delicate.

  I shook my head. "Did you hear from Susan since last night?"

  "No. And I have a wicked idea." Damn that dazzling smile. You aren't twenty anymore, I reminded myself. You have the force field of maturity to protect you from his boyish charms.

  "What is it?"

  "Well, first of all," he began, "we don't call them." I nodded in agreement, it sounded good so far. "Secondly, we tell them everything is just fine and we are having a great time."

  "You mean we won't tell them that we've met, or that we are hanging out together?" It seemed a little deceptive, and I liked it immediately.

  "No, we tell them nothing. We just take a lot of photos of all six of us together, smiling, etc. We get them printed out before we go back. Then just hand them the pictures." He grinned triumphantly. It seemed petty and a little mean. And I was all for it.

  "Deal!" I liked this idea. There was some kind of poetic justice in it.

  Alan extended his hand, and I shook it decisively. This might be a good trip after all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  We headed back to the park late in the afternoon. The atmosphere had cleared somewhat. Once again, Alan and I had little time to talk while chasing the kids everywhere, but we managed to exchange a few sly smiles and winks. Dinner consisted of hot dogs and fries (What? It's protein and a vegetable.) as we angled for the best spot to watch the parade and light show.

  Things seemed to have changed since the development of our evil plan. Instead of strangers, it felt more like co-conspirators and the idea thrilled me. The edge had softened a bit, and we enjoyed the kids. I even felt the bliss working its magic, catching myself choking up when all the characters rode by on their floats. Yes, things were definitely looking up.

  The girls, who mere moments before had been squealing with delight at the fireworks, collapsed on our laps on the bus back to the resort. (Can I insert here that once again, I did not want to leave? But the staff can be very persuasive, and I wanted to come back tomorrow.)

  I cast Alan a wary glance when I noticed that the boys were starting to close their eyes. We prodded them gently through the twenty minute trip, both of us doubting we could each carry two forty-pound children all the way back to the room. Unfortunately, that was the situation.

  Staggering through the hotel lobby to the pool area, we realized our strength would soon quit. I walked over to a poolside chaise lounge and deposited Clara and Alice. They responded by curling up against one another.

  "Good idea," Alan whispered and laid out the boys on the next chair. "The bar is open. Would you like a drink?" I nodded as I straightened out four sets of arms and legs in a vain attempt to make them more comfortable. I stretched out in the third lounge chair, watching them sleep, awaiting my drink.

  Actually, I was kind of giddy. For one thing, I hadn't seen Bob the buffalo all day. And for another, I'd actually participated in a conversation with a man. And that conversation included interesting stuff—not once did we talk about needing more toilet paper and light bulbs.

  It was so peaceful, dark, and quiet. A lovely evening in Florida. If only someone would turn off that damn cell phone… Damn. I forgot about the cell phone.

  "Laura? Sorry I didn't call earlier." It was him. What was it I was supposed to remember? Alan returned with the drinks. He grinned wickedly when he saw me on the phone. Right. That was it. We are villains. Cue the madman laugh track.

  "No problem, we had a great time today." That was true.

  "Really? I'm glad to hear that." Did he sound a little disappointed, or was I just hoping he sounded that way? "So you're back in the room, then?"

  "Actually, no. The kids are sleeping in a chaise lounge poolside. They both fell asleep on the bus, and this was as far as I could carry them." Not a lie! Actually happened!

  "Um…" Mike seemed uncomfortable with the visual image he had of this. "Can you handle getting them back to the room? You could wake up Rory, and he could walk…"

  "I'm here on my own, so I'll find my own solution, thanks." That felt good.

  "Well, okay," he didn't sound convinced. He was either feeling guilty or thinking I was an unfit mother. "Don't be afraid to ask the staff for help."

  "Mike, you're cutting out—lousy reception here, so I'm gonna go." Alan stifled a laugh. We were out in the middle of a wide, open space. How bad could the reception be? "I'll call you tomorrow whenever I get a chance. Goodnight."

  "I'm impressed." Alan slid me a bottle of beer. "You made that look easy."

  "I think I was channeling Cruella DeVil." I really was. I took a swallow of beer before I started looking for Dalmatian puppies to make into a coat. "And it helps to have the right motivation."

  Alan lifted his bottle and clinked it against mine, "to motivation…and revenge."

  I laughed. "May it always be so sweet."

  Once the laughter died down, I noticed that I was having a good time. It came as a shock, but that's how I felt.

  "Why don't you write poetry anymore?" Alan asked.

  "I don't know. I wish I had kept it up. There were only a handful of pieces I felt were worthy of anything." This was the truth. My poetry always made me feel very vulnerable.

  "That is tragic." He drained the rest of the bottle and sat it down on the table with a loud thunk.

  "Really? Why do you think so?" Why did he think so? I couldn't recall him ever giving me glowing praise when we were together. We both accepted the fact that he was the stronger writer by far.

  "I loved your poems. They were about us. About me."

  "You think I wrote poems about you when we were together, you should have seen the stuff I wrote about you after we broke up!" Damn, I meant that as a joke. It didn't come out right. Alan smiled and waved it off. It didn't seem to bother him.

  "I mean it. Sometimes, I think I understood how you felt about me more through your poetry than through our conversations."

  I was astonished. "You remember that? That was twenty years ago!"

  He looked a little hurt. "Yeah, but it was a very important part of my life. You were a very important part of my life." He turned away, peeling the label off the bottle. "But maybe you didn't see it that way."

  Confessions of the heart do not come easily for me. But honesty was making this trip easier, and beer was making the tongue looser. "I still have the 'Alan box.'"

  It was Alan's turn to look astonished. "You have what?"

  Danger! Danger! My turn to fiddle with the beer label. "The 'Alan box,' I still have it."

  He waited for an explanation, but I was afraid I had said too much. Too late, I reminded myself. "I still have a box containing every note you ever wrote me, every photo of us, every token you gave me. It's something I will always keep."

  You know, I bet I could win an award for saying far too much in an awkward situation. I'd like to thank the Academy for allowing me to make an ass of myself… The silence was palpable. Maybe I should have another drink.

  "I'll get us another round." I rose to go, but Alan reached for my arm and pulled me back into my seat.

  "Well, since it's confession time, and it's my turn, I'll get the drinks." He walked away, leaving me to wonder what he meant. As he stepped back and headed for
the bar, I couldn't help notice the way his body moved. Back at the University, he moved so awkwardly, kind of stiff in his mannerisms. But now, he seemed more relaxed, confident.. Maybe the years had done that to him. I also couldn't help but notice how nicely his ass filled out his shorts. Yeah, I could see that another beer would be a good idea...

  The cell phone was still in my hand. It seemed more of a hindrance than a resource. A few moments ago, I was talking to my husband. The man I have been married to for more than a dozen years. Now I was watching an old lover from the past buy us drinks. What did it all mean?

  Alice stirred in the next chair. Looking down at her, I marveled how much she resembled her father. They both did, really. Both had that same dark mane, and those same soul-searching eyes. I couldn't help wonder what their mother looked like—was Susan beautiful? What was she really like?

  Clara put her arm around Alice, and they snuggled deeper into sleep. They were having a good time together. No, a great time. This trip had turned out better than I thought. Which was significant, considering in the beginning, I'd believed with all my heart it would turn into a catastrophe.

  Alan watched the bartender put the bottles on the counter. For a moment, he looked back at me. Our eyes locked over the distance for longer than was necessary. A sweet smile crossed his lips, then he turned back to pay the bartender. I stuffed the cell phone into my bag and covered it up with everything inside. Maybe it wouldn't ring again until tomorrow.

  "Are the kids still asleep?" Alan glanced over at the four as they slept, then handed me my bottle and sat down.

  "I prefer to think of it as recharging their batteries. And if we don't get some sleep we will never keep up with them tomorrow." As soon as the words left my mouth, I remembered that he had some confession to tell me.

  He frowned at his bottle, thinking to himself. "I suppose you're right."

  "Well…" I searched for something to stall. "We still have to drink these. I don't think we can juggle two kids and the beer as well."

  He smiled, taking a long drink. I didn't want to push, but I was curious. What else could he possibly confess? Alan looked at me, and his lips parted to speak.