Merry Ex-Mas

by Sheila Roberts

  Her mother had had trouble remembering Jake’s name for the first six months they were together. He was James, Jack and sometimes even George. Now Mims seemed to take delight in not having to say his name at all. Ella wasn’t sure why, but it bugged her.

  “I’m not going to be in the house with Jake,” she said, emphasizing his name. “But I do have plans for dinner.”

  “Oh?” Now Mims’s eyes had an inquisitive glint. “Who?”

  “Axel Fuchs.”

  “Axel.” Mims gave this information great consideration. “He’s not bad-looking.” The way Mims said this made it sound as if, for once, her daughter had managed to show good taste. “I hear he might run for mayor next year.” That, along with Axel’s more metrosexual style, would be a winning combination as far as Mims was concerned.

  Was it a winning combination for Ella? She wasn’t sure. But he was nice-looking, and going out beat staying home and feeling frustrated with her current state of affairs.

  “He drives a Lexus,” Mims continued.

  Well, that settled it. Axel was the catch of the year. Ella couldn’t hide her disgust as she hung up the necklace.

  “There’s nothing wrong with dating a man who’s going somewhere,” Mims said.

  “I don’t know if this is a date. We’re going out to talk about ways I can make the house more appealing so it’ll sell.”

  “What a flimsy excuse,” Mims scoffed. “Of course it’s a date. What are you wearing? Not that outfit, I hope. You look like a shopgirl.”

  She was a shopgirl. Ella shrugged but didn’t bother to comment.

  “Where’s he taking you?”

  “Schwangau.”

  Mims nodded approvingly. “You can try the wild mushroom lasagna and tell me how it is. And wear the ABS trapeze necklace dress I got you for Christmas.”

  “I was thinking of something more casual,” Ella said.

  “Not too casual. It only inspires men to pinch pennies.”

  “I don’t need a man to spend a fortune on me,” Ella protested.

  Her mother gave her a long-suffering look. “And that is exactly what got you into the mess you’re in now. Be a little wiser this time around, baby.”

  And marry a millionaire. Or a prince from some small European country.

  Ella sighed inwardly. Her mother still had hopes that some of her glamour would rub off on Ella, but it was too late. If Mims had wanted to turn her into a jet-setter, she should never have settled in a small town.

  When Mims had inherited the house in Icicle Falls, she’d expected to use it as a mere way station in life while she recovered from what she’d referred to as a slight career setback (translation: aging), but she’d stayed too long and Ella had become too attached to the town. She’d tried to rectify her mistake (and find her footing in the world of glam once more) by hauling Ella to New York for fashion week on a regular basis, but New York had been too big and too crowded for Ella. Mims finally realized her daughter wasn’t enjoying those trips and abandoned the effort, taking her buying trips alone or with her fashionista sidekick, Gregory.

  “Ella, where are you?”

  Ella dragged herself back to the present with a blink. “I’m here.”

  “That boy will be a millionaire by the time he’s fifty,” Mims predicted. “You could still land on your feet.”

  “I don’t even know if I like him…that way.”

  “At least give it a chance. This isn’t New York, baby. Your options are limited.”

  Rather like Mims’s had become since settling here. Why on earth didn’t her mother move to New York or Paris or…someplace?

  Ella knew the answer to that. It was because of her. Mims had her faults, but she took her mothering seriously, and living far from her daughter had never been a consideration. If Ella wanted to live in a small town, then Lily Swan would live in a small town. And make regular trips to Seattle, the East Coast and Europe. The only downside to all of that was, every time she returned, she became less enchanted with Icicle Falls. She had a condo in Seattle. She could live there. Ella had once pointed this out.

  “Not until I see you well established,” Mims had said. “What kind of mother would I be if I just ran off and lived for myself?”

  The answer to that was easy—a happy one.

  “I know you’ll have a fabulous time tonight,” Mims said. “And I can hardly wait to hear about it.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek and left, the fragrance of her perfume lingering like a nosy ghost.

  “I will have a fabulous time,” Ella decided. And she wouldn’t think about Jake even once.

  Could a person change?

  8

  Jake saw the silver Lexus pull up in front of the house and frowned. Axel Fuchs was a predator in a silk tie, and it wasn’t hard to guess who his prey was. So he drove a Lexus, so what? He had to be at least ten years older than Ella and he looked like a Viking reject—blond and blue-eyed, but too skinny and wimpy to be allowed to go pillaging with the big boys. What would any woman see in him? Oh, yeah, the silk tie and Lexus.

  Naturally, he was taking her to Schwangau. It wasn’t as hip or fun as Zelda’s but it was the most expensive restaurant in town. Overpriced, if you asked Jake, especially the beer. Who cared if it was imported?

  He had taken Ella there for their anniversary once and she’d raved over it like it was Disneyland. White linen tablecloths on the tables, soft lighting provided by little candles that made it hard to read the menu.

  “You’re paying for the atmosphere,” Ella had said, taking in the dark wood paneling and the paintings on the walls.

  Atmosphere. Why was that a big deal to women? Jake had never understood. He was more a burger-and-fries kind of guy. Or a picnic kind of guy. On sunny Sunday afternoons they used to pack sandwiches and chips and a couple of apples and find a spot on Icicle Creek. They’d spend the day on the bank, dangling their feet in the water and talking. Sometimes he’d throw his guitar over his shoulder and take it along and sing to her. She’d loved that. Or so she’d said.

  Axel was coming up the walk now. How much had he paid for that suit? Ella would be able to guess right down to the penny. She loved nice clothes and knew how to dress, but she never got that it wasn’t the clothes that caught a man’s eye. It was the woman wearing them.

  Clothes make the man—whoever said that was wrong.

  The doorbell rang and Jake considered letting Axel stand out there in the cold and keep ringing. Maybe his finger would freeze off. Maybe he’d give up and go away. Not likely, though.

  Jake was halfway to the door when Ella came running down the stairs, Tiny racing behind her. “I’ll get it.”

  Scowling, Jake went back into the living room and picked up his guitar.

  He started strumming. Loudly.

  He could still hear Axel say, “Ella, you look incredible.”

  Like that was unusual? Ella never looked anything but incredible. Tonight she’d taken extra care—had her hair down (all that gorgeous long hair he loved to play with) and wore what women called a little black dress along with black heels. How women could run or even walk in those was a mystery. But man, a chick in heels—what a turn-on.

  And she was wearing them for Axel. Jake strummed harder. But he still heard Ella say, “Thanks, Axel. It’s always nice when a man notices how you dress.”

  Jake always noticed how she dressed. And then he thought about undressing her. He’d lay odds that Fuchs was thinking the same thing, the bastard.

  The door shut and they were gone. Tiny lumbered into the room and sat down at Jake’s feet. Actually, sat on one of them. That foot would be numb in a matter of minutes. If only Jake could numb his heart as quickly.

  He strummed a C 2 chord. “Wish my heart was ice.” Followed by an A minor seventh. “Then I couldn’t feel.” The chords flowed and the words poured out. “How long will this hurt go on? How long before I heal?” Dumb question. He would never heal.

  He shoved his guitar back in its case with en
ough force to make the strings twang in protest.

  * * *

  Ella studied the menu. Everything here at Schwangau was expensive, even the schnitzel. Of all the restaurants in town, this was Mims’s favorite. Ella’s, too, although on the rare occasion she went out to eat she usually went to Zelda’s—partly because she enjoyed the food but mostly because Charley was a friend and she liked to support her friends. So, this was a rare treat.

  Axel was making a great show of selecting their wine. “Since we’re in a German restaurant we should start with a Rhine wine, don’t you think?” he asked her.

  “That sounds fine,” she agreed, although it would probably be wasted on her.

  She was no connoisseur. Other than an occasional huckleberry martini at Zelda’s or some rum-spiked eggnog at Christmas, she drank soda pop or juice. She supposed it would come across as unsophisticated if she confessed that to Axel. And if he wanted to spend money on an expensive bottle of wine, she’d let him. In fact, if he was going to spend that much on wine, then she certainly wasn’t going to look for the cheapest meal on the menu.

  Once the wine was ordered, he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “I think you’ll love this. It’s unpretentious but tasty, and a good way to begin the evening.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she lied.

  “It’s a favorite of mine. There’s nothing better after a long day than relaxing to some jazz with a glass of wine.”

  Jazz. Ick. Ella was more of a country music girl.

  “Jazz is the true American music,” Axel said.

  “So is country,” she added, trying to keep up her end of the conversation.

  “Not very sophisticated,” he said with a shake of his head. “Twang, beat-up trucks and beer. Oh, that’s right. Jake plays in a country band, doesn’t he?”

  Jake had a beat-up truck, but he sang hip country and he drank organic fruit juice. Even at the clubs he played he stuck to soft drinks. “Booze and music don’t go together well,” he said. “Makes you sloppy. Anyway, if a guy can’t get high on the music, he shouldn’t be in the business.”

  Why was she remembering things Jake said? Who cared what he had to say about anything? She was here with Axel, who was rich and sophisticated—everything Jake wasn’t.

  “Let’s not talk about Jake.”

  “Excellent idea,” Axel said. “So, what kind of music do you like?”

  “Oh, just about everything.” It was always good to keep an open mind, expand your horizons.

  “What do you listen to when you get home from work?”

  Jake, playing his guitar. She’d miss that once the house was sold and they’d divided the money and split. The final split. “Well, right now it’s hard to listen to anything. Jake is either giving guitar lessons or working on a song.”

  Axel frowned. “A bad situation. You need to get out of there.” He sounded like her mother.

  “There must be something I can do to make the house more appealing,” she said.

  “It’s already a nice house. The Craftsman style works well here.”

  “I’d so hoped that couple was going to buy it,” she said with a sigh. “Would it help if we had some Christmas decorations, a tree maybe? Make it feel more homey?”

  “Possibly. If you don’t go overboard. These days it’s all about staging.”

  “I was thinking it looks a little, I don’t know, bare.”

  “A tree might be a nice touch.”

  So she’d put up a Christmas tree. And maybe string some cedar boughs along the mantel and put out a few candles. Cinnamon. People were drawn to a house with good smells; she’d known that even before Axel told her. Anyway, she liked decorating her home for the holidays. She pushed aside the thought that this would be her last Christmas there with a new thought—next year she’d have a new place to fix up. A new place and a new beginning.

  Their wine arrived and the waiter poured the obligatory sip for Axel to sample. He sniffed, swirled and swilled, then nodded his approval and the waiter poured. They placed their food orders—sauerbraten for her, rolladen for him and an appetizer for both that promised plenty of lobster—and then Axel raised his glass to her. “Here’s to a sale and freedom.”

  “To freedom,” she said. The house was a millstone around her neck. She couldn’t move on until it was sold and Jake was out of her life completely. She raised her glass and drank deeply, then caught sight of Axel’s raised eyebrows. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I can imagine,” he said.

  They talked about the house some more and how hard Axel was working to get her out of there. After that, the conversation moved on to a new topic, which was really more of a move back to a topic they’d already touched on—Axel. He liked to travel. He had a condo in Seattle that he’d acquired in a short sale. He loved going into the city to see plays at ACT or musicals at the Fifth Avenue. TV, other than the offerings on PBS, was for morons, and why would anyone bother with those dumb reality shows and sitcoms when he (or she) could be enjoying a James Joyce novel?

  Maybe this wasn’t the moment to confess that her TV viewing consisted of shows like The Bachelor and her favorite read was always a good romance novel.

  “What do you like to read?” Axel asked.

  “Vanessa Valentine,” she blurted.

  “Who?”

  “She writes about…relationships.”

  Axel nodded slowly, unimpressed and trying to hide it.

  “I like to read all kinds of authors.”

  He smiled approvingly and took another sip of his wine. “Your mother was right. You and I have a lot in common.”

  Her mother! “You were talking to my mother?”

  “A while back,” he said with a shrug. “You know it’s not that easy to find a woman with class in a small town.”

  Maybe he needed to move to New York. There was a reality show about Realtors in New York. He could be on it, drinking Rhine wine.

  “Of course, I knew you had class the minute I saw you,” Axel continued.

  “Did you?” It was hard not to be flattered. It was hard not to be impressed. Axel had it all—success, money, nice looks. And he liked jazz. Well, no man was perfect.

  Now he began to wax eloquent. “I’ve got to tell you, a man can have all the success in the world, but without the right woman to share it, it doesn’t mean much. I mean, where’s the fun in taking a gondola ride down a Venice canal by yourself or strolling the banks of the Seine alone?” He smiled at Ella. “A beautiful woman completes the experience.”

  He thought she was beautiful. With her snub nose and round face she’d never thought of herself that way. Who could when comparing herself to the incomparable Lily Swan? Even Jake had never told her she was beautiful. Cute, yes. Hot. But beautiful?

  She could learn to like jazz.

  * * *

  Jake was in a foul mood when he got to band practice.

  “What’s eating you?” asked Tim the drummer.

  “Nothing,” Jake lied. Even though these guys were all his pals, he wasn’t ready to tell them that his ex was on a date.

  Jen offered him mock comfort, playing the chorus of Elton John’s “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word” on her keyboard. “You need some comfort, Jake,” she said silkily.

  “Got some Southern Comfort in the cupboard,” offered Larry, who played lead guitar. Larry had agreed to the no-drinking-on-the-job rule, but during practice everyone was allowed a beer or a shot of booze. Jake was the only one who never indulged.

  “Nah, he needs to start jamming,” said Guy, his bass player. “Did you bring the new song you told us about?”

  Oh, yeah, and Jake was in just the mood to play it.

  By the end of the first chorus everyone was guffawing, proof that, as Jake suspected, this was a kick-ass country song. His ex-mother-in-law had her uses, after all. The others joined in with the instruments on the second verse and chorus and, great players that they were, had the song sounding good within only a few
measures.

  Once they’d finished the last chorus Larry said, “That rocks, man. We should do it this weekend, kick off the holidays.”

  “Hell, it could kick off more than the holidays. This could be a hit,” Guy said. “There hasn’t been a mother-in-law song on the charts since the sixties. Has there?”

  “I dunno,” Larry said, “but there should be. Every guy on the planet could relate.”

  Guy shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “My mother-in-law rocks. She bakes my favorite cookies at Christmas and makes a steak dinner for my birthday every year.”

  “That ain’t normal,” Larry said.

  “Well,” Jake said, “I know guys who like their mamas-in-law.” Too bad a man couldn’t mix and match. I’ll take this woman and her best friend’s mother.

  Larry made a face. “They’re probably lying. Chrissie’s mom drives me bonkers.”

  “She don’t count as a mother-in-law,” Guy told him. “You and Chrissie ain’t married.”

  “And we’re not gonna be until she gets a new mother,” Larry said.

  Guy turned to Jake. “All I can say is that if your ex’s mom inspired this, it was worth all the pain.”

  “Not really,” Jake muttered.

  He forced himself to set aside all further thoughts of his ex-wife and concentrate solely on arranging the song. They worked on that, then ran over a couple more Christmas songs and the new Brad Paisley hit. After an hour and a half, he began wondering if Ella was still out with Axel. Maybe he’d taken her home by now. Had he dropped her off and left, or had she invited him in? If she’d invited him in, was he still there? What were they doing?

  “Let’s pack it in for the night,” he said.

  “This early?” Jen protested, looking disappointed. “Come on, Jake, I’m ready to make a night of it.” Jen was always ready to make a night of it.

  Guy looked at him like he was nuts. “We never quit this early. Are you sick?”

  He had to be sick in the head to be obsessing over the woman he was no longer married to. “Yeah, I feel like shit.” He’d felt like shit for a long time but that was beside the point.