by Anita Hughes
The waitress served Max and me our entrées and we ate them companionably. After Max ordered and polished off a bowl of vanilla ice cream, I wondered if this was the end of our evening. Edward hadn’t returned to drink a glass of champagne with me or even to ask how Max liked the eel. I felt deflated. My beautiful Stella McCartney dress had not even been admired in the dim light of the restaurant. I would have to save it for another night, and probably another man.
“Would you like to meet the chef? Tell him what you think of the eel?” Edward appeared as I was paying the check.
“Sure, it was a bit lemony.” Max wiped chocolate sauce from his mouth.
“Straight back through those doors.” Edward touched my arm as he directed Max to the kitchen. “I wanted to get a few moments alone together to thank you for coming.” He turned to me, and his face broke into the crinkly smile I remembered.
“It was delicious,” I said.
“You have a great son. He’s smart, and he says what he thinks.” He picked up my hand, held it for a second, and then placed it back on the table.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said. “Maybe we could go for a walk on the beach?”
I felt like I had passed some giant first-almost-date test. “Sure.”
“Do you have your phone?”
I handed him my cell phone, an old flip phone in a purple plastic case. He punched in a phone number and pressed save. He pulled out his phone and entered my number into his contacts.
“You have an iPhone!” Max picked that moment to climb back in the booth. “Can I check out your apps?”
“Max, Edward has to work.” I put my phone back in my clutch, feeling it now held special, secret information.
“I wish Mom had an iPhone, they’re so cool.”
“I’m an old-fashioned mom with a boring phone.” I shrugged.
“I’ll show you the apps next time. I have one that sounds like a dog barking. And one that shows you how to build a robot.” Edward slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Told you, Mom; you should get one,” Max persisted.
“You have enough gadgets, and I use my phone for talking.” I got up, tugging at my dress so it didn’t show my upper thighs.
“Thank you for inviting us.” Max stuck out his hand.
“Thank you for coming. Next time you’ll have to try the octopus.” Edward shook his hand.
Edward held my arm as we maneuvered through the room. When we reached the front door he moved his hand to the small of my back.
“Can I walk you to your car?” Edward opened the door. The outside air smelled like sand and suntan lotion.
“It’s okay, we got a driver waiting in a Bentley,” Max piped in.
“A Bentley.” Edward laughed. “I can’t compete with that.”
* * *
We walked around the corner and I called the driver.
“Thanking Edward was very polite. I’m proud of you,” I complimented Max, as we waited for the Bentley.
“Grandma said she’d pay me five dollars if I used good manners,” Max replied.
“That’s a good way to get rich.” I shook my head.
“I think you should get an iPhone. Erin at Kids’ Club has one. I can play ‘Chopsticks’ on it.” Max climbed into the leather seat of the Bentley.
“Erin should be taking you to the beach to look at tide pools,” I said, but I sounded stodgy even to myself. I would put “get an iPhone” on my list. I had already accomplished the first thing on my list—notice attractive men—so who knew what I could do next?
* * *
After Max had gone to bed and my mother had grilled me about our evening, I went into my room and put on a fluffy white St. Regis robe. I stood at the mirror and coated my face with age-defying night cream. The maids had turned down the bed and there was a tray on the comforter with a jug of springwater and a wrapped chocolate shaped like a butterfly. I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. I didn’t call Stephanie to discuss the nuances of Edward placing his hand on my back but not kissing me on the cheek good night. For the first time since Black Tuesday, I just wanted to savor the feeling of being alone but not lonely.
* * *
The next morning I did Beach Boot Camp. I ran a mile alongside a small army of Botoxed women and did extra lunges to compensate for last night’s champagne. I tried to keep alive the feeling of well-being I had gone to bed with. But Andre intruded on my thoughts. I remembered how he would stroke my naked breasts when I climbed into bed and purr, “I am so lucky, ma belle cherie.” Had he used the same line on Ursula and Bella? I made myself do one hundred sit-ups and fifty crunches. I figured eventually physical pain would blur the images that filled my brain.
After class I sat at the counter in the Beach Club and read the menu. Max was out surfing and I contemplated ordering eggs Benedict or Belgian waffles. It was Sunday. I deserved one day off from grapefruit and granola. My phone buzzed. I had two unread texts. The first was from Stephanie, demanding to know all the details of my date with “the old divorced guy who owns a restaurant.” I pressed delete. She would think it was a “nonevent.” “A guy his age makes a move on the first date, at least a kiss on the cheek. He just asked for your number to be polite. Forget him, find some young hunk.” I could hear her voice in my head. The second text was from an unfamiliar number. I read, “Beach walk tonight? Don’t have Bentley but can pick you up in Mini. E.”
I looked at the phone. When I dated Andre, texting didn’t exist. Shouldn’t Edward call to ask me out? I took a breath and texted him back. “No Bentley needed. Would love beach walk. What time?”
The phone beeped in my hand. “Six pm so we can see sunset. Meet you in lobby.”
“Lobby great. See you then.” I hit send and picked up the menu. I ordered an egg-white omelet and waited for Max.
“Mom, I stood up for five minutes.” Max ran into the club, covered in sand and grinning from ear to ear.
“Fantastic.” I smiled. “Have a seat, I just ordered.”
“I’m starving. Can I get Belgian waffles?” Max asked. He shook the sand out of his hair and sat on the stool next to me.
“Sure. If I can’t have them, I can watch you enjoy yours,” I said.
“That was the longest I ever stood up, I can’t wait to tell Dad.” Max shook the last of the sand onto the counter. “Can I have your phone?”
“Sure, hold on.” I erased the texts. I never kept secrets from Max. This new world of being single was full of minefields.
“I want to call Dad and tell him.” He pressed the speed dial. “He didn’t pick up,” Max said eventually.
“Try him again. Sometimes Dad doesn’t hear it when he’s at the restaurant.”
Max tried again but it went to voice mail. I could see the hurt in his eyes that he couldn’t tell his dad his big accomplishment. I wanted to grab him and run for the plane and back to Andre so we could be a family. I wanted to stop not knowing where my husband was, stop texting new men, stop worrying about how I looked in a one-piece. I wanted to put our life back the way it was before Max discovered it was different.
“Hey, can I go to Kids’ Night Out tonight? We get to watch a movie on the lawn and then make s’mores.” Max doused his waffles in syrup.
“Sounds great.” I took small bites of my omelet. It tasted like paper, but it wouldn’t make my stomach stick out in my bathing suit. I listened as Max babbled on about waxing his surfboard. I realized I couldn’t get on a plane because the Andre I knew wouldn’t be waiting for me at SFO. It would be the Andre who screwed other women, the Andre who was too busy doing God knows what to answer the phone when his son called mid-morning. At least if Max was at Kids’ Night Out, he wouldn’t wonder what I was doing. I was going to wear my new Theory tunic dress and watch the sunset with Edward.
* * *
My mother, of course, wanted to know exactly where I was going, why my date wasn’t coming up to our suite to collect me, and why he was taking me for a walk on the beach i
nstead of out to dinner.
“Mom, I’m a soon-to-be-divorced woman. Edward doesn’t have to get my mother’s approval.” I stood at the bathroom mirror, fiddling with my earrings. Erin had picked up Max at five p.m., and I had spent the last hour deciding what accessories worked with my dress. I was determined not to call Stephanie for advice. I had to start making my own wardrobe decisions. My mother stood behind me, sipping her dry martini.
“You can’t wear pearls for a walk on the beach. If he had invited you to the theater or to a restaurant, you could wear pearls. The only earrings you can wear for the beach are coral,” she muttered. My mother disapproved of a date that didn’t include cocktails and dinner.
“There’s not a lot of theater in Laguna Beach. And honestly, I’m sick of restaurants. Please don’t judge Edward without meeting him.”
“That’s the point.” She finished her martini and set the glass down on the marble counter. “You won’t let me meet him.” She took a brush and brushed my hair with long strokes. I had spent a lot of time on my makeup. My cheeks were bronze and my eyelashes were fat with ultra-thick mascara I had discovered at the spa. The woman in the spa boutique showed me how a smudge of pale pink eye shadow made my eyes looked greener. If I could tame my hair, which frizzed like a halo around my head, I would like my own reflection.
“I don’t want him to be intimidated by the Presidential Suite. You should have seen his face when Max told him we had a driver and a Bentley.” I rubbed lip gloss on my lips.
“You have to stop being embarrassed by your money. You don’t want another Andre situation.”
“My ‘Andre situation’ was caused by his ridiculous sense of entitlement. As in ‘this is my restaurant and I am entitled to fuck every woman who works for me.’” I saw her flinch. “Sorry, Mom. But you’d be surprised how swearing can clear my head.”
“Swear all you want, honey. I just don’t think you should hide your wealth. It’s part of who you are. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“Money isn’t a coat of armor, Mom. And Edward was an attorney for twenty years. He lived in Pasadena and is putting two kids through college. He’s nothing like Andre.”
“You’ll have to bring him up here so I can see for myself.” She blotted my lip gloss with a tissue and hugged me. “You deserve someone who treats you like a princess.”
“I will, I promise.” I slipped on the flip-flops with two-inch heels I had bought at the gift shop.
“Your father always treated me like a queen.” My mother went to the bar and poured herself another martini.
“I’ll see if I can find a dragon for Edward to slay.”
“Funny. Do you want me to have room service send up a boxed dinner?”
“I’m not even hungry.” I kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I admired my dress in the elevator mirror. It was navy with a crisp white collar and a wide white belt. I looked everything I didn’t feel: tall, tan, confident. My phone buzzed. I flipped it open; it was Andre with his six p.m. duty call. I pressed ignore and put it back in my purse. For once, he could see what it felt like when his wife and son didn’t answer.
A three-piece band played in the lobby. Guests sat at candlelit tables nibbling pistachios. I didn’t see Edward, and I stood at the bar wondering if I should calm my nerves with a drink.
He tapped my shoulder. “It seems I’m always sneaking up behind you.” He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a seashell pattern, brown linen pants, and deck shoes. His gray hair was slicked to one side with gel.
“Hopefully not with more nutrition tips. I did Beach Boot Camp this morning and had an egg-white omelet for breakfast.” I was an inch taller than him in my new flip-flops.
“Then you will be suitably hungry for this.” He held up a large wicker picnic basket. Purple grapes were wedged between a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. I could see a round of cheese, a jar of olives, and a small tin of caviar.
“I thought we were just going to watch the sunset.”
“Sunsets can last awhile. The moon rising is going to be pretty special tonight, too. But maybe you can use your influence here and score us a couple of glasses and a knife. I forgot utensils.”
I leaned over the bar and asked the bartender for glasses. I was touched by his gift, and by the fact he admitted to forgetting silverware. During our entire marriage, Andre had never admitted to making a mistake. He even believed screwing other women wasn’t his fault. He was just being “French.”
Edward lugged the picnic basket outside and we waited for the tram to take us to the beach. I couldn’t help noticing how defined his muscles were on his upper arms. I never dated an athlete, except for one stringy long jumper in high school. Andre possessed a beautiful body but he didn’t play sports.
“Tram’s here; after you.” Edward broke into my thoughts.
We squeezed next to another couple on the tram, our thighs and arms smashed against each other. Suddenly I felt trapped by the closeness of his body. I wasn’t ready for this, I didn’t want this. The driver prattled on about the tides and I leaned out of the tram, sucking in big gulps of salt air. By the time the tram pulled up at the beach I felt like a wilted lettuce leaf that had been in the salad spinner too long. I wanted to go home.
But then Edward got up and held out his hand to help me out. He kept my hand lightly in his as we walked onto the sand. He joked that last time he was on a surfboard it was ten feet long and made of wood. It was nice standing together, watching the sun peel over the horizon. There was something about his solid body, his slightly crooked nose, his gray hair and blue eyes that made me feel safe.
“You’re tricky to shop for.” He set the picnic basket down and produced a striped beach towel. “I had to stay away from French cheese and French wine. You’ll have to settle for a Napa Valley chardonnay and a Dutch camembert.”
“I’m not allergic to all French things, just French husbands.” I watched him put the ingredients of our feast on the towel. He laid out sliced peaches, chocolate truffles, and a can of whipped cream.
“Remember, I’ve been through the big D. Every time I heard an ad to ‘put a shrimp on the barbie’ I wanted to stab someone with barbecue tongs. Anything that reminded me of our trip to Australia made me crazy.”
“Well, I love Dutch cheese. But what is the whipped cream for?”
“Food fight. If we run out of conversation we can turn it on each other and spray.” He grinned.
“You have very refined dating habits.” I laughed. I took my flip-flops off because they were digging in between my toes.
“I learned them from my son. That’s the beauty of having children. They grow up and teach you all sorts of things: how to create PDF files and use Zip drives and manage five hundred apps on my iPhone.”
“I got a lot of heat for not having an iPhone.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail and plopped down on the towel. I took off my belt, rolled it up, and put it in my purse. Suddenly I felt overdressed. At least I hadn’t worn pearls.
“Sometimes I think we’re all too plugged in. If I can see the ocean, I’m pretty happy.” He handed me a glass of chardonnay.
“Thanks.” I took a sip. “My parents and I used to spend every July in Hawaii. I was the Royal Hawaiian sand castle champion.”
“A woman who enjoyed her childhood. Pretty rare these days.” He sat opposite me and cut thick slices of bread.
“I adored my parents and they worshipped each other. Max is not going to have that.”
“It’s not your fault. My kids knew it was over between Julie and me when we opened the front door. The air changes, you can’t hide it.”
“I feel like I’m half of something that doesn’t exist anymore.” I sifted sand through my toes. I hadn’t wanted to talk about divorce, I wanted to impress him with my knowledge of literature or art or travel. But he was so easy to talk to. Being with Edward was like rubbing a magic bottle and having a middle-aged genie pop out.
; “You’ll become a new something. Look at me; forty-eight years old, living in an artsy beach town, part owner of a tacky tourist restaurant. Ten years ago I sweated every day trying to reach my goals by age forty: make a half mil a year, represent the biggest stars in Hollywood, guarantee my kids a golden future, and kill at tennis at the country club.”
“It’s not a tacky restaurant.”
“It’s not Wolfgang Puck’s. Divorce makes you look at the now: What am I doing every day that makes me feel good?”
“Life isn’t just about feeling good,” I said. I felt a little prickly. Andre’s life was about squeezing big breasts and tight asses; things that made him feel good and made me feel like shit.
“Of course it isn’t. It’s about taking care of your kids and separating bottles and cans in the recycling bin and giving jobs to the people who don’t have any. But it’s also about creating your own happiness. You have to be your own best friend.”
“I guess I don’t want me as a best friend at the moment. I’m a bit of a loser.” I stuffed a piece of bread in my mouth and hoped the soft cheese would glue it shut. I hadn’t meant to say that.
Edward put down his wineglass and sat next to me. He waited till I swallowed and then he took my head in his hands and kissed me on the lips. He tasted dry and sweet like the wine. He kissed me for a long time, as if he was trying to discover something or erase something. Then he put his hand under my chin and tipped my face up to him.
“You are a gorgeous woman with a fantastic kid and a Bentley that waits at street corners. I don’t see loser written anywhere. What did you want to do before you married the dickhead?”
“I wanted to go to Parsons and be a fashion designer. But then my dad got cancer and I went to Berkeley instead. I met Andre right after I graduated and my dad died. I liked being Andre’s wife and Max’s mother. I love the town we live in. I love the school, and the lake, and the post office where everyone picks up their mail every day.”