by Anita Hughes
“It’s all still there. Minus the dickhead.”
“Ross is a family place: two parents, two-point-two kids, one big dog, and a couple of bikes per household. I don’t think I’d fit in.”
“Then try somewhere new. Go to New York and be a fashion designer.”
“I’m too old.”
“How old are you? Thirty? You look like the kids I see on campus when I visit my son. I’m old enough to be a grandfather and I started over.”
I played miserably with the sand. Tears formed in my eyes and I stared at the blanket, willing them to go away. It had felt good when Edward kissed me; it had felt like the tenuous start of something new. But now I felt like an infant.
Edward put his arms around me. He held me quietly until I stopped shaking. After a while he turned me toward him and kissed me again. This time I summoned all my dormant sexuality and kissed him back. I tasted his mouth and his tongue, I stroked his hair. I let his hands travel down my back and rest on my waist.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
“For what?”
“Life postdivorce is a roller coaster. You don’t have to be ready for new things or new places.”
“I’m ready to eat cheese and drink wine. And I might even be ready for a food fight.” I picked up the can of whipped cream and squeezed it into my mouth. Then I leaned forward and kissed him wetly on the lips. I could see the surprise in his eyes. I was surprised, too. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could learn to enjoy being a woman.
The rest of the night went better. Edward told me funny stories of tourists who came into the restaurant. I wrote out my favorite pumpkin cheesecake recipe on a napkin and he promised to give it to his chef. We discovered we both liked reading Dean Koontz, listening to Jay-Z, and watching Austin Powers movies. I even made a mini sand castle with the empty caviar tin and olive jar. When we finally folded the blanket, and I slipped on my flip-flops and shook my hair out of its ponytail, it was past ten p.m.
“I enjoy being with you,” Edward said, putting his arm around me as we waited for the tram.
I snuggled next to him and wondered what happened next. Should I invite him to the suite for a nightcap? Should I kiss him good-bye in the lobby? What if someone saw me? I was Mrs. Blick to all the employees.
The tram picked us up and drove back up the hill to the hotel. As we climbed I felt less the wanton woman on the beach and more the awkward almost-single mother. By the time we reached the lobby, I regretted kissing him. What if Edward thought I was a cheap hussy? I certainly wasn’t ready to have sex with him. The thought of seeing a new man naked made me want to crawl into my old princess bed and pull the covers over my eyes.
“My son and daughter are staying next week. Would you and Max like to come over for a barbecue?”
“Yes, sure,” I replied quickly before I got nervous and backed out.
“How about Thursday night? I’ll meet you guys in the lobby around five p.m. If you’re comfortable driving in the Mini.” He grinned.
“Max thinks they are the coolest thing since Matchbox cars. There’s only one problem.”
“I promise my house is perfectly safe. No drugs, no Great Danes, no restaurant mafia. I actually have a view of the ocean and a Jacuzzi.”
“It’s my mother. I promised I would introduce you to her.”
“So I have to meet the San Francisco society queen before I can have her daughter and grandson over for dinner?” He was smiling. “I could invite her, too.”
“No.” I shook my head vigorously. All I needed was my mother critiquing Edward for a full evening. “She doesn’t really like to leave the resort. How about if you pick us up from the suite. We can have a drink before we go.”
“A cocktail in the Presidential Suite of the St. Regis. I think I can handle that.” He put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me lightly on the mouth.
“I’ll see you on Thursday.”
* * *
I snuck into the hotel lobby, wishing I were invisible. Would the concierge wonder why my hair was messed up? Could the elevator boy smell the blend of alcohol and aftershave on my skin? If I was worried about what the hotel employees would think, I shrank from what my mother would say. She wanted me to find a new man, but she was old-fashioned enough to expect at least a monthlong courtship before I pecked him a kiss good night.
I slipped into the lobby powder room to smooth my hair. What had come over me? Did I just want to prove to Andre I was still desirable? I took my phone out of my purse and checked for missed calls. Three calls from Stephanie and none from Andre. He had made his six p.m. duty call and was offline for the evening. I called Stephanie. I felt like a fourteen-year-old who had just finished her first petting session with the school quarterback. I needed her advice, or I’d sit in the powder room and write “Amanda Loves Andre, Amanda Loves Edward” on the St. Regis notepads.
“Finally,” Stephanie answered the phone. “I thought you’d sailed off to Fiji.”
“I went out with Edward and we made out. Am I a tramp?” I blurted out.
“Calm down. It would take a lot more than one make-out session to turn you into a tramp. Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
“Edward asked me to go for a walk on the beach tonight. He brought a picnic basket and we laid down a blanket and watched the sunset. But then we started talking about divorce and my nonexistent future and I started crying and he kissed me, and I kissed him back.”
“That’s it?” Stephanie asked.
“I wanted to be sophisticated and sexy and I acted like a teenager.”
“Is he a good kisser?”
“Yes.” I remembered how nice it felt when he held my head in his hands.
“And do you like talking to him?”
“Yes.”
“So you spent the evening with a man you find attractive, though I don’t know why, who’s nice to be with and a good kisser. I don’t see the problem.”
“Oh.” Stephanie made me feel like a child, but in a good way. It was like she wrote my problems down in big letters on a chalkboard and if I studied them one by one they weren’t that bad.
“I’m assuming while you were locking lips with your middle-aged divorcé you weren’t thinking about Andre. That’s progress. But are you sure you don’t want to take that pent-up sexual energy and use it on a hard-body surfer? Get the I Am Woman sex out of your system. It’s the only way to move forward.”
“Who says?”
“Oprah, Dr. Phil. You’ve been royally screwed over. I think dating someone who’s been damaged is going to be a summer-long pity party.”
“He’s not like that. Edward was a wrestler in college. I’m attracted to him, but it’s not painful like it was with Andre. My body doesn’t collapse with longing when I see him. He’s funny, and he has two kids in college so he’s pretty hip. He invited Max and me to his house next week to meet his kids.”
“Take a picture of him with your phone. I’m glad you’re getting out there but don’t beat yourself up.”
“How’s Ross?” I changed the subject.
“Hasn’t changed a leaf. The town is getting ready for its blowout July Fourth parade. Zoe is excited because she gets to ride her bike this year. All the way from Woodlands Market to the commons.”
“I wish Max was riding next to her.” All of a sudden, the tears started. “I want to come home, Stephanie. I miss it all so much.”
“Oh, honey. I wish I could be there to give you a hug. I mean, I really wish I could be there. I spent the day washing supposedly erasable crayon from the breakfast room wall. Followed by a family evening of watching Dancing with the Stars. Glenn fell asleep before the first commercial, and Zoe insisted I tuck her into bed during my favorite part. Where are you again? At the St. Regis drinking Lemon Drops and frolicking on the sand.”
“I want Andre and my life back.” I couldn’t stop crying.
“I know you do, sweetie. Hang in there. Glenn just woke up from his coma and wants me
to go upstairs. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight, God knows it’s been a while. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
I hung up and looked at myself in the powder room mirror. For a minute I didn’t recognize the blotchy face with smeared mascara. I tried washing my face and brushing my hair, but I decided to curl up on the lounge and cry some more.
Chapter Five
I woke the next morning with a throbbing headache. The mix of chardonnay and caviar had left a jackhammer in my head. I couldn’t tell how late it was because the shutters in the suite were closed. I fumbled for my phone to check the time. I had two missed texts from Edward. The first read: “Good morning, sunshine.” The second: “Tell Max barbecuing ostrich meat, Thursday night.” I texted him back: “Had fun. Max will be thrilled.” I put the phone down, pulled the goose-down comforter up to my chin, and went back to sleep.
Max was already at Kids’ Club when I opened the door to the living room. I had showered and put on my most conservative Ella Moss sundress. It was yellow with puffy little-girl sleeves. I tied my hair in a bun and wore my Tiffany heart necklace. I wanted to prove to my mother, and maybe to myself, that I was still a respectable married matron.
“How was your evening? You got back so late I didn’t wait up,” my mother said in a deceptively neutral tone.
“I sat in the lobby talking to Stephanie on the phone. She keeps calling and I haven’t returned her calls.”
“Really,” my mother said.
“Really,” I replied.
“How is Edward?” my mother tried again.
I poured myself a cup of coffee from the silver coffeepot. I put some grapes, kiwi, and cantaloupe on a plate, and took two bites of a blueberry muffin while I decided how to answer my mother.
“We had a lovely time. He brought a picnic basket with caviar and camembert and a delicious chardonnay.” I knew she would be impressed. My mother loved caviar almost as much as chocolate.
“It’s hard to enjoy a good chardonnay unless it is adequately chilled,” she replied.
I put down my coffee cup and laughed. “Mom, I know this is hard for you, but it’s hard for me, too. I haven’t dated since senior year in high school, and that was with Jerome Baskin. You forced me to go to the prom with him because his mother was on the board at the Asian Art Museum.”
“I didn’t force you, Amanda. I thought he would be a suitable date. You had an interest in Japanese design and so did he. Plus he had that head of beautiful curly blond hair. You looked so cute together.”
“Yes, well, ‘looking cute together’ hasn’t done very well for me. I’m going to try to stay away from ‘cute’ and look for ‘mature’ and ‘faithful.’”
My mother hugged me. She was wearing a vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and her “daytime” pearls. Even though she never ventured farther than the Grand Lobby, she was always perfectly dressed and coiffed.
“You can have both. The first time I saw your father I thought I was looking at Cary Grant.” She smiled. “He breezed into the Opera House wearing white tie and tails, like he just stepped off the set of Philadelphia Story.”
My parents had been huge movie buffs. They were regulars at the Presidio Theater and often watched a double feature: Vertigo and North by Northwest, Rebecca and How to Catch a Thief. For special occasions, they would take me to Ernie’s Restaurant for dinner, and point to the autographed photos of Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, and Alfred Hitchcock that lined the walls. Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck were my mother’s idols, and she made me watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s three times to learn how to accessorize a little black dress.
“Well, I didn’t do so well going that route.” I sipped the black coffee. It was very strong, like a shot of petroleum. “Do you think I should have waited to get married?” I felt my heart beat faster. I didn’t want to ask the question out loud, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. But it had been spinning around in my head for days. Had I been too impetuous? Should I have gone to New York and had a career? Would Andre have respected me more and remained faithful?
“I have plenty of friends who waited and then married the first man they met at the Valentine’s Ball, when they thought their eggs were getting old. Some of them made happy marriages, others didn’t. Waiting doesn’t guarantee you’ll find the right man.”
“But maybe I would have figured out who was the wrong man.” I nibbled a wedge of ripe cantaloupe.
“You married for the same reason I did: for love.” My mother stood by the door to the balcony, breathing in the ocean air. “I married your father after six weeks. We didn’t know each other at all.”
“Then how come it worked for you?”
“Sometimes you meet the man you can’t not marry. When your father asked me to marry him, I tried to picture life without him. I didn’t know his favorite dessert, or the name of his first dog, but I couldn’t imagine not talking to him every evening, not seeing the way he smiled when I dropped by his office with an éclair. I had to marry him.”
“That’s the way I felt,” I said with a sigh.
“I know, I saw it when you and Andre were together,” my mother agreed.
“But Dad worshipped you. I never saw him dance with another woman at any of your parties!” I could feel the powder on my cheeks cracking.
“Honey, the most gorgeous women in Hollywood have been cheated on. It has nothing to do with you. Andre had a lot of strong points. He is charming and he is a very good father. You couldn’t know he’d be unfaithful. In some ways, I blame myself.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your father believed you didn’t have to be born into society to act like a gentleman, so I didn’t worry about you picking your husband from our social circle.”
I rolled my eyes, remembering the debutante balls and winter formals I had been subjected to as a teenager. My parents may not have insisted I marry within our circle, but I didn’t have much opportunity to meet anyone else till I got to college. Every boy I knew growing up wore Brooks Brothers shirts on the weekend and was a member of the yacht club or the golf club.
“But maybe after your father died, I didn’t pay close enough attention. I didn’t dig too deep to see what Andre was about,” she said slowly.
“I think Andre is pretty much surface,” I replied miserably. “He lets a certain body part do his thinking.”
“From now on I’m going to be more vigilant.”
“Edward invited Max and me to his house for dinner, Thursday night.” Thinking about Andre made me nauseous.
“How are you going to explain that to Max?” my mother asked, turning back into the living room.
“Edward’s kids are home from college. I’ll say it will be nice for him to meet other kids.”
“Max is eight. He’s hardly ready to hang out with college freshmen.” My mother shook her head.
“Edward is barbecuing ostrich meat. You know how Max likes eating strange animals.” I smiled. “And I invited Edward up for a cocktail when he picks us up.”
“So I can meet him.” My mother nodded.
“Yes, though I don’t know why. We’re only here for the summer and I’m not even divorced yet. I don’t think you have to ask him what his intentions are.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I just don’t want you to get hurt again. So soon.”
“I love you for caring. At least someone cares about me.” I put my plate on the sideboard and checked my makeup in the full-length mirror that rested against the wall.
“Andre called last night,” my mother said.
“Called where?”
“Called the suite. He said he tried your cell phone but you didn’t answer.”
“What did he want?”
“Said how much he misses Max, asked about my health, cooed he couldn’t wait for his petite family to return home.”
“He could fly down and tell us himself except he’s probably got a new bird on his arm, and in his bed.”
“He isn’t
worth thinking about.” My mother poured herself a glass of orange juice.
“No, he’s not. Can I interest in you in a ladies’ lunch at the Pool Grille?”
“Thanks, honey. I’m going to stay here and have room service deliver a Cobb salad.”
“I know you, Mom. You just want to turn on last night’s American Idol after I leave.”
“If I do, you’ll never know.” She kissed me on the cheek.
* * *
My phone rang as I stepped off the elevator.
“Good morning, sunshine. How did you sleep?” It was Edward.
“Like someone who drank too much wine. But I had a lovely time last night, thank you.”
“I went to the butcher this morning and ordered ostrich meat. I think Max will be impressed.”
“He’ll be thrilled,” I agreed.
“What are your plans today?”
“A tough day of dining by the pool and working out at the gym,” I said.
“Well, I just wanted to tell you it was a fun evening.”
“It was,” I replied.
“I have to get to work. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
I hung up and headed to the pool patio. My plan had been to read The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. I wanted to take my mind off men and see what was happening in the world. After lunch, I would pick Max up from Kids’ Club and have a mother/son afternoon doing whatever he wanted. But after I collected the papers and took a seat at the patio I thought about Edward. He sounded so mature and confident on the phone. And there was Andre, asking my mother in his super-sexy voice when were we coming home. The waiter approached to take my order, and I realized I hadn’t opened the paper but had scribbled “Amanda and Edward, Amanda and Andre” in the margin on the front page. I ordered a spinach salad, opened The Wall Street Journal, and studied the economic crisis in Dubai until my eyes hurt.
* * *
The week passed in a pleasant resort cycle of pool, spa, gym, cocktails, dinner. Max was obsessed with surfing and at dinner recounted how many minutes he had stood up that day. It was always three or four amazing minutes more than the day before. My mother had discovered The Amazing Race and American Idol, and for someone who had never turned on the television except for CNN’s six o’clock news and her lifelong Young and the Restless addiction, showed no shame in watching them.