by Anita Hughes
“Your father would have liked Simon Cowell. He has passion, and that gorgeous accent.” She huffed when I asked her to turn it off. I’d go onto the deck and look down at the Grand Lawn, cursing our fatal attraction to men with sexy foreign accents.
Edward called or texted me several times a day. It was wonderful to flip open my phone and read his funny texts: “250-pound tourist just ordered cheesecake. Thankfully not wearing swimsuit.” Our phone calls were brief and mildly flirtatious. I impressed myself with my own playful comments. I bought a copy of Cosmopolitan at the gift shop and read articles on “Kissing for the Modern Woman” and “Make Your Man Happy Without Making Yourself Miserable.” I giggled when I flipped the pages. Edward was almost fifty and I looked nothing like the models displayed in lacy underwear in the magazine. But it felt good to have a little fun, and when Andre made his six p.m. duty calls sometimes I answered and sometimes I didn’t. That little bit of power was thrilling.
* * *
Thursday afternoon I panicked. What was I thinking introducing Edward to my mother? What if Edward put his arm around me or kissed me in front of Max? And the realization that tied my stomach in knots: My marriage was really over. I’m dating another man.
I closed the door to my bathroom, turned on the Jacuzzi jets, and sunk into the bath. After a half hour under the jets, I emerged with my best imitation of a Cosmopolitan-reading woman. I had no one and nothing to fall back on. I didn’t have a career; I didn’t own my own house. And I certainly didn’t have a loyal husband I was leaving in my wake. I had to move forward, and that included meeting new people and having new experiences. I wrapped myself in a king-sized bath towel, put on a Jason Mraz CD, and inspected the collection of lotions and perfumes.
When I was sufficiently lathered in seaweed skin moisturizer, goat’s milk and honey face cream, and almond foot soother, I approached my closet. Inspired by the women who roamed the hotel wearing colorful silk dresses and delicate gold sandals, I was regaining my love of fashion. I flicked through my Theory burnt-orange minidress, my Juicy velour jumper, and my wildly patterned Pucci wrap, which I had purchased in the lobby boutique, and wondered what was best suited to a home barbecue. Edward’s daughter was probably madly fashionable growing up in Pasadena. I chose the Pucci—its silk pattern was so beautiful I could spend hours staring at it—and added a turquoise bangle and a chunky necklace.
When I appeared in the living room, I could tell by Max’s expression I had erased the “Ross Mom” for the evening.
“Wow, Mom. Are we going to the circus?” Max looked up from his Nintendo DS.
“Excuse me?” I smiled.
“Your dress has so many colors,” he explained.
“That dress is Pucci, young man. And your mother looks gorgeous. Like a young Sophia Loren,” my mother chimed in.
“Who?” Max asked.
“Hardly Sophia Loren, Mom. I have a stick figure and she was an hourglass goddess. Though my stomach does have a bit of a paunch and I guess my skin is fairly brown.”
“You look wonderful. And I love the jewelry. The turquoise brings out the blues and greens in the dress.” My mother appraised me the way she used to when I went to junior deb parties.
“The dress is pretty,” Max conceded.
“And you look dashing.” I kissed his cheek. “Ready to try ostrich meat?”
“I hope they have a Wii,” Max said.
“Edward said he does. He said his son has ExtremeSport and Rock Band 2.”
“Awesome.” Max’s face lit up.
The doorbell rang and my mother opened the door. Edward handed a bouquet of white lilies to my mother.
“Amanda told me you won’t be joining us, so these are for you,” he said as he stepped inside. Tonight he wore long pants and a button-up silk shirt. On his arm he wore a gold watch I hadn’t seen before.
“How very kind, I love lilies,” my mother said and beamed. As she passed me to put the flowers in water, I could smell Chanel No. 5. I remembered how Andre always used to bring her presents: Belgian chocolate and colorful organic vegetables.
“Hey, Max. My kids can’t wait to meet you.” Edward shook Max’s hand.
“I’m going to rule at ExtremeSport.” Max grinned.
“Are you going to help me marinate some ostrich?” Edward asked.
“Why ostrich exactly?” my mother asked.
“Amanda said Max is a connoisseur of exotic foods. I’m trying to impress him.” Edward smiled.
My mother handed him a drink and I went to my room to get my purse. Edward looked older, closer to my mother’s age, than he seemed before. I fumbled to put my phone in my purse and tried to shake off my confusion. Cosmopolitan said older men were sexy because they “treated women with more respect than their younger counterparts.” That could only be a good thing.
“Edward used to play at Trump National Golf Course when he lived in Pasadena. We had friends who belonged there. Your father loved that course,” my mother said when I walked back to the living room.
“Golf is boring. Do you ski?” Max asked.
“Max,” I admonished him.
“’Fraid not. My knees can’t take skiing anymore. My daughter’s an ace skier.”
“I’m hungry,” Max announced.
I waited for Edward and my mother to finish their drinks. I was used to my mother and Andre chatting over a cocktail, and Andre and Max lounging about together. How did people get divorced? Could you really just slide Andre out of the picture and stick a new man in his place? But then I remembered how Andre had lived in his own parallel universe, where he chased everything in a skirt. Edward caught my eye and winked at me.
“We better go. I don’t want Max to fill up on pretzels.” I removed the plate of pretzels and nuts that lived on the coffee table.
“But I’m hungry,” Max complained.
Edward put his drink down and shook my mother’s hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Bishop.”
“Grace, please.”
“I hope you will join us for dinner next time.”
“Maybe in the St. Regis Grille,” my mother said with a nod.
Edward, Max, and I took the elevator downstairs. Max and Edward chatted about Wii games. I looked at myself in the elevator mirror. My mother was right. The turquoise necklace and bangle did bring out the colors in my dress. I resolved I was going to enjoy myself.
* * *
“Man, this car is cool!” Max beamed when he saw Edward’s yellow Mini parked outside the hotel.
“It’s not a Porsche, but I’m pretty fond of it,” Edward said.
“How fast can it go? Can it do a loop-de-loop?” Max asked as he climbed into the backseat.
“I don’t think so, but I haven’t tried.” Edward got behind the wheel.
“It does resemble Max’s matchbox cars,” I said as I slid into the passenger seat.
“I’m sure the manufacturers considered that.” Edward put the car in first gear. “For all the little boys who never grew up. Or for the ones who grew up, had the Jeep, then the sports car, and lost them in the divorce. That would be me.” He laughed.
“I like it,” I said. I was reminded how I liked that Edward could joke about divorce.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m twelve when I’m driving it. But I don’t need a big car. It’s just me most of the time. I’m happy you’re in it.” He placed his hand on my thigh.
“Max, would you like to play with my phone?” Edward took his hand off my thigh and reached into his pocket.
“Cool.” Max grabbed the iPhone in its green plastic case.
“Careful with it,” I said.
“That thing is pretty indestructible with the case on. Maybe you can show me some new apps,” Edward said.
With Max enraptured by the iPhone, Edward put his hand back on my thigh and we gunned down Pacific Coast Highway. The ocean on our left was the palest blue, calm like a giant bath. Edward and I chatted about his kids and the restaurant. My earlier awkwardness diss
olved and I felt sexy sailing along PCH in a cute car with a man who was obviously interested in me.
I wondered if there was any way we could sneak away tonight. I wanted to feel Edward’s hands behind my head. Stephanie would laugh that I was behaving like a sex-starved teenager. But I had always liked sex. Andre and I spent many afternoons in bed while Max was at school, and I often waited up for him so we could make love before we went to sleep. I pretended to look in my purse for something so Edward could not see me blush. I reminded myself I was not ready for sex with someone new, and then for one long minute I missed Andre all over again.
We drove through the village of Laguna Beach and up a few windy streets. The road peaked and we pulled into the driveway of a house with a big wooden deck. I got out and turned to look at the ocean. I could see the whole coastline from Long Beach all the way to San Clemente.
“Oh my gosh,” I said.
“I know, I’m speechless every time I come home.”
“It’s so beautiful,” I said. It felt like we were on top of the world. We were surrounded by green hills dotted with houses, and bursting with bushes and flowers. Far below us the ocean looked like a sheet of tinfoil. I could see the faint outline of Catalina Island, hovering in a pink mist.
“I often feel like it’s the biggest Impressionist painting,” Edward said, nodding at the view.
“It’s amazing,” I agreed.
“I’m glad you like it. Let’s go inside.” Edward led me up a short flight of stairs to the front door. Max was still attached to Edward’s phone, playing with some app that made grunting noises.
We entered a big living room with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto the deck. The room was barely furnished—just two caramel-colored leather sofas facing the view and two glass side tables. The floor was dark wood with no rugs.
“My wife kept the furniture. It was specially made for the Pasadena house. Louis XVI chairs would have been out of place here.”
“You don’t need anything with that view,” I said.
“I agree, come outside.” He took my hand and led me out on the deck. “I pretty much live out here.” The deck had a Jacuzzi, and on the far side a barbecue and a table and chairs. Edward stood close to me and put his hand over mine. I turned quickly to see what Max was doing.
“Max, put the phone down and come out here,” I said.
Max reluctantly put the phone on a side table and came outside. I moved an inch away from Edward and took Max’s hand.
“Isn’t the view fantastic?”
“Sure,” Max agreed. “I’m hungry.”
“You’ve probably seen enough of the ocean,” Edward said.
“I like the ocean when I’m surfing. You should see how long I stood up today. Like ten minutes,” Max replied.
“I want to hear all about it. Why don’t you help me fire up the barbecue?”
I stood on the deck, breathing in the crisp air that drifted up from the ocean.
“Hi, I’m Edward,” a deep voice said behind me.
Edward’s son was very tall, at least six foot one, with a thick chest like his father. He wore a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and Quiksilver boardshorts. He looked like a cross between a surfer and a lumberjack.
“I’m Amanda, nice to meet you.” I shook his hand, which was huge. I wondered how Edward, who was shorter than me if I wore anything but flats, had fathered such a giant.
“Edward tells me you’re at Wake Forest.” We looked out at the view together. He had dark curly hair and lovely blue eyes like Edward’s. His chest strained against his shirt and his stomach was washboard flat. The girls must go crazy over him.
“I’m studying public policy. It’s a great school, and the Greek system is awesome. Some frat is usually having a party every night.”
“That must make it hard to study,” I said. I tried not to stare at his chest. I realized I was closer in age to him than to his father. I trained my eyes on the ocean and kept them there.
We chatted about rush week and fraternity parties. He told me how the girls in North Carolina were light years behind Southern California girls. I relaxed. Edward Jr. might be only twelve years younger than me, but our experiences were worlds apart. He was a boy, a giant boy popping out of his clothes and with a man’s deep voice, but still a child. I was much more comfortable with my Edward, who had raised children, held a mortgage, owned a business.
The glass door slid open and a slight, pretty girl joined us on the deck. She had blond hair that she wore in a short bob, and almond-shaped brown eyes. She wore a white minidress with a four-inch belt that accentuated her tiny waist, and with platform sandals she came up to my shoulder.
“I’m Jessica.” She stuck out a small hand. “I like your dress.”
“Thanks. I feel a little overdressed actually. With a view like this, I wish I had worn something simpler. I feel like I’m competing.”
“You get used to it, but it’s cool. Dad loves it.”
The three of us silently admired the view. I wondered what was running through Jessica’s head. Did she hate her parents for splitting up? Did she know it was her mom’s fault, or did she think Edward was responsible? What was it like to be a visitor in her dad’s home, while her own bedroom was in Pasadena? I shuddered. One day Max would have to deal with these things.
“Hey, I see you’ve all met.” Edward joined us on the deck. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen and have a drink? I’m a terrible father letting my kids drink, but when I was young the drinking age was eighteen, at least in a few states.”
“I’ll be twenty-one in August,” Edward Jr. said.
“Does that mean I won’t have to support you anymore?” Edward grinned.
“Sure Dad, I’ll quit Wake Forest and be a busboy at your restaurant. No problem.”
“Touché. But it wouldn’t hurt you to get a summer job.”
“I work so hard at school, I need the summer to catch up on sleep.”
“Yeah, that’s why you got home at two a.m. last night.”
“There was a sweet band at the Yellow Submarine. Tonight I’m staying in.”
“You bet you’re staying in. We’re barbecuing ostrich and lamb. You’re going to help entertain Amanda and Max.”
I watched Jessica as Edward and his son bantered. She stood in the corner of the kitchen, shelling peas. Her wrists and ankles were no bigger than my mother’s. Her forehead was set in a permanent frown. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on popping the peas out of their pods and into the bowl.
“I bet Tulane is a big change from California,” I said as I walked up to her.
“New Orleans is a cool city. And my mom went to Tulane, so it’s pretty familiar.” She didn’t look up from her peas.
“I went to Berkeley and so did my dad. It definitely helps,” I replied.
I had exhausted conversation with Jessica. I didn’t know anything about the music eighteen-year-old girls listened to, the clothes they wore, or the movie stars they were in love with. We had already summed up Tulane with the fact her mother had gone there. I looked for Max, the only person in the kitchen I could talk to easily, but he had disappeared into the living room.
“Amanda, would you like to toss a salad?” Edward put his hand on my shoulder.
“Yes, I’d love to.” I moved away from Jessica and watched Edward take lettuce, tomatoes, asparagus, and olive oil out of the fridge. I felt like there was a magnetic field around Edward. As long as I stayed in that field I was safe, but if I strayed outside I landed in unknown territory.
Edward assembled the salad ingredients on the center island and pulled a knife out of a chipped drawer.
“I’ll apologize in advance. None of my tableware match. My wife got the carving set, the pepper grinder, the salad spinner, and the silver serving tongs in the divorce. When we separated I was still an attorney; I thought all I needed was chopsticks to eat takeout Chinese.”
“Hey, Dad, don’t complain. Mom’s always going o
n about how you took the Beach Boys CDs, the backgammon set, and the ocean canoe,” Edward Jr. said, trimming fat off a thick piece of lamb.
“Your mother never went near the ocean, let alone in a canoe,” Edward countered.
I focused on rinsing tomatoes and trimming asparagus. It was nice to see what an easy relationship Edward had with his son, but it didn’t seem to extend to Jessica. She hadn’t said a word to either of them since we walked into the kitchen. I pictured the four of them like bowling pins: Jessica and her mother lined up on one side and Edward and his son on the other.
“I bet your kitchen has every gizmo.” Edward grinned at me. “Amanda’s soon-to-be-ex is a chef,” he said to Edward and Jessica. “Owns a restaurant actually. I had to twist her arm to go out with me; she thought all restaurants owners were terrorists.”
I blushed and Jessica blushed, too.
“I know; I shouldn’t discuss the Big D. Jessica thinks it’s like talking about cancer. But it’s part of life, and life goes on. I get my two beautiful children to myself four times a year, and when they feel sorry for old pops living in a hillside shack and eating off Pier 1 plates, they’re nice to me. If I was still married to their mom I’d probably only see them when they wanted cash.”
“Dad,” Jessica and Edward said at the same time.
“Okay, let’s change the subject. Edward, shall we throw these slabs on the barbecue?”
Edward and Edward Jr. carried big plates of meat and seasoning onto the deck. Jessica mumbled something about needing to check her cell phone and disappeared through the swinging doors. I was left with a stack of washed lettuce leaves, which I dried between paper towels.
“Mom, look at this cool new app. See all these hippos are jumping through rings and you try to shoot them with a stun gun.” Max came into the kitchen, waving an iPhone in front of my nose.