by Anita Hughes
“Ma petite cherie. This madness has gone on long enough. When are you coming home?”
“I’m not coming ‘home,’ Andre. I filed for divorce. We will be back to Ross at the end of the summer,” I said, sitting up straight in my bed.
“There are no other women, only you. I want you in our bed, I want to cover you with roses and kisses,” Andre said.
“You should have thought of that when you were fucking Ursula.”
“Such unladylike language from my princess. I told you it is over, all I want is you.”
“Andre, you were cheating for ten years. Why on earth should I believe you?” I tore pages out of the magazine, crumpled them up, and threw them on the floor.
“We can buy the land in Napa and build a summer house. We’ll buy a bigger house in Ross if you want. I will do anything to have my petite family back.”
I pictured Andre sitting on the edge of our bed the way he used to when he came home from the restaurant. He always wore a white shirt, open to the third button, black slacks, and dress shoes without socks. He would tell me about the night and massage my feet, and I found it so sexy I wanted him to undress and make love to me right then. I always wanted him. We had some crazy chemistry that made me want to have sex every time I saw him.
“It’s gone, Andre. We’re over.” I closed my eyes and conjured up images of Andre and Ursula, Andre and Yvette, Andre and all the other women. I wanted to feel the pain now, get it out of my system, so I could be done with it.
“You are just being emotional, my sweet. You are mon couer. And I need to see Max, I need to speak to my son.”
“He’s asleep,” I said. I didn’t want to go into the living room with tears in my eyes. Andre could live without speaking to Max.
“You cannot imagine how much I miss Max.”
“I’ll tell him to call you tomorrow.”
“I am going to come down and see you both. I will make my petite princess see my love.”
“I’ve seen your love, Andre. But you can visit Max whenever you like. I really have to go. I’ll have Max call you tomorrow.”
I flipped shut my phone. The room felt horribly silent. I got up and searched my closet for the perfect thing to wear for my drink with Edward. But my body started trembling, first my hands, then my legs, and the tears came in giant hiccups. I climbed onto the bed and let myself cry. I wished I could just forget Andre. Nothing, not even childbirth, was as painful as a broken heart.
* * *
I waited for Edward at the lobby bar. I had finally decided on jeans, and a white T-shirt over my Victoria Secret’s Miraculous Bra. I hadn’t worn tight jeans in years, but my butt was flat thanks to my Beach Boot Camp regime. I wore just a little makeup: bronzer on my cheeks and pale pink lip gloss. I felt very Southern California.
Edward came up behind me and put his hands over my eyes.
“It’s your old and faithful admirer,” he said.
“Not old but hopefully faithful,” I joked.
“You are looking extra beautiful and about as old as my daughter.” Edward pulled up the stool beside me.
“Thank you. All the women in Southern California look like they’re nineteen. It must be something in the water.”
“Or the Botox. But you’re naturally gorgeous. I’ve been looking forward to this all night.” Edward ordered two Bacardi and Cokes and a tray of sliders.
“I’m always starving when I finish work,” he said.
“It must be very different from a corporate law office.”
“Different and not different. The key is to make the client feel like he or she is the most important person in the world, no matter what kind of business you are in.” Edward wolfed down a handful of macadamia nuts.
“So how was life at the St. Regis today?” He brushed the hair away from my face and kissed me quickly on the cheek.
“Max surfed all day. I think he’s going to wake up one morning with a surfboard glued to his feet. He’s totally addicted.”
“Southern California hazard. Edward had flippers for hands by the time he was thirteen. There is something about conquering the waves that is Narnia for boys. One day I’ll show Max the surfboard I rode when I was a kid. It was about twenty feet long and weighed thirty pounds.”
“He is really happy,” I conceded.
“And how did you spend your day?” He took a bite of a slider and kept his other hand on my knee.
“Beach, pool, gym. I had an unpleasant conversation with Andre this evening.”
“Those will go on for the next few years. The only good thing about my kids being at college is I don’t have to talk to Julie. We’re down to who they will spend Christmas and Thanksgiving with.”
“He wanted to know when Max and I were coming home. He’s such a hypocrite.” I knew Stephanie would shoot me for talking about Andre. But I didn’t want to keep anything from Edward.
“A friend at the law firm gave me the best advice. Tell him: ‘I hope the fucking you were getting was worth the fucking you will be getting.’ Pardon my language.”
“I like that. I find I’ve actually made ‘fuck’ one of my favorite words. It says everything you need to say.” The Bacardi was strong and I was a little light-headed. Edward’s hand on my knee made me feel sexy and dangerous.
Edward leaned close to my ear and whispered: “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Then he sat back and laughed.
I giggled and took another swig of my drink. One more Bacardi and Coke and I would try to have him against the wall in the phone booth. I don’t know what had come over me. I was like a call girl–pole dancer version of myself. Reluctantly, I remembered Stephanie’s words: “Make him wait.” I pushed my drink away and swallowed a handful of pistachios.
“We’re really busy at the restaurant. My partner put together a new ad campaign: ‘You buy a shrimp cocktail; we’ll buy your entrée. Restrictions will apply.’”
“That’s pretty clever,” I said. I could feel Edward’s eyes on my breasts. I looked down, and noticed my Michael Stars T was almost see-through. Even I could see the curve of my bra and the swell of my breasts beneath it.
“Sam is really bright. The entrée you get is either tuna salad or fish and chips. Both cost less than a shrimp cocktail. You should come down to the restaurant and keep me company.”
“You don’t need me, I’d get in the way.” I shook my head. Andre had never asked me to hang out at the restaurant.
“I’m serious. I have to work almost every night, I’d love to have you near me.” Edward’s hand kneaded the small of my back.
“What would I do?” I asked. In all the years Andre and I were married, I was welcome at La Petite Maison weekend mornings when I brought Max to help Andre bake bread, but it was strictly off-limits during operating hours. Andre said it wouldn’t be professional to have his wife around. I had agreed with him. My place was home with Max. I didn’t know his place was on the desk with Ursula.
“You could be my secret spy, just kind of linger beside each booth and see if the clients are happy. You know, do they like the soup, are they complaining the bread is stale. You could dress in a miniskirt and fishnet stockings like a Bond Girl.”
“I can’t quite see myself as a Bond Girl,” I laughed.
“Have the Bentley drop you off tomorrow night. I can give you a ride home after we close.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back, blocking out the other people at the bar.
“Okay,” I agreed. I promised myself I would wear my most conservative outfit. I would make him bring me home, to the St. Regis, without any stops. And I would not drink any alcohol. Somehow I had to quench the raging sex fiend that welled up inside me.
I flipped open my phone and checked the time. “It’s almost twelve, I better go.”
“Are you Cinderella?” Edward asked.
“According to my mother. She doesn’t think it’s ‘appropriate’ to stay out past midnight.”
“Well, leave me your slipper so I can keep
it close to my heart.” He kissed me again.
“No way, these are Manolos. I guard them with my life.”
“Let me pay and I’ll walk you to the elevator. I’d escort you to the suite but I have a feeling your mother might be breathing fire.”
“She likes you. She just wants me to take it slow.” I got up from the stool and waited for Edward to pay the check.
“Parents, can’t argue with them when we are them. I’d say the same thing to Jessica.” He left the tip and took my hand.
We walked hand in hand through the lobby. We stopped in front of the clothes boutique and looked through the glass. “You should wear that to the restaurant,” Edward said as he pointed to a slit dress with a plunging neckline.
“I don’t think so,” I laughed.
He put his arm around me and we moved to the jewelry boutique. We admired the Rolex and Cartier and Patek Philippe watches.
“Good evening, Mr. Jonas.” A saleswoman came to greet us.
“Good evening, Louise. This is my friend Amanda Blick,” Edward introduced me. “I come here to get the battery replaced in my Rolex. It was my going-away present from the law firm.”
“Come inside and see our new displays. We have some lovely jewelry commissioned specially for the hotel.” The saleswoman smiled. The hotel never slept. The lounges, the restaurants, and the shops stayed open till the early hours of the morning.
I had been in the boutique with my mother. We had admired the diamond tennis bracelets, the cocktail rings set with semiprecious stones, and the rows of delicate gold chains. I felt a little awkward standing there with Edward, a few minutes before midnight, his hand resting on mine.
“I love those ads for Patek Philippe,” he said. “‘You’re not buying a watch, you’re just keeping it for the next generation.’ If you’re not buying it, why do you have to pay thirty thou?”
“Look at these, Mr. Jonas. They just came in.” The saleswoman put a tray of earrings in front of us. They were tiny gold butterflies, dusted with colored gems.
“Oh, those are pretty.” I picked one up.
“They’re monarch butterflies,” the saleswoman said. “Isn’t that clever. A local jeweler made them. They’re very popular.”
“My daughter is mad about earrings. On her fifteenth birthday she got double piercings. Her mother had to take her to the pediatrician who explained if she put any more holes in her ears they’d start leaking,” Edward chuckled.
“These are sweet.” I put it back on the tray.
“How about you, pierced ears?” Edward pushed back my hair so he could see my ears. His hand felt warm and sexy.
“Of course. My parents gave me pearls when I was sixteen, diamonds when I was twenty-one. My mother is very traditional.” I smoothed my hair.
“You have cute ears.” He leaned close to me; I could smell the rum on his breath.
I looked at a Cartier under the glass. “Oh my gosh, it’s twelve. I have to go. Thank you for inviting us in,” I said to the saleswoman.
“Anytime. Good night, Mr. Jonas.” Louise gave Edward a wide smile. I’m sure she was used to drunken couples pawing each other over her cases late at night. She probably thought we would sweep in and buy a handful of necklaces and bracelets.
“Good night, Amanda,” Edward said when we reached the elevator.
“Good night,” I replied. The elevator opened and I stepped inside, but Edward grabbed my hand and pulled me back. He gently pushed me against the wall and put his arms around me. He lifted my hair with his hands and kissed my ears, then he moved his hands down and held my breasts, stroking them through the thin fabric. He kissed my neck and my throat; he bit my lips and finally kissed my mouth. He tasted delicious, like salty beef coated with rum. I was so turned on I thought I would come through my True Religions.
“That’s a proper good night,” he said, releasing me.
“Very proper,” I said, smoothing my hair and straightening my shirt.
“You better go upstairs, Cinderella. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
He kissed me on the nose and I got into the elevator. I opened the door to the suite quietly, praying my mother was asleep. I knew all she had to do was see me and smell the scent of sex on me to know I wasn’t taking it slow.
Chapter Seven
I spent the next morning watching Max surf, lunchtime listening to him talk about surfing, and the afternoon playing Scrabble Jr. and Clue with him at the pool. I wanted to prove to my mother and myself that my first priority was Max, but flashes of Edward pressing me against the wall kept appearing before my eyes.
My mother didn’t ask me any questions about last night’s date, but she looked at me quizzically when I declined a drink at cocktail hour.
“Why am I drinking alone tonight?” she asked when I brought a diet 7UP onto the deck at six p.m. Max was worn out from surfing, and was napping on the sofa in the living room.
“Edward asked me to help at the restaurant tonight,” I explained. I sat on the lounge chair in my St. Regis robe. I had spent the last hour showering and lathering myself with creams and lotion. I felt decadently relaxed and excited about the evening.
“Help out at the restaurant?” My mother eyed me suspiciously. “We know how Andre handled his female employees.”
“Edward is not remotely like Andre. He thought it would be fun for me to come and be sort of a hostess. He has to work every night and we wouldn’t see each other if I didn’t.”
“Is he paying you?” My mother refilled her martini glass.
“Of course not! I’m doing it for fun. I think it’s sweet that he asked me. Andre never wanted me near the restaurant.”
“What are you going to tell Max?” She smeared pâté on a piece of pumpernickel bread.
“That Edward needs an extra hand at the restaurant. I can even ask him to come with me if you want,” I said defiantly. But I didn’t want Max to come with me. I wanted Edward to have the chance to hold me and kiss me like he had last night.
“Max and I will watch television together, don’t worry about us. How are you getting there?”
“I’m going to have the Bentley drop me off and Edward said he’d bring me home,” I mumbled. I knew this would get a reaction.
“I guess you can’t get into too much trouble in a Mini.” She finished her pâté and swept the crumbs from her skirt.
“Ha, ha,” I answered. It was a switch to see my mother eat, while I was too nervous to swallow anything.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself and getting your mind off Andre. You can just be impulsive, Amanda. Remember how quickly you fell for Andre.”
“You fell for him, too!” I replied. “Remember the chocolates and gifts he brought you. You thought he was a cross between Clark Gable and Cary Grant. You were thrilled when he asked me to marry him.”
“That’s my point, we were both wrong.” She gave me that quiet, stern look she used to give me when I was a teenager and she wanted me to think about what I was doing.
“Point taken. Again,” I said grudgingly. “I’ll take it slow.”
* * *
I promised Edward I’d be there by eight p.m., which gave me an hour to throw half my closet onto the bed and put together an outfit that was conservative and comfortable, but could become sexy. I finally picked a simple Kate Spade dress, white and green stripes, with its own short green jacket. I paired it with a pair of Gucci pumps and tied my hair in a high ponytail with a green ribbon. My reflection in the mirror was professional and sophisticated. I imagined Edward taking off the jacket on the way home, unbuttoning the tiny green buttons of the dress’s bodice, and slipping his hand over my breast. I sprayed myself with Obsession, added extra mascara to my lashes, and grabbed my purse.
“I’ll be back later.” I kissed Max good-bye. “Go to bed when Grandma tells you.”
“She says I get to stay up and watch Amazing Race and American Idol with her,” Max said happily.
“What’s next, Mom?” I kissed
her cheek. “Dancing with the Stars?”
“I’m on vacation,” my mother replied, “and I’m doing it for Max. If it was just me I’d be watching Sixty Minutes.”
“Sure, Mom. Have fun, you two.”
I sat in the Bentley, feeling like I was on an adventure. How did I, a Ross mom who was usually trying to get grass stains out of Max’s shirts at this time of night, end up sailing down PCH in a grand car, on my way to meet my almost-lover? The driver let me off at the corner; I didn’t think it would be a good idea to emerge from a Bentley in front of Laguna Beach Tackle. I opened the door to the restaurant as a crowd was moving inside. The front of the house was chaotic. People were squashed against one another waiting for a table.
Edward saw me and grabbed my hand. “You’re here in the nick of time. Sam’s promotion is working better than we expected. We’ve just sold our sixty-fifth shrimp cocktail and we’re out of tables. Maybe you can entertain these folks while they wait.”
“Entertain them how?” I looked around. The hostess from the other night gave me a cheery wave, and moved through the restaurant with a stack of menus and a party of large tourists.
“Striptease?” Edward winked at me. “Kidding. You could hand them menus while they wait. Would that be okay?”
“I’d love to.” I put my purse behind the counter and grabbed a pile of menus. I passed them out and stopped to answer questions. Gradually the hostess, who introduced herself as Gemma, led the diners back to tables and the crowd dispersed.
After half an hour, we finally found ourselves alone at the podium.
“Thank you so much for helping. They would have eaten me alive if you weren’t here.” Gemma smiled. Her hair was peroxide blond, the kind you only see in hair color commercials, and her eyes were blue with long lashes. She looked like a sexy version of Marcia from The Brady Bunch.
“It was fun. My almost-ex-husband owns a restaurant, so I’m pretty familiar. Have you worked here long?”