I pictured Neil pining away for me in DC, wandering aimlessly around national monuments and through museums celebrating our country’s history while he reran our own history though his mind like a grainy black and white movie - the weekend we escaped to a little bed and breakfast in Cape Cod when the idea of spending another sticky summer weekend in the city was just too unbearable, or how we’d sit on the banks of the Charles River and watch the crew races during the Head of the Charles, sharing thermoses of vodka and tonics on our blanket. I mean, those sound like intimate, meaningful moments shared between two people who loved each other. How could he not be thinking about them without longing for what we shared?
I soon learned how. By not calling me or even sending a single postcard from our nation’s capital. It seemed that the moment Neil’s U-Haul pulled away from his building, he’d left more than his dead fichus plant behind. I figured he was just too hurt to keep in touch, that any contact with me was probably like rubbing salt in his wound. At least, I’d hoped there was a wound, even if it was an itsy bitsy one that would eventually heal once his new life got rolling and I became nothing more than a story he’d tell in a bar like the one I was seated in at this moment.
But now Neil was back in Boston and I was the one feeling like a Band-Aid had been ripped from my skin, taking my scab with it.
By the time Paige met up with us in the lodge, Robin and I had finished the nachos and the guitar player was seated on the shallow stage strumming the beginnings of a Dave Matthews song.
“Man, I needed that,” Paige declared and fell into a chair, her pink cheeks shiny from carving some serious turns down black diamonds. “Did you guys order anything to eat? I’m starving.”
We flagged our server over and waited as she made her way through the growing après ski crowd.
“Are you saving these seats for anyone?” A guy in a navy blue turtleneck sweater pointed to the four empty chairs surrounding our table.
I shook my head. “Nope, go ahead and take them.”
The guy waved to three friends waiting over by the stairs, and I scooted my chair in so he could get by.
As the three others headed toward us, mister turtleneck sweater squeezed in between the table and the loft railing and started removing his layers of wool and Thinsulate, revealing a buff physique and a bad case of hat head.
“I’m Jeremy, and this is -”
Robin cut Jeremy off before he could finish the introductions, “Mo, Larry and Curly?”
Instead of being put off, Jeremy grinned and ran a hand through his matted blonde hair. “You’re close. It’s Mitch, Denny, and Bill.”
“Well take a seat and join us.” I moved my jester hat off the table and cleared a spot for our visitors. “We were just about to order another pitcher.”
After ordering two more pitchers and another round of appetizers, we all exchanged small talk about the trails we’d skied and the fresh powder that this week’s end of season snow storm dumped on the mountain. Needless to say, Paige held up our part of the conversation, recalling every run, mogul and ice patch to the complete amazement of our four tablemates. But even though Paige and her extensive knowledge of the mountain and skiing in general kept Mitch, Denny and Bill enthralled, Jeremy kept trying to start a conversation with Robin.
“So, are you up here with your boyfriends?” Jeremy asked, refilling Robin’s cup with a fresh beer.
She shook her head before providing clarification of her single status. “Divorced.”
Four pairs of male eyes honed in on Robin like the curious specimen she was – the seemingly normal woman afflicted with an old person’s disease for which there was no cure. Acute divorce.
Robin seemed pleased with her ability to shock the unsuspecting group of men.
“Do you come up here every weekend?” Jeremy charged on, recognizing Robin’s answer as the landmine it was, and choosing to steer clear.
“No, just whenever we need to get away. Paige’s parents own the Chalet Motel in town.”
“Are you all from Ludlow?”
“Nope, we live in Boston.”
“No, way. Us, too.” Jeremy smiled at Robin and waited for a flicker of recognition, but she wasn’t giving him a break.
“So then guessing what you all do for living shouldn’t be too hard. Usually all we meet are investment bankers or lawyers who are under the impression that a pair of Rossignols and a gold card make them the answer to every woman’s dreams.”
“What gave us away? Was it the paisley neck warmers, the pinstriped ski pants or the smug air of superiority?” Jeremy asked, feigning the affected speech of a Kennedy.
Denny laughed. With his own nasal South Boston accent he’d never be confused for New England royalty. “Actually, Bill and Mitch are in sales, Jeremy’s with a tech firm and I’m what they call in transition.”
“Luckily his transition just happened to occur when our lease on the ski house kicked in,” Bill pointed out. “And luckily he’s playing babysitter for my uncle’s Rotweiler in Wellesley while he and my aunt are in Florida for the winter.”
Denny’s fair cheeks were blushing. “I’m a lucky guy, what can I say?”
“We went to college in Wellesley,” Paige told Denny.
“You went to a girls’ school?” Jeremy asked Robin.
Paige and I waited for the fireworks. Poor Jeremy. He had no idea who he was dealing with.
“Wellesley is a women’s college,” Robin calmly corrected him. “Not a girls’ school.”
“Oh, of course. So then you must think it’s okay to have country clubs that only permit male members, right?” Jeremy asked, baiting Robin into a conversation. “After all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
Before we could stop them, Robin and Jeremy were off and running, debating the merits of a single sex education and the differences between a social club and a place of higher learning.
While they battled wits, the rest of us tried to carry-on a conversation over the escalating dispute. Our efforts were thwarted, however, when Robin punctuated one of her points by telling Jeremy that he was full of shit.
“Come on you guys, keep it down or they’re going to throw us out of here,” Bill warned.
Even the guitar player on the ground floor was looking up at our table, and from what I could tell, he was more than a little annoyed that Robin and Jeremy were stealing the crowd’s attention away from his acoustic version of Brown Eyed Girl.
For every point Robin made, Jeremy seemed to enjoy playing devil’s advocate. Robin was used to putting men off balance, but Jeremy refused to get rattled. I guess even he had his limits, because after fifteen minutes, he held up a paper napkin and waved a white flag.
“Okay, you’re right.”
“That’s it? I’m right? You can’t just give up like that.” Robin seemed more flustered by Jeremy’s ability to surrender than his contrary points of view.
“I’m not giving up, you’ve convinced me.” Jeremy reached for Robin’s cup and poured her another beer. “You had some interesting arguments.”
Robin didn’t know how to reply, so she just took the cup and drank, all the while watching Jeremy with piqued interest.
By the time the guitar player finished the last chorus of an Eric Clapton song, the crowd had thinned, and we were one of just a few tables still loitering. When the waitresses started stacking the chairs on the tables, we took the hint that we’d outworn our welcome.
Jeremy was the first to stand. “We’re going to head over to Luigi’s for some home cooked Italian food, do you want to come along?”
I looked at Paige, who looked at Robin, who looked back at me. In the ensuing silence I realized that I was going to have to be the one to make the decision. Paige probably didn’t care one way or the other, and there was no way Robin would admit that she actually wanted to go. But lasagna sounded good and at least it would provide a distraction from the reason we were up there in the first place. Who needed to sit around prete
nding that we didn’t just ruin Paige’s life? In the short term, anyway.
“Sure, just let us go back to the motel and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Robin shrugged casually, but from the way she watched Jeremy’s reaction, I knew I’d made the right choice.
“I drank way too much beer,” Denny patted his stomach and let out a groan as we walked through the mountain’s parking lot. “Where’s the car?”
“This way.” Jeremy pulled on his gloves and bent down to scoop up a handful of snow. “You better not blow off dinner,” he warned us, forming a snowball and tossing it at Denny.
Denny dodged out of the way of Jeremy’s toss, and instead ended up getting sprayed with slush as a car passed by.
Paige shook her head and yawned. “We’ve had two early mornings, so it’s not going to be a late night.”
“Oh come on,” Jeremy protested, patting another snowball between his gloves. “Robin?”
Robin almost looked torn, but she agreed. “This is Paige’s weekend.”
Jeremy lobbed his handiwork at Robin in dissent, hitting her squarely in the stomach. Not to be outdone, she quickly retaliated with two snowballs from a three-foot bank that also included enough sand, salt and dirt to leave a brown stain on the arm of Jeremy’s coat.
Without hesitation, another perfectly round ball soared out of Jeremy’s hand toward Robin before snow started flying in both directions.
I grabbed Paige and retreated behind a car to avoid the line of fire. On the snow covered ground, Jeremy and Robin’s battling shadows were illuminated by the headlights of the oncoming cars. For someone as competitive as Robin, her throws seemed more playful than strategic, landing softly against Jeremy’s parka and disintegrating upon impact.
“What’s up with those two?” Paige asked me.
“I don’t know. Maybe he likes a challenge.”
“Then he must be in his glory.”
If Jeremy’s glory included a tongue as sharp as a Ginsu knife and the attitude of a sumo warrior, then he found what he was looking for. Robin’s tolerance for flirting went MIA when Mark left, as if every man who expressed an interest in Robin was a stand-in for her ex-husband and therefore deserved the same treatment as someone who’d walked out on her anniversary. But all evening Robin had been feeling Jeremy out - not flirting exactly, and I don’t even know if I’d call it being friendly because telling someone his head was up his ass wasn’t usually how you made friends. It was more like Robin was testing Jeremy. And he seemed to be passing with flying colors.
Although it was nice to see Robin’s edges dulled a little, I couldn’t help but think that Paige was watching the scene from an entirely different point of view. The point of view of somebody who saw two people tentatively coming together even as she and Steve had just come apart. No wonder Paige pulled over this morning asking for some normalcy and order – I’d been blathering on about Neil after Maria had told her what a decent guy Charlie seemed to be. I was double dipping in the well of dating while Paige had just pulled the plug on her fiancé and watched her relationship go down the drain.
“Come on Robin, we’re going,” Paige called out in the direction of Robin’s laughter.
“I’m coming,” she screamed, and then slid into place next to us before a snowball landed on the car’s hood with a dull thud.
“I told Denny we’d meet them at Luigi’s in forty five minutes,” she told us, breathing hard. “Now come on, if we hurry we can make a run for it.”
“Robin! Over here!” Jeremy waved us over to a corner table with a red and white checked tablecloth and the requisite Chianti bottle candleholder. There was barely any wick left on the well-worn candle, and the little wax that remained on the stub slowly slipped down the side of the bottle until it froze in place on top of the petrified drippings.
The guys were already downing garlic bread and calamari, and before we even sat down the waiter arrived with another basket of fried mozzarella sticks.
“Put it in front of her,” Denny instructed the waiter, pointing to Robin’s seat. “We took the liberty of ordering an appetizer for you.”
A waitress wasn’t too far behind with another bottle of wine.
“We thought we’d be needing another bottle of wine, too,” Mitch explained, draining the bottle that was on the table. “How about a toast? To new friends.”
I picked up one of the short stout jelly jar-like glasses filled with wine, and joined in the toast.
Jeremy grabbed for one of the mozzarella sticks, and although Robin didn’t offer to share with him, she didn’t slap his hand away either. “Denny said you wouldn’t show, but after this afternoon’s show of hospitality in Sitting Bull, I knew you had a heart.”
Robin wasn’t taking any credit for having a heart. “Thank Lauren. I was ready to turn you guys away.”
“I could tell. Come on, you thought we were lawyers? Are we really that bad?” Jeremy winked at Robin and despite herself, she cracked a smile.
Capitalizing on Robin’s obvious disdain for the legal profession, Jeremy reached for another stick and regaled the table with a lawyer joke, which went over big and soon everyone was joining in. Everyone except me, of course. I felt a little loyalty toward Charlie. Not enough to stop the fun, mind you, but enough to sit quietly without fueling the legal fire.
“Nope, can’t trust ‘em. Lawyers suck,” Denny concluded, although with his South Boston accent and dropped ‘R’s’ it sounded more like loya’s suck.
Robin joined in on the lawyer bashing. “You know, that’s what I told Lauren. She blew one off this weekend to go skiing with the girls.”
Mitch gave me a thumbs up. “Nice move.”
“I’m involved in this lawsuit right now and I swear my lawyer is ticking off the dollar signs on his desk while we talk,” Jeremy told us. “Every time I call him I can practically hear the flag pull of his meter – like he’s a taxi driver, and I’m the one being taken for a ride.”
“And his lawyer’s his brother-in-law!” Mitch pointed out, and we all burst out laughing.
“What’s the lawsuit?” Paige asked.
Jeremy looked away from us and picked at the garlic bread on his plate. “Let’s just say my ex-girlfriend went a little off the deep end when we broke up.”
Mitch slapped Jeremy’s arm and let out a chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that - she tried to make him a soprano with a carving knife.”
Robin slammed her drink down on the table, shattering the glass and sending a splatter of wine flying through the air. Her mouth dropped open as she processed what Jeremy had told us. “You’re Plaintiff?” she finally spat. “You’re the prick who’s suing me?”
The table fell silent and we all watched Jeremy’s face twist in utter confusion as he tried to understand Robin’s transformation from enjoyable drinking buddy to ranting lunatic.
“What are you talking about?” Jeremy looked from Robin to me, and then back again. “I’m suing some psycho seminar chick.”
Robin stood up and deliberately pushed her chair back abruptly before walking around to Jeremy’s side of the table and holding out her hand “Let me introduce myself, Jeremy,” she said evenly, pronouncing his name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “I’m Robin Cross, President of Women In Action – and resident psycho seminar chick.”
Although he seemed to be devising exit strategies, Robin had Jeremy cornered between her and the table, and she wasn’t budging. “You’re the woman I’m suing?”
“You’ve got that right. And you’re the guy who’s blaming me for your ex-girlfriend’s actions, when what you should be doing is wondering what you did to make her want to castrate you in the first place.”
Jeremy held his hands up to defend himself, and possibly to create a protective barrier between himself and Robin. “Hey, I didn’t do anything wrong. I just told her things weren’t working out, I was just being honest with her – what’d you want me to do? String her along so she doesn’t attempt to maim me
?”
“How about taking her feelings into consideration? How about not making promises you can’t keep?”
“Hey, how about keeping it down, you two,” Bill cut in. “People are starting to stare.”
Bill was right. All the tables around were watching quietly, waiting to see what happened next.
“Robin, why don’t we just go?” Paige suggested, and started to gather up our coats.
“No fucking way. I’m not the one taking him to court.” Robin crossed her hands over her chest and moved aside to let Jeremy get up.
“Come on, all the tables are full,” Bill tried to appeal to Robin’s sense of fairness, which probably had something to do with the fact that there was a line of people waiting to be seated, and leaving our cozy corner pretty much meant an end to dinner. “Can’t we just eat our meal and then all go our separate ways?”
“He’s suing me!” Robin practically shrieked, and Bill sunk lower into his chair to avoid the stares from the surrounding tables.
“Look, it’s nothing personal,” Jeremy explained. “My brother-in-law says I have a case. You just can’t go around telling women to get even with every man who’s broken their heart.”
“I can’t? Well, let me tell you something, Jeremy.” Robin bent down so that her eyes were level with Jeremy’s and her nose was about two inches away from his face. “When I get your ass in court you’ll see what I can do, and if you think getting your balls cut off is bad, then you have no idea what you’re up against.” Robin stood up and pulled her jacket off the back of her chair. “Let’s go.”
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