by Dee Ernst
Michael nodded. “Yes, you’re right. So when can I see you again?”
“Not next week. Next week is finals week, and I have to be at Dickerson every day. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. My students need all the attention I can give them.” Diane leaned forward, grabbing his arm and giving it a shake. “Please understand, if I have something that needs to be done, I don’t allow any distractions. I have to stay focused. And I could not concentrate on some poor freshman worried about a final grade if I thought I would be seeing you. Please, Michael, Friday night. Okay?
Michael blew out through his mouth and looked out over the lake. “Are you always this tough?”
“Yes. This is how I live my life. This is what has worked for me for a long time now. I am not blowing you off, believe me.”
Michael grinned. “Yes, I know. Okay, how about this. I have a program on my computer inside. We’ll plan out your garden, I’ll take you home, and I’ll call tomorrow.”
“You have a landscaping program? Really? Oh, that is so great. Yes, let’s go.”
They spent an hour on his computer, Diane pointing and trying to explain as Michael patiently clicked and double-clicked. He printed out her design, and drove her home. He kissed her very hard, then backed out of her driveway. She stood there for a long time, watching where his car had turned down the road, before she went into the house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FINALS WEEK WAS the worst Diane could remember. She had been a full-time professor for six years, and had thought she had learned to weather the storm, but this year was horrific. The students were complaining non-stop, with one junior in particular who left e-mail messages that ran pages long. Emily and Megan were usually respectful of the pressure Diane was under and left her alone, but Emily had been asked to the senior prom by a young man, and wanted to spend the entire weekend down the Jersey shore with a group of seniors. Diane had said no. The battle was on. Megan, usually quiet and easy-going, wanted to spend a semester in France the following spring. Diane could not afford it. Kevin was balking. Megan was raging.
Diane was tired, ill-tempered and running out of patience with everyone and everything. She had finals to grade, evaluations to write up, and Rachel was still acting cool towards her. Diane could not wait for the week to be over. She could not wait to see Michael.
By Thursday, she was pretty much at her wits’ end. Then, Kevin called to say he was picking the girls up early, right after school on Friday. They were all going down to Long Beach Island to open up the shore house. She thanked him coolly, hung up the phone, and called Michael, telling him to meet her at four on Friday.
She got caught in a meeting Friday afternoon, then hit traffic. When she got home a sleek, silver car was parked in front of her house. A DeLorean. She walked around to the back of the house, and Michael was stretched out on a lounge chair, eyes closed. The faint jangle of the brass bell on her garden gate had not roused him. He seemed totally relaxed, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt. She watched him for a moment, still and quiet in the cool afternoon.
“Hey, is that your car out front?” she called, walking toward him.
He lifted his head and grinned. “Yeah - isn’t it fantastic?”
“It was my dream car for years.” He stood up and put both arms around her. She leaned against him with a sigh.
“This has been the worse week of my life. I’m so tired and miserable. I hate everybody.” She pulled back her head to look at him, kissing him hard. “Except you. You are the only person I can stand to be with right now.”
“Lucky for me. So, tell me what you need. A cold drink? Hot shower? Food? Sleep? Sex?”
“Yes. I need all that.” She kissed him again, slower this time, and her body began to burn. She stepped away from him. “A drink first, I think. We’ll go from there.”
He followed her into the house, declined her offer of a vodka martini, and opened a beer. She was wound up, talking nervously as she mixed her drink. She had kicked off her shoes and was pacing around the living room while he sat and watched her silently, letting her ramble. She finished her drink quickly.
“Look, I need a shower. And I really need to eat. Do you feel like a steak? Kevin used to say that stress made me carnivorous.”
“Sure. I’ll call Longacre’s and get a table for what, an hour?”
“Shit, it’s almost six. I can’t believe it’s this late. We’ll never get a table on a Friday night, not now.”
“I’ll call,” he said soothingly. “We’ll get a table. Shower. Change. Go.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Do you have an uncle at Longacre’s too?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No. But I’ll use the name Mickey Flynn. That usually gets me what I want.”
She tilted her head at him. “I bet it does. Do you do that often?”
He shrugged. “Not so much anymore. There’s not a lot I want that badly.”
“But tonight you want a table at Longacre’s?”
“No. Tonight I want to make you happy.”
“Oh.” She chewed her lip. “You’ve already done that. I’ve had the week from hell, and I just kept thinking if I made it to Friday, I’d be with you and then everything would be all right again. You can’t believe how glad I am to see you.” She took a deep breath. “I need to shower now.” She turned and walked down the hall.
She felt better after she stood under the steaming water, and some of the tension left her. She grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it, and looked out of the bathroom, still dripping.
“Did you call? How much time do we have?”
He appeared in the hallway, and began walking toward her.
“We’re in at seven. How long for you to get dressed?” he asked.
“In a pinch, ten minutes. Why?”
He was looking at her, her damp hair piled on top of her head, water glistening on her shoulders. “Perfect. Ten minutes to get dressed, ten minutes to get there. That means we’ve got about half an hour to spare.”
“Half an hour?”
“Yeah.” He reached for her, pulling off the towel. “That’s just about enough time.”
After dinner they walked up and down the streets of Milton, looking in shop windows, talking. Michael was stopped for an autograph by a bunch of teenage boys. He was friendly and gracious, answered their questions, but declined their offer to buy him coffee.
“Does this happen to you a lot?” she asked after the boys had moved on.
“No. I’m lucky. The only people who recognize me are the fans. It’s not like I’m an actor, where thousands of people see my face on television or whatever. And here, the fans are cool. I’m the hometown kid. They tend to give me some space.” He thought a moment about the woman at Rollie’s, and felt a pang of guilt.
Diane had been watching him, and saw a flicker across his face. “What?” she asked.
He told her about the blonde, how she had come on to him so strongly. He told her about standing in the middle of Hoboken, with a stranger’s arms around him, and how he thought about taking her into his truck for a quick release, knowing that all that the woman wanted anyway was to be able to tell her friends that she had fucked Mickey Flynn.
They found a café, still open, with a few tables on the sidewalk. Michael had another beer and Diane sipped white wine.
“So,” Diane asked finally, “why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood for generic sex,” he said.
Diane raised an eyebrow. “Generic sex? As opposed to name brand sex? Did you just make that up?”
“No.” He looked embarrassed. “I had just left you. I wanted you. I didn’t want a substitute.”
Diane felt herself grinning happily. “Oh.”
He was silent for a minute. “Are you done with school?”
Diane shook her head. “No. I still have to post grades, evaluations, and finish reports, just paperwork. All my finals are done, thank God. I’ll have to put in a few mornings n
ext week to clean things up. Then I can work on my rose garden.”
“Ah, yes, that impressive rectangle of dirt I was looking at this afternoon,” Michael said, teasing.
She looked at him sternly. “It takes a lot of work to get good dirt. I can now actually begin to plant things. I can even set down the pavers, because the ground is perfectly even. Of course, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. I’m going to have the biggest mud puddle in the state.”
“And the most beautifully prepared.” He stood up. “Are you ready to head home?”
“Yes. Do you have a toothbrush in this car as well?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“So, would you care to stay at my place again?”
“I would love to stay at your place again.”
“I have to finish grading exams tomorrow.”
“Can I watch the Mets?”
“Sure. Then I could cook you dinner.”
“That sounds great.” He took her hand as they walked. “Do you want to sail again Sunday? Or we could go down to New Hope. I like walking around down there.”
“New Hope? Really?”
“They have a couple of great places for old toys and collectables. My niece’s birthday is coming up. She’ll be fourteen. She likes all that retro stuff.”
“That would be fun. But I’ve got to be home by six.”
“Yes, Cinderella.”
She spent Monday and Tuesday in her office. Michael called Tuesday night, just after nine.
“I’m ten minutes away. Can I see you?”
“Michael, the girls are here.”
“So, they’re upstairs, right? I’ll sneak in the back door.”
“Michael, I don’t know.”
“I miss you. Just for ten minutes, I swear.”
“Ten?”
He chuckled. “Absolutely”
She lowered her voice. “I miss you, too.”
“So, fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. Please?”
“Yes. Come around back.”
She stared at the phone in her hand. He was coming over. Desire moved through her like a slow pulse, pounding in her chest, deep in her gut. She stood at the foot of the stairs. Both the upstairs doors were closed. She could hear the television faintly. She went to the French doors and opened them, walking out onto the patio. She sat in the darkness. She did not hear his car. She did not hear the bell at the back yard gate. He was suddenly there, walking out of the darkness, and she led him back into her bedroom, locking the door behind them. They fumbled with their clothes in the darkness, falling together onto the bed.
“Is this our first quickie?” She whispered finally, feeling the red tide of pleasure wash through.
“I guess. How was it?”
“Pretty amazing.”
“Yeah. The best ninety seconds of the day.”
She covered her mouth to stifle her giggle. “Don’t make me laugh,” she whispered furiously.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back.
“I have to work tomorrow. Are you busy Thursday?”
“I have to go to Kennedy Airport. Seth and I are picking up a guy, David Go. He’s from Ireland. He’s orchestrating the movie.”
“Then I won’t see you?”
“No.”
“Can you come here for lunch Friday?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Well, the girls are out by eight. You could come right after that.”
He smiled in the darkness. “That’s more like breakfast.”
“So, come for breakfast, stay till lunch.”
“And what will we do in all the time in between?”
“I was going to clean the bathroom and go to the dry cleaners.”
“Sounds fun. But if I think of another plan, you won’t be upset, will you?”
“No. Not at all. You have to go.”
“I know.” He sighed and got off the bed.
“The girls will be gone in three weeks,” Diane told him. “They’ll be with their father all summer.”
“Really?” He looked down at her. “You’ll miss them.”
She got up and reached for her robe, hanging in the closet. “Yes, I will. But hopefully you’ll be around more. That will make it easier.” She knotted the belt.
He put his arms around her. “You mean I won’t have to park my car around the block and sneak in for a nibble?”
She giggled softly. “No. Shh. Let me see what’s going on.” She went out and walked into the living room. The sound of the television was still coming down from Emily’s room. She waved to Michael, and he followed her back outside.
“Listen, if your neighbors call the cops about the stranger sneaking through their yards, you’ll come and bail me out, right?”
“Promise.” She grinned. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Anytime. See you Friday.”
“Okay. Good night.”
Marianne Thomas stopped by her office the next morning. “Hi. I’m glad I got a chance to see you. Have you got everything you need for next year?” Marianne asked.
“You mean the grad class? Yes, I think so. When do you leave for Greece?”
“July.” She watched as Diane packed some potted plants into a box. “You never told me about the musician. The one who wants to live in Montana? How is that going?”
“Very well, thanks.” Diane glanced over. “Why?”
“Just curious. Are you still seeing him? Usually by the second or third date you find out he’s married or a kleptomaniac or worships pygmies or something equally bizarre.”
“We’ve seen a lot of each other. So far, very good.”
“Really? How nice for you. How old is he?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Really? And in a band of some sort?”
“Yes, Marianne. He’s actually kind of famous.”
“Then bring him to the picnic next week. You’ll have the entire faculty in an uproar. Is he really outrageous? Blue hair, lots of tattoos, that sort of thing?”
Diane laughed. “Sorry. Truthfully, I have more tattoos and piercings than he does. And he dresses like an Ivy League grad student. If you’re looking for shock value, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Does he at least drive a fancy sports car?”
“Yes. A DeLorean.”
Marianne sighed. “Well, that’s something. Invite him. I’m sure he’ll be a fascinating addition.”
“I’ll ask. Thank you.”
“Wait. Does he have a posse?”
Diane rolled her eyes. “Good-bye, Marianne.”
On Thursday, Diane answered her front door and found a pick-up truck in her driveway and a large man in khakis and a tee shirt on her front step, holding a clipboard and a potted rose bush.
“I have a bunch of stuff here for Diane Matthews. Is that you?”
Diane looked past him. There were three men in work clothes standing by the truck. “What kind of stuff?”
“Forty-two slate blocks, nine rose bushes, two flats of – “
“Wait a minute.” Diane took the clipboard from his hands and looked at it. Underneath the order sheet was a print-out of the rose garden plan she had made on Michael’s computer.
“Where did you get this?” She asked.
“I do Mike Carlucci’s place. He asked me to get the stuff and bring it over. Now my guys would be happy to set everything in for you, especially those slates, they’re heavy. But Mike said we just deliver, nothin’ else, unless you ask.” He looked down at her. “Mike’s a good guy. I’m Ed, by the way. You can call him and check it out.”
She touched the rose bush. The tag said Lagerfeld. The bush was a healthy green with tiny, tight buds. She walked out of the house and peered into the back of the truck. It was filled with everything she needed, including bags of bone meal, compost, and edging blocks. Ed had followed her.
“We could unload right here on the side yard, but I’d let us haul this stuff in the back for you, I’m tellin’ you, it’s heavy,” Ed adv
ised.
Diane nodded. “Sure, that would be great. Follow me.” She took him to the back yard and showed him her prepared ground. Ed nodded approvingly.
“You did a good job. And you’ll get plenty of sun. This little slope here, good drainage. Nothin’ should die. But if it does, call Mike. Our stuff is guaranteed.”
He walked off, shouting to his men, and Diane watched as they unloaded flats, bags of stone, slate blocks, pavers, a small stone bench. There was even a shining silver wish ball for the center of the garden. He had remembered everything.
When they were done, she went inside and called Michael.
“Hey,” she said, “a man just filled my back yard with half a million bucks worth of roses.”
“Half a million bucks worth? Really? Dammit, he charged me a full million.”
“Thank you very much, Michael,” she said softly. “I’m not very good at taking things from people.”
“I noticed. I hope I didn’t step on your toes.”
“No. Not at all. I can’t believe you went to so much trouble.”
“No trouble.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.
She hung up and spun around the room, laughing with delight, and danced back into her yard.
The next morning Emily was cheerful and Megan was pouting. Emily was going to the prom, and down to the shore. One of the parents was going down with the group, and Diane had relented. Emily had been beaming for three days. Megan was still fighting with her father over the trip to France. Diane was staying out of it, but her daughter’s mood spilled over onto everything.
Megan was staring into the back yard, chewing a bagel. “I thought you didn’t have the money for all that stuff,” she grumbled, looking at the rose bushes and bags of compost. “I thought you could only do a little at a time.”