“I wouldn’t go that far. But she’s a much better parent. She says she wants to ‘do things right’ with the new baby. A real mother and father and all that. My own idealism has come back to bite me in the ass.”
“Wow. And here I thought you were the designated father.”
“I’ll always be Leo’s father. I even offered to talk to my co-op board so that she can buy a condo in my building.”
“Hold up. She’s willing to give up that cute little house in the hills for a condo?”
“A condo in a prime location by the beach,” he pointed out. “She practically started drooling when I suggested it. I want Leo to grow up with both parents and stability, but architectural proximity seems to be the best we can do. Family’s all about compromise, you know?”
I cupped a hand to my ear as if deaf. “I beg your pardon?”
“Compromise,” he repeated. “Flexibility.”
“And what happened to all your big talk about moving to Colorado with the Stepford wife and the never-ending supply of baked goods?”
He grinned. “There’s nowhere to surf out there, anyway.”
And then he kissed me. Our bodies came back together with an ease that surprised me. The spark and the heat I remembered; the sense of comfort was new.
But I pulled away. “Hey. Don’t think we can pick up right where we left off just because your ex ran off with her ex. I have my pride, you know.”
He sighed in mock frustration. “We can’t pick up where we left off? What a shame.”
“A tragedy.” I nodded. “But I’m not your type, anyway.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s too bad. Because, in the immortal words of The Partridge Family, I think I love you.”
I froze. “You do?”
“I do.”
I heaved a theatrical sigh of my own. “Well, you’re not my type either. But it’s possible I love you too. Even though you quote The Partridge Family at inappropriate moments.”
More kissing, with a little extra groping thrown in for good measure.
“Damn it,” he growled. “Why the hell did you lock us out of your bedroom?”
“I think it’s a sign. Look at the evidence: locked doors, crazy exes, unexpected children popping up left, right, and center…Fate is against us.”
“It does look that way.”
I smiled. “Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”
“Maybe.” He seemed unconcerned.
“Well, what are we going to do now?”
He took my hand in his. “There’s only one thing to do.”
“Consult our horoscopes and wait ’til our rising signs are in alignment?”
“Guess again.”
25
“God. Who knew that getting married was such a hassle?” Alex opened the Audi’s passenger-side door and I ducked inside, shaking raindrops from my newly brunette hair.
“I tried to tell you,” I reminded him, tucking the skirt of my blue silk dress under my legs as I sat down. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“She told you, Daddy,” Leo piped up as Alex buckled him into the car seat.
“See? I have witnesses. And this was only the rehearsal dinner. Wait until Saturday.”
We had opted to do the rehearsal dinner on Wednesday instead of Friday in the hopes of cutting down on last-minute wedding chaos. This plan had failed spectacularly.
“Turn the heat on,” Leo begged as Alex slammed the driver’s-side door and jammed the key in the ignition. “I’m freezing!”
“What?” I gave him a look of horror. “You think this is cold? It’s sixty degrees! You just wait until we go to my parents’ house in Chicago for Christmas next year.”
My soon-to-be-stepson looked delighted. “Will it be snowy? Can I go sledding with Daddy?”
“Of course.” I turned to Alex and smiled. “Daddy loves winter. Wait ’til he shows you his killer snowboarding moves.”
“Oh man.” Alex shook his head. “I thought we could just go to Hawaii for Christmas. I could teach you to surf, Leo. How about that?”
“No! I wanna go sledding.” Leo started kicking the back of Alex’s seat.
“Hey, you wanted a family, you got it.” I laughed. “That’s what real families do during the holidays—schlep around airports and complain. Besides, my mom is dying to do all the Christmas traditions with Leo.”
“Your mom, my mom…” He pulled off his tie and tossed it back at Leo, who giggled. “We should have eloped.”
“If you cast your mind back, you may recall that I did warn you, but somebody was all ‘it’s important to have a traditional ceremony.’”
“Well, that was before I found out that planning a traditional ceremony is like trying to mobilize the Russian Army. And now we have to go to Chicago in December?”
“My mom loves you. It’ll be just like Currier & Ives. If you play your cards right, maybe you’ll even get pie.”
He stopped fiddling with the dashboard heater and gave me a long, hot look. “Pie is not what I want.”
“Oh really?” I feigned girlish innocence.
“Leo, you’re sleeping at Mommy’s tonight.”
“Okay,” Leo chirped. “But I don’t want to be the reindeer anymore.”
“It’s ‘ringbearer,’” Alex corrected.
Leo stuck out his chin. “I don’t want to be it. Can’t make me.”
“We know,” I assured him. “We read you loud and clear.”
After weeks of breathless chatter about his tuxedo and his duties as ringbearer, Leo freaked out when our wedding planner showed him the church aisle he’d have to walk down. The prospect of fifty (“only fifty,” as we’d tried to spin it) staring guests had been the dealbreaker, and he now insisted that he would spend the ceremony in his Spider-Man shirt, tucked away from prying eyes with Harmony in the front pew. Further attempts to include him in the service had been met with extreme resistance and disdain.
“Oh my Goddess, it is pouring down there!” Harmony threw open the back door and clambered in next to Leo.
“May we help you?” Alex asked politely as wet wind gusted through the car.
“Yes! We’d like a ride home, please!”
“Thanks, man, you’re the best.” Paul climbed in on the other side of Leo. “Hey, little buddy, you must be getting excited about the wedding.”
Leo narrowed his eyes. “I’m not being the reindeer.”
“Good job setting boundaries, Pookie.” Harmony stroked her hugely pregnant belly.
Alex sighed, put the car in gear, and started to pull away from the curb.
“Wait!” Harmony shrieked.
All of us startled except for Paul, who simply put a hand on Harmony’s arm and asked, in the calm tones of a man who deals with murder and mayhem on a daily basis, “What’s the problem, babe?”
“I left my purse in the restaurant.”
“Be right back.” He unbuckled his seat belt, but before he could open the door, I heard tapping at my window.
Cesca, safe and dry thanks to the ministrations of her personal umbrella holder, a.k.a. Carter Nicholson, motioned for me to roll down the window.
“You forgot this.” She tossed Harmony’s sparkly, rainbow-striped purse into my lap.
I handed it back to Harmony. “Thanks, Ces. And thanks for helping me get organized tonight.”
“Girl, I am a born enforcer.” Behind her, Carter nodded in agreement. “Between me and the wedding planner, there’s nothing to worry about. Although, frankly, you could have given us all a little more notice.”
“Oh, but a whirlwind wedding is so romantic,” Harmony gushed.
“It wasn’t really whirlwind,” I protested. “I mean, getting engaged after four months of dating isn’t so unheard of.”
“Yeah, but then you gave us two months to plan the wedding.” Cesca shook her head. “Two months! That is unheard of!”
I gave my future husband a look. “Well, well, well. Look who’s lecturing us on the perils of spur-of-the-
moment weddings.”
“That’s right; I planned my wedding in twelve hours…because my parents weren’t involved!” She pointed a finger at Alex. “No offense, but your mom is a piece of work.” Then she turned to me. “And your mom…”
“We know, we know.” Alex threw his hands up. “Believe me, I’m reconsidering elopement right now.”
“Go for it,” Cesca advised me.
“Amen to that,” Carter said.
“Oh, don’t be so negative,” Harmony admonished. “Your moms are absolute dolls. You just need to learn serenity.”
“Well, your fabulous matron of honor needs to go home and watch Sports Center,” Cesca announced. “Any last requests?”
I looked at the water stains on my silk skirt, the torrential storm outside, and the motley assortment of family members in the car. “Five minutes of peace and quiet?”
She shrugged. “Okay. Done. Hey Leo, want to go for a ride in a Porsche?”
“Yeah!” Leo scrabbled to escape the confines of his seat belt. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”
“Can I ride in the Porsche too?” Paul begged.
“No. You and Harmony are going in my car. Carter, you take Leo’s car seat, and I’ll meet you at their condo. Everybody move, move, move!”
And they moved. Within forty-five seconds, the Audi’s backseat was vacant. I’d never seen a six-foot-six basketball star react so fast.
“Wow.” Alex whistled long and low. “She really could mobilize the Russian Army.”
“Believe it,” Cesca assured him. “I’ll get them all back to Santa Monica safe and sound. See you on Saturday, you crazy kids.” She blew us a kiss and vroomed off with a caravan of people so closely and convolutedly related to us, we couldn’t begin to describe them with words like ex and step. They were all just family now. For better or for worse.
“God bless Cesca,” I said in the sudden calm.
“It’s just you, me, and your dress, which I must tell you is see-through when wet.” He turned the ignition off, placed his hand on my bare knee, and inched the hem of the dress up my thigh.
“Alex! We are in a parking lot!” I gasped in what I hoped was a convincing tone of outraged modesty.
“Yes. A dark, secluded parking lot with no kids or exes or psychotic bridal moms.”
“I thought we were ‘taking a break’ until the wedding night?”
“That’s three days away. I’ll never make it that long.” He paused, then gave me a wicked grin. “Screw this. Let’s go to Vegas.”
I started to laugh. “Are you kidding? Right now?”
“Right now. Just you and me. We’ll go get hitched and hole up in a suite at the Bellagio.”
I was starting to like this idea. “Can we raid the minibar?”
“Like a plague of locusts.” His grin got bigger. “We can say our vows to Elvis.”
“Then we can hit the craps table and make back everything we spent on the minibar.” I paused. “But what about our moms? They’ll be heartbroken if we cancel the wedding.”
Ever the long-term planner, he already had an answer for this. “We won’t cancel it. We’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon, and no one will ever be the wiser. All I want are a few hours alone with you. We get married for us tonight. We get married for the family on Saturday.”
I thought this over, then nodded. “I’m in a Vegas kind of mood. Let’s go.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Floor it.”
And that was the beginning of our own perfectly imperfect, postmodern, Elvis-presided version of happily ever after.
Up Close & Personal
with the Author
ADMIT IT: YOU STILL LISTEN TO OLD GUNS N’ ROSES AND BON JOVI ALBUMS ON THE SLY, DON’T YOU?
I admit nothing! I have the right to an attorney! Okay, I will confess that to this day, I treasure my old Wham! albums, along with George Michael’s “Faith.” That thing has aged like a fine wine. And, when the occasion calls for it, I have been known to do a very dramatic—and very loud—rendition of Don Henley’s “Boy of Summer” (don’t tell anyone, okay?).
UNTIL THE MIDDLE OF THE BOOK, GWEN KEEPS HER UNUSED WEDDING DRESS IN HER CLOSET AND RECOILS AT THE SIGHT OF IT EVERY MORNING. WHY WOULD SHE HANG ON TO SOMETHING THAT BRINGS BACK BAD MEMORIES?
I have a theory that women’s closets are a giant collage of the important moments in their personal histories. For instance, I recently went through my wardrobe in an effort to make room for stylish new arrivals, and I was surprised to find how emotionally attached I was to certain items, like the dress I was wearing when my husband proposed and the dress I was wearing when I won the Golden Heart award. These are fancy dresses that I’m never going to wear again (I compulsively acquire cocktail dresses the way other women compulsively acquire shoes), but I just couldn’t bring myself to put them in the bag marked for Goodwill. I think that Gwen had that same kind of emotional attachment to her wedding gown, except, in her case, the gown represented what could have happened—an imaginary alternative to a very difficult time in her life. Plus, let’s face it: who’s really going to toss a three-thousand-dollar silk gown?
BOTH EXES AND OHS AND YOUR PREVIOUS NOVEL, MY FAVORITE MISTAKE, FEATURE PRECOCIOUS LITTLE BOYS. WHAT’S YOUR DEAL? ARE THESE CHARACTERS BASED ON REAL KIDS YOU KNOW?
None of the characters in my books are based on real people. Sometimes I will write about intriguing habits or idiosyncrasies I notice in friends or family members (like Cesca’s sports fanaticism), but my characters are all a mishmash of things I’ve seen on TV and read about in magazines and over-heard in department store dressing rooms (prime eavesdropping territory!). As to where the child characters come from…I don’t have children of my own, but I spent a lot of time working in preschools while I was in grad school. The kids constantly surprised me with the sophistication of their questions and the accuracy of their emotional perceptions. I had a great time getting to know them, and I think all writers should spend a lot of time with children. They give you such a funny, fresh view of the world and remind you to constantly ask “What if…?” questions.
DID YOUR PROFESSIONAL TRAINING AS A PSYCHOLOGIST MAKE IT EASY TO WRITE A CHARACTER WHO’S A THERAPIST?
If only! When people hear “psychologist,” the first image that comes to mind is a bearded man sitting in a room plastered with fancy diplomas and droning, “Tell me about your mother…” But the truth is, I’m trained as a cognitive researcher, so I spent a lot of time in the lab and none in a therapist’s office. Gwen, on the other hand, is a practicing clinician, so I had to track down people in that field and pester them with questions about protocol and professional ethics. (And I’m sure I got some of it wrong.) Otherwise, the character was fun to write—I think that psychologists, like writers, are drawn to their career because they’re interested in relationships and emotional domino effects.
AT THE END OF THE BOOK, WE FEEL LIKE GWEN AND ALEX ARE SET FOR A HAPPY MARRIAGE. BUT WHAT ABOUT CESCA AND HER NEW HUSBAND? AND HARMONY AND PAUL? DO YOU THINK EITHER OF THESE COUPLES IS GOING TO MAKE IT TO THEIR FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY?
Cesca and Carter are going to go the distance. I know this for a fact because, hey, I’m the author and they have to do what I say! It’s true that they had a very abbreviated courtship, and love at first sight doesn’t work out in every case, but they’re compatible on so many levels and, as we know, Cesca is not one to give up without a fight. Paul and Harmony, on the other hand, have a more twisty-turny road ahead of them. At the end of the day, their temperaments complement each other—he’s calm and contemplative; she’s spontaneous and energetic—and they both have good intentions and forgiving hearts. I think that their first year or two will involve a lot of adjustment and revision of unrealistic expectations, but in the end, he loves her exactly the way she is, which no one else ever has. That goes a long way toward creating a harmonious relationship. Plus, despite her colorful past, Harmony is really making an effort to change for Leo’s sake. She’s willing to a
dmit her faults and strive to correct them, and that means that, at her core, she’s very strong and will probably “grow up” into a very good mom. But I doubt she’ll ever admit that’s she’s old enough to be celebrating a fifty-year-old relationship!
NATIONWIDE AUTHOR SEARCH!
Be the
Next
Downtown
Girl!
Are you a downtown girl
at heart and an aspiring
writer with a story?
Ever dreamed of having
that story published?
Downtown Press is looking for an author with a fresh, new voice whose story will be published in one of our future Downtown Press anthologies. The first prize winner will also receive $500 (for that new pair of stilettos!).
Before you start writing, visit www.simonsaysthespot.com to register your name for the contest. If you choose, we’ll provide you with writing tips from our authors, hints from our senior editors, info on online chats, and a newsletter with the latest from Downtown Press.
The rest is up to you! Good Luck!
Stories must be received by July 31, 2005.
www.downtownpress.com • www.simonsaysthespot.com 11614
Be the Next Downtown Girl
Contest Rules
NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO ENTER.
1) ENTRY REQUIREMENTS:
Register to enter the contest on www.simonsaysthespot.com. Enter by submitting your story as specified below.
2) CONTEST ELIGIBILITY:
This contest is open to nonprofessional writers who are legal residents of the United States and Canada (excluding Quebec) over the age of 18 as of December 7, 2004. Entrant must not have published any more than two short stories on a professional basis or in paid professional venues. Employees (or relatives of employees living in the same household) of Simon & Schuster, VIACOM, or any of their affiliates are not eligible. This contest is void in Puerto Rico, Quebec, and wherever prohibited or restricted by law.
3) FORMAT:
Entries must not be more than 7,500 words long and must not have been previously published. Entries must be typed or printed by word processor, double spaced, on one side of noncorrasable paper. Do not justify right-side margins. Along with a cover letter, the author’s name, address, email address, and phone number must appear on the first page of the entry. The author’s name, the story title, and the page number should appear on every page. Electronic submissions will be accepted and must be sent to [email protected]. All electronic submissions must be sent as an attachment in a Microsoft Word document. All entries must be original and the sole work of the Entrant and the sole property of the Entrant.
Exes and Ohs Page 23