Love-Lines

by Sheri Langer

  Fordham checked the time. Good. She had a couple of hours to regroup and get out of her self-imposed funk. She told herself it wasn’t prudent to dwell on negatives and sabotage a potentially good thing. But despite wanting to be optimistic, she kept hearing Elmer Fudd imploring her to be vewy, vewy careful.

  An unfamiliar car was parked in front of the house as she arrived, and she hoped Dorie hadn’t invited any of her annoying Y Group friends for coffee. She didn’t feel like dealing with their opinions about her neckline or the hairs in her nostrils. She planted a Miss America smile on her face and entered the house, expecting to make a quick exit to her room.

  Dorie was sitting on a chair, facing Fordham, and the back of another head was sitting facing the opposite way. “Fordham, look who’s here,” she announced as David stood up to greet her.

  “David.” Fordham’s pulse quickened.

  “I called your mother and asked if she had time to discuss some ideas for clubs to run through the library.”

  Dorie had mentioned chatting with him about her different interests and ventures when she’d gone to pick up Whitty one afternoon. Fordham had assumed it was polite conversation that would have no consequence. She tried to form a response. Meanwhile, Ella surveyed the room, meowed, then jumped in David’s lap and got comfortable. Fordham was ready to shoo her away, but David welcomed the tabby with scratches behind the ears.

  “Well, my mother is very resourceful,” Fordham said. “I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out.”

  “Fordham, come sit with us,” Dorie requested. “I’ll call in for some takeout. It’ll be fun.”

  “Oh. I would love to, but I already have plans I didn’t get to tell you about.” Although it was the truth, Fordham couldn’t help thinking it sounded lame. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to get ready.”

  “That’s too bad,” David said. “I was hoping we could all powwow.”

  Fordham’s heart melted a little. Not only did he sound disappointed, but he also used quirky words just as she did. Still, she went into her room and wiggled into the slightly tight black dress, all the while wondering if she’d have a better time staying home.

  David was leaving just as Fordham was on her way out. She kissed Whitty good night, told Dorie she wouldn’t be too late, and let David hold the door open for them as they both left. She felt self-conscious, wondering if he remembered the dress.

  “You look very nice,” he said.

  “Thanks. And thanks for including my mom in your... whatever. It’s good for her to be active.”

  “She’s smart. Smart is good for whatever.” He lowered his head and seemed to be struggling to find something else to say. “Whatever you’re doing, have fun.” He paused. Then he turned back. “You look beautiful.”

  Fordham thanked him and got in the car. She primped in the mirror and watched him drive away. She wasn’t sure why he seemed so awkward around her this time. He’d said she looked beautiful. Maybe he wasn’t sure how to build their friendship. She wasn’t sure, either. The good thing was that they each had a romantic interest, so their involvement with each other could stay focused and unencumbered by the weight of inappropriate expectations. Despite the wisdom imparted by When Harry Met Sally, Fordham believed that once men and women knew where they stood with each other, they could be friends.

  She started the car and tuned in to classic rock. She and Aaron used to listen to music all the time when they were together. He liked everything from ragtime and swing to blues and pop. He even played her things he’d heard during engineering gigs in different studios. Whatever she liked, he’d mix on tape for her. By the time their relationship was over, she had a collection that spanned every mood and occasion.

  She was singing, “I Think I Love You” along with David Cassidy when she arrived at the school. The lot was empty except for a limo and a truck. She parked under a streetlight, thinking it offered a sense of protection, though with the improved visibility, any crazy person hiding in the bushes would have a better shot at her. She got out of the car reluctantly. When Aaron got out of the limo, she felt better. He was wearing a black tux complete with a boutonniere. If he told her he had jumped off the top of a wedding cake, she would have believed him.

  Aaron’s motto in life had always been “Go big or go home.” They’d met before high school when he was a stock boy at Music Den in the mall and she already had a sort of boyfriend. She went in to the store to buy a birthday gift, and the next thing she knew, this gorgeous guy was lip-synching to “Pretty Woman,” which was piping through the speakers in the store. He asked for her number, saying she should forget her boyfriend and get used to being his girl. It wasn’t her nature to be that bold, but she appreciated it in him. In most ways, she was glad his youthful spirit had grown along with him.

  She had to admit, he was still magnetic. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek then slid an orchid on her wrist before helping her into the limo. She was about to thank him, but he motioned her not to speak. As she sat down, Aaron pushed a button, and Stevie Wonder was singing “Golden Lady,” a song Aaron knew always tugged at her heart. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket alongside a pair of crystal glasses.

  He poured them each some bubbly and gave a toast. “To a night of memories, laughter, and music, and to the girl who makes looking back a thrill and looking ahead a dream.”

  It took all her will power not to start tearing up. That would have definitely messed up her mascara. She was intent on keeping her wits about her for this date. After a few sips of champagne, Aaron proudly presented a platter of caviar and crackers from the compact fridge. He fed her one then ate one himself.

  Fordham was certain she was having an out-of-body experience. She wasn’t sure where the real Fordham was, but she was enjoying the moment too much to care. As soon as she finished her champagne, Aaron opened her door and led her into the school’s auditorium. The lights were dim, and soft music was playing. A disco ball hanging above spun around, casting patterns on the stage.

  “This is incredible, Aaron. How did you do it?”

  “I used to tutor the head custodian. He owed me.”

  She was dazzled and in awe. “Not anymore.”

  He led her to a seat in the back row and showed her where he had carved a heart with their names inside of it along with the date of their “anniversary.” She vaguely remembered Evie showing it to her at an assembly before Aaron had even told her about it. She couldn’t believe it was still there after all these years. She paid a hefty school tax and couldn’t understand why they had never remodeled.

  “I carved that the second you finally agreed to go out with me. I still remember begging you to break up with that kid you were dating before I had the chance to ask you out. What was his name again? Mushroom? You know, the one I called the little Dutch boy...”

  “Todd Goodman,” Fordham said. “And he was nothing like the little Dutch boy! You were merciless.”

  “I was focused. I knew what I wanted.”

  He led her to the stage, and they began to dance as if they had been studying each other’s moves for years. When the set ended, the custodian, dressed in a suit, wheeled out a beautifully set table like the kind her mother might arrange when Gloria was visiting. They sat down to oysters, lobster, prime rib, and an array of side dishes and topped it off with a dessert of baklava and pastries like the ones they used to get at the diner in the middle of the night. Aaron had thought of everything that Fordham could have wanted on her prom night.

  After dinner, they spent what felt like only seconds reminiscing and dancing. Aaron was being a gentleman—affectionate but respectful, as though aware that this was the kind of evening that was more foreplay than let’s do it. She was surprised at how okay she was with waiting. They’d taken it slowly the first time around, and since she deemed herself a born-again virgin, she decided it was reasonable to let nature take its course.

  A couple of hours later, the custod
ian came back and began clearing away her living fantasy piece by piece. It had been a perfect evening, and she glided across the parking lot arm in arm with Aaron as if a magic carpet were delivering her to her car. But something was missing.

  “Where’s the limo?” Fordham inquired. A little Corolla was in its place—another piece of the fantasy gone.

  “Custodian’s son. It was a quickie loan.”

  “Oh. I guess everything comes to an end,” Fordham said wistfully.

  “You and I don’t have to,” he said, looking straight into her eyes.

  “We don’t?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what else to say.”

  “Fordie, say you’ll give us a try. Say you’ll be my girl again.” He swooped her in his arms and kissed her the way he had when she was sixteen.

  “No guarantees,” she whispered.

  “None. Just hopes.”

  He kissed her again and helped her get in her car. She waved and pulled out of the parking lot, noticing in her mirror that he stayed there until she was gone.

  THE HOUSE WAS DARK and quiet when Fordham returned to her real life. It wasn’t that late, but she wanted to linger in the moments of not feeling time, a respite from her ordinary relationship with the world. She went into the family room and lit a rose-scented candle she found in the end-table drawer. Then she found her favorite Laura Nyro collection, an old gift from Aaron, and popped it into the CD player she refused to part with despite its antiquity. She poured herself a glass of pinot noir and tried to keep the evening’s allure intact without the convenience of a custodian-busboy-waiter—and, somewhat ironically, without Aaron.

  She wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, she was elated about the evening, and the prospect of making a life with Aaron seemed almost natural and inevitable, but on the other hand, she was afraid her willingness to dismiss the past meant she hadn’t learned anything from their history. Maybe she was so enraptured by Aaron’s persistence that she wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe she was falling in love with him again because he was wiser now and recognized her value. She didn’t understand how a grown woman could not know her own heart.

  The sound of footsteps from the hall caught her attention. Dorie burst into the room, bordering on frantic. Fordham surmised that her mother had been awake, playing in the dark, waiting for her to come home.

  “Do you spell ‘aeration’ with an e or an i?” Dorie squealed.

  “An e.

  “Dammit! Fordham, he’s done it again.” She threw her hands in the air. “I have so had it with him.” She started to leave then came back. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “You’re listening to Laura Nyro, which either means you and Gil are splitting up or you’re upset about something. And since you and Gil are already divorced, my guess is you’re upset about something.” She sat down on the couch next to Fordham. “How was your evening?”

  “Strange, but... wonderful.”

  “That’s what you say about my fish cakes,” Dorie said. “Explain.”

  “Aaron and I met at the high school. He hired people and transformed the auditorium into our own private prom night.”

  “You’re right. That is strange. They wouldn’t even let our group set up a bingo night. How’d he do it?” She sat on the couch.

  “He has connections.”

  “I can only imagine.” Dorie snickered. “So tell me why it was strange.”

  “It was so easy to be with him again.”

  “I can understand that. You were... friends.”

  “Mom, he wants me back,” Fordham said.

  “I’m not trying to rain on your adolescence, but isn’t the man going through a divorce?”

  “Yes, but that has nothing to do with me.”

  “Fordham, this has rebound written in neon letters all over it.”

  “Mom, one of the finest attributes a person can have is knowing when to just smile and nod.”

  “Sorry, but I’m your mother, not a dashboard bobblehead in a ’65 Chevy.” Dorie mimicked a bobblehead, forcing an unwanted chuckle out of Fordham, who was determined to stand her ground, regardless of how brittle it felt.

  “I know, Mom. I know how you feel. You have made it clearer than a Swarovski piece.”

  “Fine. I’m not going to say another word.”

  “Can I have that in writing, please?”

  “Only if I can ask you for the same. You know, someday Whitty is going to be all grown up, and when you see her heading into a storm, do you think the only thing you’re going to do is give her an umbrella?”

  Dorie left, but before she was out of earshot, Fordham couldn’t resist having the last word. “I might throw in a slicker.”

  Fordham felt a little guilty about giving her mother a hard time, but it was the only way she knew how to assert her independence. Whether she was right or wrong, the decision about who she would be involved with had to come from her. She drank a few more sips of wine and dozed off...

  HER MOTHER AND LANKY little Paul Nudelman were arm in arm, strolling through the house, holding paint cans and singing, “six geese a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves...” They passed her bedroom door, blasting a crescendo. “And a partridge in a pear TREE!”

  “Mom?” She couldn’t grasp why the two of them were together.

  “Oh, hi, dear. You remember Paul?”

  “He’s unforgettable.” Fordham was thinking about his performance of the “Chicken Dance” at the wedding.

  “He’s your daddy now. I met him on the website I joined, call-me-cougar-dot-com. Can you imagine?”

  “No. And what’s that for?” Fordham asked, pointing to the paint.

  “Oh. Paul wants to paint our room by numbers. Ours is going to be sixty-nine. It’s a lovely magenta.” She began swinging the paint can. “Fordham, dear, you really have to stop frowning. You’re getting jowls.”

  The idea of Paul Nudelman being anything but a memory made a series of cannons go off on the front lawn. Fordham was thrilled when he and her mother finally exited. But then she found herself in a punk club. In the back, by the bar, was Whitty, decked out in Goth garb. She was standing with a hot guy who Fordham recognized as Brandon, dressed in his deli uniform. Whitty and Brandon began to make out passionately. Fordham ran over to separate them, but Brandon pushed her away.

  “Um, like, Fordham, you had your chance, but you blew it. Your daughter is way hotter!”

  “Yeah, Mom. While you were busy writing your book, I was busy getting salami from Brandon.”

  The two of them were holding a six-foot hero, each taking huge bites from opposite sides. Fordham wanted to stay, but after a blink, she was in a delivery room. There was Evie, hugely pregnant, her feet in stirrups, in labor. Fordham was at her side, trying to decipher what she was saying through her panting and moaning.

  “Marv read Flowers from the Heart: The Dentist with a Slow Drill. Hee, hee, hoo. That man always has”—the contraction escalated—“something to prooove!” At the top of her lungs she grunted, “Thanks for the best seller, Fordham!”

  The next face Fordham saw was that of Abe, who was dressed as the attending physician, positioned between Evie’s legs. “Push! Push! It’s time to deliver.”

  FORDHAM WOKE WITH A start. She got off the couch and went to check on Whitty. She was still fast asleep and, fortunately, still ten years old. Just to make sure she was truly awake, Fordham peeked at Dorie, who was sleeping alone, her room still a muted ecru. Satisfied that her dream had been just that, Fordham went to her room and clicked on her desk lamp, anxious to reread her comforting submission hanging on the wall. Somewhere in back of her mind, she believed she was replacing one dream with another. Or maybe she was trying to give herself the encouragement she needed to believe in what she could have with Aaron. After a few tears, she went over to her mirror and examined her face for signs of aging.

  As much as she tried, there was no way she could sleep. She
finally gave up and showered. Now was as good a time as any to work on the book. She went to copy a page, but it came out blank. She was going to have to buy more printer ink. Her desire for hard copies was an expense she would have to shoulder. She liked the feel of paper in her hands. Sure, e-books were more convenient, but turning pages was more engaging and exciting than pushing buttons. Convenience wasn’t everything. After all, drinking was easier than chewing, but no one outside of LA was willing to give up food.

  There were more submissions to review, and everything was going relatively well, but again, she noticed that only one pile continued to grow. She was hesitant to tell Abe at this point in the project, but if this was going to work, she didn’t have much choice.

  A couple of hours later Fordham entered Abe’s office, carrying coffee and doughnuts, determined to get his approval.

  “How nice. For me? How’s the book coming along?” He sounded cautious, as if he sensed he was being played.

  “That depends on what you decide. I think the best stories are coming from people over forty. I get erotica from twenty-year-olds who lost their virginity to hyperlinks. Thirty-year-olds haven’t screwed up enough to be interesting. I want to change the title to Flowers from the Heart: Love Online after Forty.

  “It’s risky to be so specific.”

  “Abe, we did Flowers from the Heart: The Golfer with a Low Handicap.”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me. Headquarters is still on my case about that one.”

  “But Flowers from the Heart: The ‘General Hospital’ Fan went into a second and third printing.”

  “That’s true,” Abe said. “You know this project better than I do. I trust you. If it works for you, it works for me.”