An Ex to Grind

by Jane Heller

  “I haven’t heard yet about the L.I.U. job, but the interview went so well I figured I’d go on another one,” he said, explaining the clothes.

  “Another coaching job?” I said, amazed.

  “Rutgers,” he said. “And I’ve got Columbia lined up for later in the week. Their team is bad enough that they might even take a chance on me.”

  He laughed his self-effacing laugh, and I was suddenly transported back to the night we’d met at the restaurant when we were in college. He’d laughed that laugh then, when he’d told me it was his first time in the Big Apple, and I’d found him charming. But was I finding him charming now or was I merely grateful that he was no longer parading his extravagances in front of me? There was no question that he’d put a stop to the baiting, and as a result, I didn’t go into every encounter with him prepared to do battle.

  But the battle over the alimony was still raging. This was not the time for me to feel anything but an impending sense of victory as the ninety-day deadline approached. And yet, there I was, standing in my living room, smiling at him, and there he was, standing in my living room, smiling at me, and it was as if we were two people who actually liked each other.

  “I’m impressed that you’re putting yourself out there,” I said, truly bewildered by these new/old feelings toward him.

  “I appreciate that,” he said.

  “Well, you’re making an effort, Dan. That’s huge.”

  I looked at him, his golden hair gleaming under the light of the window, and was suddenly flooded with what-ifs. What if he’d made the effort sooner? What if he’d realized that all I ever wanted was for him to pursue a coaching job, instead of hiding in a bottle or a poker game or a night on the town? What if he’d understood that the reason I left him was because he wouldn’t take the kind of risks he was willing to take now? Would we still be together? Would the divorce never have happened? Would I be the one sharing his bed, not Leah?

  Leah. I’d actually forgotten about her for a second. Was it her sweet nature and kindergarten-level pep talks that were motivating Dan to improve himself? Or would he have changed on his own, given enough time and self-loathing?

  I blinked, trying to cleanse myself of all the questions, because they were entirely inappropriate, given our current circumstances. But when Dan spoke next, it was as if he’d read my mind.

  “Just thought you should know,” he said. “I finally get what you wanted from me—and what I should have wanted from myself.”

  “You do?” I said, stunned that we were so in sync.

  “Yeah. See, I don’t blame you for walking out. Not anymore. I wasn’t pulling my weight in the marriage. But more than that, I wasn’t living my life. You tried to tell me that, but I was too terrified to listen.”

  So he was afraid of me, just as Mrs. Thornberg and Desiree had said he was, and the realization brought on another what-if. What if I’d been as sweet and uncritical as Leah? Would he have flourished back then? Was there a piece of our breakup that was my fault? “Are you ready to live your life now?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’m still a work in progress, but I’m gonna be okay.” He nodded again. “I bet even you will be proud of me.”

  “Oh, Dan.” I was completely flummoxed by his new self-awareness, his introspection. Finding myself tolerating him, much less being impressed by him, wasn’t part of my plan, wasn’t the point of “the project.” He was supposed to fall into my trap, forfeit the alimony, and go his merry way. He wasn’t supposed to remind me of the man I used to love.

  “Why don’t we have this conversation over a cup of coffee?” I suggested, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Or do you have to run off to your interview?” Never mind that I had to run off to my job, for which I was already late. But since Jed Ornbacher wasn’t my responsibility anymore, nobody seemed to care when I came and went.

  “I’ve got a few minutes,” he said. “Does your coffee still taste like water or have you graduated from instant?”

  I poked him in the ribs, on the spot where he was ticklish, and he started poking me back. The poking was utterly spontaneous and the first remotely physical exchange we’d had in ages, but it felt right somehow. Familiar.

  Dan stayed for coffee, played with Buster, and helped me replace a lightbulb that had gone out. And he talked to me, not like a man who was ducking my scrutiny, but like a man who was inviting it. He told me more about his interview at L.I.U. He told me he’d become a volunteer in an athletic program directed at inner-city kids. And he told me that he and Leah were repainting the apartment themselves, at night, both to save money and to give them an activity that they could do together.

  “So you two are still going strong?” I asked, knowing the answer, of course. Isa had told me only the day before that she’d snapped a photograph of Leah’s panties in their bed.

  “Very,” he said. “I never expected to get close to another woman again, but she and I have the kind of chemistry that—” He paused shyly. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

  “Go ahead. What were you about to say?”

  “Just that she and I have the kind of chemistry that you and I had in the beginning.”

  Yet again, the comparison irked me. I resented the notion that the woman I’d schemed and plotted to bring into his life for only a brief stint was inspiring the same kind of devotion in him that I had. He’d married me. I’d been his wife. How could he even put her and me in the same category, let alone the same sentence?

  “Remember when you came out to Minco for the first time?” he said.

  “How could I forget?” I said. “You proposed to me during that trip.”

  “I sure did. But remember how we couldn’t be apart for a second? We were like a couple of magnets.”

  “I remember,” I said softly.

  “And it wasn’t just sexual. We each ‘represented the other’s missing half,’ was how you put it. Once we got together the puzzle just fit, didn’t it?”

  I nodded, feeling a twinge of pain at the memory. I’d missed having a man to round me out, fill in my missing parts. I missed the way Dan and I used to be, plain and simple.

  “Well, now Leah is my missing half,” he said. “She completes the puzzle. Amazing, huh? I never thought it would happen again.”

  Okay. I’d heard enough about Leah and her many gifts. I’d much preferred the conversation about my gifts.

  I looked at my watch, then Dan looked at his, and we realized we’d both better get moving. We said hasty good-byes.

  “This was nice,” he said, stopping in the doorway.

  “My watery coffee?” I teased.

  “Being with you and Buster without the tension.” He smiled. “Feels a little like old times, doesn’t it?”

  “A little,” I agreed. A lot, I thought.

  “Go get ’em today, darlin’.”

  “You too. I hope the interviews go well.”

  He nodded and closed the door, and as soon as he was gone I turned to Buster and said, “What the hell was that?”

  Buster, being a very clever dog, remained silent, so that I’d have to answer my own question.

  “Alimony aside, Daddy’s doing a very good imitation of a solid citizen.”

  In response, Buster stuck his head under the sofa.

  “I know,” I said. “Mommy doesn’t know what to make of it either.”

  I spent the rest of the week in a state of confusion. Who was this ex-husband of mine with his job interviews, his volunteer work, and his steady girlfriend? And how was I supposed to relate to him? I was committed to terminating his support payments, committed to building back my assets, but as I sat at my desk, writing him his monthly check, filling in his name and the dollar amount and completing the deed with my signature, I’ve got to tell you: I felt ambivalent. Why? Because the guy was behaving like a mensch instead of a jerk. I didn’t understand the turnaround in him or in me, except to say that he’d changed and I’d noticed, and the pleasure of pulling the rug out from under h
im wasn’t quite there anymore. There was no pleasure in hearing him sing Leah’s praises either, and certainly no pleasure in listening to him give her the credit for shaping him up.

  When the next Monday morning came around, I took extra care with my appearance before bringing Buster over to Dan’s. I wouldn’t admit it to myself, but I wanted to be more attractive to him than she was. Stupid, I know. Childish, I know. Competitive, I know that too. Nevertheless, I showered with the vanilla-scented body wash somebody at work swore by, and I tweezed my eyebrows so they’d be as ultrathin and stylish as hers. Unfortunately, I went overboard in the eyebrows department; they ended up with this dramatic arc in the middle of them, giving me the appearance of someone who’s perpetually astonished. Which is sort of what I was, actually.

  Just my luck, Leah was still hanging around the apartment when I arrived, and the scent of her body wash—a heady blend of lavender, rose, hibiscus, and every flower ever created—made my vanilla stuff smell like skunk oil in comparison. And then, of course, there was Buster. As soon as we walked in the door, he made a mad dash for her. As if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  “Here you are, Busty boy,” she said, folding him into her arms. “I missed you so much that I waited for you this morning instead of going straight to work. Yes, Busty. Yes, poochie poo. You are my really, really good boy.”

  My eyes bugged out when I heard/saw that one. And no. It wasn’t the “really, really.” It wasn’t even the “poochie poo.” It was the “my.” I mean, come on. Buster wasn’t hers. Dan wasn’t hers either. Not really. She wouldn’t be in the picture at all if I hadn’t put her in it.

  Okay, you can see where this was going.

  “Hello, Leah,” I said. Dan had greeted me, but she’d been too involved with my dog to acknowledge me.

  “Morning, Melanie,” she chirped. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  It was February in New York. It wasn’t snowing, granted, but how beautiful could it be? “Yes,” I said. “It’s brisk and invigorating.” She was sweet? I’d be sweet.

  She grabbed her briefcase. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a waiting room full of animals.” She started to move toward the door, then stopped and gestured at the living room. “Oh. I forgot to ask: how do you like our new color?”

  Our new color. Oh. I’d been so distracted by Buster’s defection that I hadn’t noticed the paint job.

  “You went with yellow,” I said. During my occupancy, the room had been robin’s egg blue.

  “It’s actually mustard,” she said.

  “Gulden’s or French’s?” I said.

  “It’s yellow,” said Dan, laughing. “Leah thought it would be warmer than the blue, and I have to agree.”

  “It’s very warm,” I said, feeling the heat of resentment rising up into my neck and face. “Are you planning to do the whole apartment in it?”

  “Variations of it,” said Leah. “I think it’s nice when there’s a flow, as opposed to each room being a starkly different color.”

  Fine, I thought. Trash the blue in the living room and the green in the dining room and the burgundy in the master. Just remember, you’re a temporary girlfriend and the second you’re gone, your piss-color paint will be gone too. “Sounds lovely,” I said with a broad grin.

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m really, really glad you approve.”

  And off she went. I turned to Dan to ask him how the job hunt was going, but he spoke first.

  “Didn’t I say she was great?”

  “Who?” I said, as if I didn’t know.

  “Leah,” he said. “Always so up. You couldn’t be depressed around her if you wanted to be.”

  Ricardo would have been happy to hear that. “Yes,” I said. “She’s very up. But then she has a lot to be up about. Obviously, you and she aren’t just dating anymore. You’re actually living together, planning your future.”

  “She’s been staying here, yeah,” he admitted. Part of me wished I’d had his statement on tape. The other part wasn’t as jubilant, the part that was causing this sudden conflict within me. “But it’s still early. We aren’t making anything permanent. I told you that, Mel. When my marital status is about to change, you and your lawyer will be among the first to know.”

  I nodded, feeling another stab of guilt about what I had perpetrated. What in the world was going on with me? Why was I wavering even the slightest bit?

  I was so uncomfortable thinking about Desiree and the other cast of characters with whom I was colluding that I changed the subject. “Any news from the colleges?”

  He pouted. “Columbia and Rutgers both passed.”

  “Oh, Dan. I’m sorry,” I said.

  His face exploded into a smile. “But L.I.U. called me back for a second meeting!”

  Before I could demonstrate my excitement, he demonstrated his own. He took me in his arms and danced me around in a circle, and instead of recoiling or even pulling away diplomatically, I went with it. Just went with his joy and his eagerness to share it with me. In that moment, as he held me and I held him and we were magnets again, it was as if no time had passed since we were in Minco the night he’d proposed. There was no bitterness, no bad history. I was right back on his family’s porch where he was proclaiming his love and telling me how our life would be easy and assuring me I’d never have to worry about money again.

  When the dancing stopped, I stood there and wondered if I had lost my mind. I wasn’t in Minco and Dan wasn’t proclaiming his love. Not for me, anyway. It was Monday morning, and I had to get to the office.

  “Want some coffee to celebrate?” he asked with such an imploring look I could hardly resist.

  Making the excuse to myself that it wasn’t every day that Dan was on somebody’s short list for a job, I ended up staying for coffee. I ended up being late for work. I ended up calling Weezie during my lunch hour and telling her I had to see her as soon as possible. When she asked what was so urgent, I said, “I need an intervention.”

  “Are we talking about drugs?”

  “No!” That again.

  “You barely drink, so it’s not alcohol,” she mused. “Is it food? Gambling? Internet porn?”

  “It’s Dan, Weezie. I’m—well—thinking about him differently, more positively.”

  “Is that all?” She sounded relieved.

  “You don’t understand. I’m starting to wonder if I can go through with the whole Desiree project.”

  “Come on. You’ve been counting the days until you take away the boy’s allowance.”

  “I know, but now I’m having second thoughts. You should see how he’s changed. It’s like Leah waved a magic wand over him. The changes are all good, don’t get me wrong, but I’m uncomfortable about how much influence she seems to exert.”

  “Wait. Now you’re feeling protective of him?”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Why? He’s not your responsibility anymore.” She paused. “I’m not getting this. Your problem is with Leah?”

  “Yes! That’s it. She’s taken over everything—Dan, Buster, the apartment. She’s painting it yellow, by the way.”

  “So you want her out of Dan’s life?”

  Was that what I wanted? Or did it just feel that way? It was all so bewildering.

  “Or do you want Dan back in your life?” she said. “Is that what we’re really talking about?”

  “No,” I said. Then, after a pause: “Maybe.”

  “Oh, Mel. This is crazy,” she said. “You’ve been hating him for a long time.”

  “That’s why I need the intervention,” I said. “Right now, I’m not hating him nearly enough.”

  Chapter

  21

  I met Weezie halfway between Manhattan and Westport at the upscale restaurant of a Hilton hotel in Westchester County. It was one of those jackets-required places that attracts corporate types on weeknights and families on weekends and serves food that tries to be sophisticated but is merely over
priced.

  “So Nards didn’t mind being left out tonight?” I said while Weezie took the first sip of her martini.

  “Not at all. He’s working late anyway.”

  “I didn’t know ENT guys worked late. Do people have emergency ear surgery?”

  “He’s not seeing patients,” she said. “It’s all the paperwork that’s keeping him in the office.”

  “I thought bringing that new doctor into the practice was supposed to lighten his load.”

  “It was. But she’s only created more paperwork.”

  “She?”

  “Yeah. Her name’s Molly Corbett. Great credentials. Very smart. Extremely dedicated.” She took a bite of her thirty-dollar chicken, a similar version of which was six dollars at Boston Market. “Tell me about this Dan business. We didn’t come to talk about boring old Nards and me.”

  I told her about the changes in my ex—the job interviews, the volunteer work, the conversations about our marriage, the new self-awareness, the rejuvenated cover-boy looks. “If he’d been like this a year ago, I might have stayed. I’ll tell you one thing: the old chemistry between us isn’t dead. When he touched me the other day, I actually wanted to jump him.”

  “That’s because it’s been forever since you’ve jumped anyone. You just need to get laid.”

  “I guess,” I said with a sigh. I thought of Evan then, of the near-kiss we’d almost shared, of how much I enjoyed being with him, from walking around the neighborhood to stirring mashed potatoes at his stove. But no sooner did the image of his face appear before my eyes than it was displaced by Dan’s. “I think I’m losing it, Weezie. I used to be so sure about my feelings about myself, men, work. But now?” I shrugged.