A Slight Change of Plan

by Dee Ernst

  She shrugged, and proceeded to buy six different outfits, including an amazing swing coat straight from Carnaby Street. She paid for it with her Platinum American Express card; then we walked over to the old rail station for a very light lunch before heading back.

  I went home, took a long shower, and set out my sundress.

  Tomorrow I was having a drink with Jake Windom.

  I’m not saying that the world was against me, but as I was getting dressed the next morning, Regan called and asked if I wanted to help her pick out her wedding dress.

  “I found three that I like,” she said, “but I’m really torn about which one looks the best. Can you help me? Or do you have something else to do today?”

  Well… I mean, really. Should I tell her that I was planning on meeting that old flame of mine she had been railing against a few weeks ago? Should I send Jake a quick e-mail and tell him that for the first time in weeks my daughter had actually asked me for help, and could we reschedule? Or should I blow off the Monet exhibit that I’d been looking forward to and just meet Jake?

  When in doubt, tell the truth, then lie. “Well, honey, I was on my way into the city to see that Monet thing at the Metropolitan Museum, but I’m sure I can catch it some other day. But I was meeting some people afterward. Do you think we’ll have this wrapped up by, say, three o’clock?”

  Regan made a noise. “Mom. It’s not even nine in the morning. The dress place is twenty minutes away. And I’m only trying on three dresses.”

  There is something to be said for a low-maintenance daughter.

  So she picked me up and we drove down to Wayne, and she disappeared into the dressing room while I wandered around, looking at mounds of white, billowing silk, satin, and taffeta until I heard her calling for me. I scurried back to find her staring at herself in the mirror, frowning.

  “What do you think? This is my favorite, but it’s not very traditional.”

  I couldn’t speak, because my throat was suddenly blocked and I felt tears in my eyes.

  She looked stunning. The dress was a simple sheath, cut on the bias, a pale iridescent fabric over white satin. Her shoulders were bare. Her body, which so often looked flat and shapeless, seemed fluid and graceful as she turned to face me.

  “Mom? You’re crying? Oh, God, really?”

  I sniffed. “Regan, you look beautiful. That gown makes you look like you have a real woman’s body, instead of a Freemont woman’s body.” I used both hands to brush away the tears. “Really, honey, I don’t know what your other options are, but I think that one is perfect.”

  The saleswoman was nodding. “I told her that. Only about ten women in the world can get away with wearing a dress like this, and she’s one of them,” she said.

  “But it doesn’t look, I don’t know, bride-ish,” Regan said.

  “Yes, it does,” I told her. “If I were you, I’d forget a traditional bouquet and carry long-stemmed white roses. Get some white baby’s breath to put in your hair. You’ll look amazing.”

  She made a face in the mirror and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take it.”

  And she did. She walked out of the store with it, because it was a discontinued sample. Then we went to the mall and had lunch, she dropped me off, and I drove to the bus stop, got on the express to Port Authority, and walked up Fifth Avenue to the Pierre Hotel.

  We had agreed on the Pierre because I thought I was going to be right up the street at the museum all day. Of course, the Pierre was also wonderful and very romantic. As I crossed the lobby, I glanced around, half expecting Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers to come gliding across the polished floor. The bar was practically empty at that hour. I walked in, admiring the deep leather chairs, hoping I’d look younger and more beautiful with all that expensive lighting, and trying to pretend that this was just any old place to grab a quick drink. Then, my throat closed up for the second time that day, and I had to turn around immediately and find the ladies’ room.

  I had spotted him right away, seated at a small table, staring down at his wine. He looked exactly like his picture—graying, older, still handsome. But what his picture hadn’t shown was his body—he was no longer a lean and muscular twenty-two-year-old. He had grown not so much fat as soft, and slightly round.

  But that was not what had brought me to tears. Just seeing him in the flesh—God, what was wrong with me? Why was I still so emotionally tied to someone I had not seen in over thirty years?

  I looked at myself in the mirror and took several long, deep breaths. Then, of course, I peed. Because I could. I ran cold water, wet a paper towel and held it against the back of my neck until my heart rate returned to normal. Then I went back into the bar and walked right up to him.

  “Hey, Jake,” I said.

  He looked up at me and broke into a smile. He stood up and put his arms around me, and I slipped right into that familiar place against his left shoulder, where I had been a hundred times before, long ago, in a galaxy far away.

  My arms had gone around him automatically, and I could feel the heat of his body soaking into mine as it had hundreds of times before, and his arms felt strong and protective around me, and all I wanted to do was stay as close as I could, breathing him in.

  “You look great,” he said when we finally stepped apart.

  I grinned as I sat down. “Thanks. You too. I would have recognized you anywhere.”

  A waiter appeared and I ordered a martini. I’m usually a white wine person, but under the circumstances, I needed a real bracer.

  “So,” he said. “Three kids?”

  Thank God for Jake, knowing how nervous I’d be, and giving me something comfortable to talk about right away.

  “Yes. My oldest is a cartoonist. He does a daily strip, Bennie’s World.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. He could do that—raise just one. And when he was younger, his brows were full and black and etched perfectly above his eyes. Now they were grayish and a bit shaggy.

  “I know that one. I read it. Your son is Jeff Everett?”

  “Wow. You remember his name and everything? Most people know the strip but can’t tell you the artist.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I still have a great memory for totally random information.”

  “Oh, God, that’s right. You were always pulling odd facts out of the air and boring people at parties.”

  He looked indignant. “I thought I was being wildly entertaining.”

  I laughed. “I only told you that because I loved you.”

  He looked straight at me. “Yes. I know you did.”

  Very long pause.

  “And then I have a daughter who’s getting married in October,” I said quickly. “And my youngest just moved back in with me, with his girlfriend, no less, so he can work on his PhD.”

  “Sounds like a great family.”

  “Yes. We are.”

  “And your husband? Or, I guess, ex-husband?”

  “He was an ob-gyn. He died eight years ago.”

  “Sorry. Your profile on the site just said ‘Single.’ I thought you were divorced.”

  “Well, I probably would have been if he had lived. I was getting ready to leave him.”

  “How funny. He never came up at all when I Googled you.”

  “You Googled me?”

  He looked sheepish. “About five years ago. But it mentioned your children, so I assumed you were still married back then.”

  He had Googled me? “He was having an affair.”

  “That must have sucked.”

  Yes. It sucked as badly as it did when you left me. “You were always the master of understatement, Jake. And you? No kids? Didn’t you want, like, ten?”

  He shrugged. “When I was young and foolish? Yes. But Jill and I spent a lot of years working our way up our respective corporate ladders. She was older than me, by five years, and when we finally stopped to think about it, she was at an age where getting pregnant was very tough. We could have gone a few different routes, I guess, but by then I
was into working eighty-hour weeks. I would have been a very absent father.”

  I had finished my martini and was feeling a bit reckless. “I bet if you had kids, you would have found the time.”

  He looked at me. “You husband was a doctor. Did he find the time?”

  I signaled the waiter. Two points, Jake. That deserved another drink. “No, actually, he didn’t. Although he couldn’t control when his patients decided to have their babies. But that’s water under the bridge, or something. What happened to your marriage?”

  He fiddled with his fork, took a sip of his wine, and cleared his throat. “She just came to me one day and said she knew she was never my first choice, and that she was sick and tired of waiting for me to love her like she felt she deserved. So she left. That was six years ago. She just remarried, and she seems very happy. She was a financial analyst, but she spent a lot of time managing my career. In fact, she pretty much guided me in my job choices, all the way to the top. She always wanted me to be rich and successful, and she got what she wanted.” He shrugged. “But she realized it was never going to be enough.”

  He had said that she was never his first choice. I wanted to reach across the table, grab him by the throat, and ask what the hell he meant by that. Instead, I gazed into the spanking new martini in front of me, and took a great big gulp. My head exploded.

  “That’s sad,” I finally said. “So you’re living in White Plains?”

  “You mean, you didn’t Google me?” His eyes were glinting with laughter, but I looked at him calmly and lied.

  “No, not at all. So, tell me.”

  “Yes, I still have the house there, but I also have a place down in the West Village. The company I work for has its offices on Wall Street, of course, and it’s just easier to catch a cab and crash, instead of driving all the way home.”

  “The West Village?”

  “Right off Carmine Street.”

  I stared at him. “That’s where Jeff lives. His partner owns West Wine and Cheese.”

  Jake threw back his head and laughed. People around us turned to look. His laugh was like that—huge, booming, and infectious. I had spent hours laughing with him, and now, all those years later, it still felt the same—like he knew a great joke and you just wanted to be in on it.

  “I’m in there all the time. Gabe and I have a very intense relationship. He’s always yelling at me to try something new, and I’m always telling him to shut up and bring me the usual.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Jake lived literally around the corner from Jeff and Gabe. He knew Gabe. All the times I’d been down there, hanging out at the shop, even waiting on customers, Jake could have walked in at any time. I drank the rest of my martini in a single gulp.

  The same thought must have occurred to Jake. He smiled gently. “It’s a very small world, isn’t it?”

  Oh, yeah.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head sharply. Of course not. He’d married a woman he couldn’t love enough to keep. He’d been living a stone’s throw from my son for years. Five years ago, he’d gone looking for me. And he’d found me. Damn Google for not linking Adam’s obituary. “I should not have ordered that second drink. I’m in danger of falling into a stupor.”

  “God, we can’t let that happen. I remember how you used to get.”

  I grinned. There had been many a night we’d sat on our front steps, my head against his shoulder, because I’d been so drunk I didn’t want to sleep for fear I’d get sick all over him in the middle of the night.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” he suggested. “Do you want to stay here? Or I know a great pub just a few blocks from here.”

  I needed to move, so we got up and headed south. We did not talk, but walked slowly as I let the fresh air clear my head. When we reached the pub, I still felt buzzed but much better.

  “This place has great burgers,” Jake was saying.

  “I can see that the years have not cultivated your palate any. Is a burger still your first choice for any dining occasion?”

  “I never saw the need to fiddle with perfection,” he said. We were led to a booth, where I asked for a very tall ice water, Jake had the house red wine, and we looked at the menus.

  “This place has fifteen different kinds of hamburgers,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, and I’ve tried them all. More than once. In fact, the chef is thinking of naming one after me.”

  “Are you a regular?”

  That moment, on cue, a very pretty waitress stopped, grabbed Jake’s hand to give it a squeeze, and told him how good it was to see him again.

  Jake looked sheepish. “Well, I guess you could say that. I’m part owner. I wanted something to keep me busy after I retired.”

  “I’m impressed. But a little upset that when we walked in, everybody didn’t yell, ‘Jake.’ ”

  He flashed a grin. “That’s my place across town.”

  We ordered—two burgers—and I took a drink of water.

  “So, what about you?” he asked. “I’m assuming you went to law school?”

  “Yes, I did, but why would you assume that?”

  He shrugged. “Because it’s what you wanted to do. I could never imagine you wanting something as badly as you wanted that and not finding a way to get it.”

  I had wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything in my entire life and hadn’t found a way to keep him, but I didn’t mention that.

  “Yes, I did go to law school. Then I got married, practiced law for a bit, had some babies, got a master’s degree at night, then started part-time doing tax law. Then I went full-time, and I just quit this past spring.”

  “Retired already? Good for you.”

  “Not quite retired. I thought I was going to teach a few classes at a small college, but that fell through. I’m sort of unemployed right now.”

  He shook his head. “Now is not the best time to be unemployed. There’s this economic crisis thing going on.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I noticed, but thanks so much for pointing it out.”

  He waved my thanks aside. “Hey, no problem.”

  We were quiet, but it was a nice quiet. I felt relaxed and very content. Maybe it was the safe, comfortable booth that surrounded me and made me feel safe. Maybe it was the company of a man who knew everything there was to know about me, and had once chosen to love me anyway. Maybe it was the martinis.

  Whatever.

  “So, how long have you been doing the dating thing?” he asked.

  “Just a few months. After Adam died, I really had no interest in being with anyone else, but, I don’t know, I guess it’s part of the whole changing-my-life thing. I started feeling lonely. And my sister felt, very strongly, that it was time. How about you?”

  He shrugged, and waited until the waiter set down our food. The plates were overfilled with meat, bread, onion rings, fries, coleslaw, and a whole dill pickle. He looked sheepish again.

  “I wish they wouldn’t do this,” he muttered. “I spend hours at the gym, and every time I lose a pound, I stop here and gain three.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s old age for you, Jake.”

  He made a noise. “No shit. I remember being able to eat four or five subs from Manny’s in one sitting without ever having to think about it.”

  “Yes, your metabolism was legendary. Didn’t you eat a turkey one Christmas?”

  “Not a whole turkey. Just the leftover carcass. If my mother had wanted to save it, she should have said something at the time. How was I to know about turkey soup?”

  I laughed again. “And then there was the Night of Many Tacos.”

  He looked surprised. Did he think I wouldn’t remember? It had been thirty-odd years ago, but in my mind it was as clear as yesterday. “Fourteen. But that was a dare. You haven’t gained an ounce,” Jake said.

  “I haven’t. I’ve just gotten flatter everywhere. This is a very good investment, by the way. Great burger.”

  “I kn
ow. I ate in a lot of pubs before I hijacked this one.”

  “So, this retirement you’re talking about, is it anytime soon?”

  Jake grinned. “Two years, six months, and fifteen days.”

  “That’s great. Then what are you going to do? Besides hang out here every day and listen to your arteries slowly clog.”

  He shrugged. “I still like the idea of moving to the mountains somewhere, remember? Like we used to talk about? Get a cabin somewhere, nice and peaceful. Fish and read. I’d still love that.” He sounded almost wistful.

  I pointed a very crispy and delicious french fry at him. “Our original plan was to cut all the logs ourselves, make the mud to chink up the holes, and live off the land.”

  He made a noise. “Yeah, well, I’m not twenty-two anymore. I’d just as soon have one of those premade numbers trucked in and watch the experts put it together. Preferably from beneath the shade of a big, old tree sitting next to a cooler of beer.”

  “That, my friend, sounds like a brilliant plan. How does the girlfriend feel about it?”

  For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. He reached for his wine and took a quick sip.

  “Actually,” he said at last, “Sandra is very much a city girl.”

  “Really? And is she beautiful?” My voice was nice and even. Friendly. Like it really didn’t matter at all.

  “Yes, she is.” He drank the last of his wine and waved for the waiter. “But we don’t have too much in common. She thinks the West Village is too sleepy. She prefers loud music to good food. And she’s a very big shopper.”

  “Good lord. You hate shopping. At least you used to.”

  He shrugged. “I still do. But she thinks I’m very good at holding bags and paying for things.” He spoke lightly and almost smiled as he said it. “I just started this online dating two years ago. Most of the women my age have all this baggage—they complain about their ex-husbands, moan about their kids, have money problems—it’s hard to find somebody who just wants to have a good time. And when I do manage to find a smart, successful woman with minimal issues and a reasonable sense of humor, all they want to do is prove to me what a great catch they are. I get it—it’s hard for ‘women of a certain age’ to find men who want to date them. And I’m one of those men; I really am. But they have this agenda, and they’re never relaxed enough for me to really get to know them. It’s been tough trying to find someone who just wants to spend time with me for the sake of, well, fun.”