by Wendy Wax
Shelley froze.
“We have a reservation for seven-thirty at Bluepointe. Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”
Brett O’Connor was taking her sister to Bluepointe? But who was Brett O’Connor? And why was his name so familiar?
“I can’t tell you how glad I am we collided that day. It feels just like old times. Only better.”
Shelley gasped. That Brett O’Connor? The Brett O’Connor Judy had mooned over in high school? The not-Jewish and way-too-sexy Brett O’Connor their parents had put the quash on as quickly as possible?
Judy had a date with Brett O’Connor.
Hoping she’d misunderstood, Shelley replayed the message. But unless Judy had come to her senses and told him to get lost, her sister was with Mr. Too Charming right now. Aghast, Shelley tried her sister’s cell phone. When she got no answer, she dialed Nina’s.
“I hope this is important,” Nina said as she answered the phone.
Shelley could hear the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter in the background.
“I’m at the Jewish Family Services fund-raiser, and I’ve got a bead on Rabbi Jordan.”
“Well, you’ve got an hour to impress the man and get over here. Judy’s gone wild and I need your help.”
The sound went muffled for a second and then Nina was back. “OK, but it may be more like an hour and a half. I think that’s Dr. Mellnick over by the hors d’oeuvres.”
Nina made it in under an hour. She arrived in a to-die-for ice blue Oscar de la Renta cocktail dress with her blond hair hanging down her bare back; Shelley felt a stab of sympathy for the other women at the fund-raiser.
“I came as fast as I could. What is it? What’s happened?” She took a closer look at Shelley’s face and grabbed on to Shelley’s arm. “Is it your dad? Does somebody have cancer? Judy’s not pregnant, is she?”
Shelley stopped in her tracks. “That was very Jewish of you, Nina,” she said, startled. “You hit right on the worst-case scenarios immediately; none of that dilly-dallying around and working your way up to it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” They moved into the living room and sat in their usual seats.
Nina studied her for a long moment. “Are you going to tell me why you look like someone just died?”
“Judy’s out on a date.”
“And?”
“And it’s not with her husband.”
“Oh!”
“No kidding, oh! She’s having dinner with her high school heartthrob. At Bluepointe. This is their second meal together this week. I figure they’re into their main course about now. And I’m afraid she’s going to be dessert.”
“So do you want to go over there and wrestle her out of the restaurant?” Nina looked ready to do it.
Shelley shook her head. “It’s tempting. But if it’s innocent we’ll look like something out of a Seinfeld episode.”
“Even if it is innocent,” Nina’s voice and face indicated her doubts about this, “I think you need to be prepared to offer a little guidance when she gets back.”
“Me? Offer Judy advice about her marriage?” Shelley snorted. “You may not have noticed, but she’s always been the role model in the family. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
“Well, then,” Nina said, “maybe someone should talk to Craig.”
“Yes, someone should. That someone is Judy.”
“Look, Shel, you may not be perfect, but you may be all she’s got. If you had left your husband and were acting stupid, do you think I’d just let you muck around and screw everything up?”
“God, no! You’d be whipping everybody’s butt into shape.”
“And you’d do the same for me. Don’t you think you owe your sister as much?”
Shelley got up to forage for a bottle of wine. Could she actually be the butt kicker rather than the kickee? Should she weigh in on this? Judy was feeling unloved and unappreciated, but Shelley couldn’t believe she was uninterested in preserving her family. She set two glasses down and poured them each a healthy glassful of Merlot. “Well . . .”
“There’s no ‘well’ about it. You need to get on top of this. Tonight.”
Shelley looked at her friend, the Scandinavian Butt-Kicking Goddess, and marveled at the core of certainty inside the soft blond exterior. She’d give a lot to be that certain. In the meantime, she was incredibly lucky to have Nina in her corner. “OK,” Shelley said, “enough of the Schwartz family chronicles. If I think about all of this any more right now my head is going to explode. Tell me how the Jewish husband hunt is going. Any breakthroughs with the rabbi?”
Nina took a sip of her wine and settled back into her chair; Cocktail Barbie with balls of steel. “Well,” she said, “my personal ad in the Jewish Singles Magazine netted two mama’s boys, one not-actually-divorced father of three, and an Israeli transvestite named Shlomo, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”
Shelley barked with laughter. “Start with Shlomo and work backward. I can’t wait to hear about this.”
Shelley’s tension began to seep away as her friend described the six-foot-two Shlomo, who had been racked with envy for her Stuart Weitzmans.
“The rabbi,” Nina sighed in conclusion, “is a less entertaining story; that man is proving a very tough nut to crack.”
She and Nina drank another glass of wine and discussed the advisability of putting Miriam on the rabbi’s tail. When her friend paused to take a sip of her wine and settle more deeply into her chair, Shelley said, “Well, since we’re being unflinchingly honest tonight, I might as well tell you that I slept with Ross in Los Angeles.”
Nina gave her “the look.” “Shelley,” she said, “have I taught you nothing? Repeat after me: ‘An intelligent woman does not sleep with coworkers. An intelligent woman does not sleep with—’ ”
“Yeah, well, I can write it on the chalkboard a hundred times if it’ll make you feel better, but it’s already a done deal.” She wanted to groan but settled for an eye roll.
“That bad?” Nina asked sympathetically.
“No, that good. In fact, it was pretty much the best sex I’ve ever had, right up until the moment he woke up, found me in his bed, and shrieked in horror.”
“No way.”
“Way. After which he informed me that what we had just done with each other was a mistake.”
“Oh, my God, what a jerk. How humiliating.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it. Why would God waste all those good looks and sexual ability on someone so annoying? It’s like some sort of cosmic joke.”
“Poor Shelley. What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know, but I guess I’ll have to make sure he understands that our ‘unfortunate mistake’ will never be repeated, and then retreat with what dignity I can muster.”
Nina drained her glass of wine and got ready to leave. “The very best sex of your entire life?”
“Yep,” Shelley admitted, her face glum. “It pains me to admit it, but the man is completely gifted.”
After Nina left, Shelley settled down to wait for her sister. Though venting and discussing had helped, Shelley still didn’t have an actual plan or strategy in mind when Judy finally came home at eleven forty-five. Hearing the key in the lock, Shelley put the paperback she’d been trying to read on the cocktail table and sat up on the couch. She felt like a worried parent waiting for a teenager to make it home in one piece.
The front door opened and closed. The deadbolt was thrown and Judy Schwartz Blumfeld entered the living room. She was wearing a clingy black jersey sheath and three-inch come-and-get-me heels. She came to a screeching halt when she spotted Shelley.
“Oh!”
Oh, indeed. “Where have you been, young lady? Another fifteen minutes and you would have missed curfew.” Shelley tried to make her imitation of their mother flip, but she could hear just how flat and accusing she sounded. And her mother thought she hadn’t learned anything from her!
&nb
sp; “Out.”
“Married women aren’t supposed to go out with their old boyfriends on a Saturday night,” Shelley said. “It’s very bad form.”
Judy leveled a gaze at her. “Don’t start with me, Shelley. I’ve had about as much as I can take from the real Miriam Schwartz.”
“I’m sure you know how much it pains me to admit this,” Shelley replied, “but she’s got a point!”
“It was just dinner.”
Shelley rolled her eyes. “You’re glowing, Jude. When you’re married, you’re not supposed to glow for anyone but your husband.”
“Well, there hasn’t been much glowing going on in the Blumfeld household for a while now.” Judy kicked off her shoes and sat in the club chair, putting her bare feet up on the ottoman. “I get zero attention or interest from my family. It’s nice to feel like something more than a piece of furniture for a change.”
“So you’ve decided to get your attention from Brett O’Connor.” Shelley shook her head. “What does Craig have to say about that?”
Tears formed in Judy’s eyes. “He doesn’t say anything. He won’t even talk to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I went to Sammy’s baseball game this morning—I’ve been at all their activities all week—and he pretended I wasn’t there.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Joe Hirsch saw me at Jacques’ Bistro with Brett the other day. I’m sure he made it sound like I was giving him a lap dance or something.”
Judy lap-dancing? Shelley did not want to go there.
“Look, Jude, I’m the last one to give marital advice, but you and Craig have been together for too long to chuck it for a Brett O’Connor.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“No, of course it’s not. But you’re only seeing the downside, the negatives of your situation.” Lord, she sounded like the Mellnick. Maybe all those years of counseling were starting to pay off. “I think you’ve forgotten how hard it is to find someone worth spending your life with.” She had no idea if she was saying the right things; she only knew they had to be said. “And what about Jason and Sammy? You’re messing with their lives, too.”
Judy started to cry in earnest. Tears slid down her cheeks and landed on the black jersey, making uneven splotches. Shelley remained silent. She wanted to go over and put her arms around Judy and tell her not to worry, that everything would be OK. But who was she to tell her that? And some of her most therapeutic sessions with Howard Mellnick had been tear-driven. Those sob-filled fifty minutes when he supplied the tissues and the lack of judgment. She could give her sister that.
“Brett at least finds me interesting,” Judy said. “He actually listens when I talk.”
“Well, of course he does. He doesn’t live with you!”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What I mean is, it’s easy to be attentive for a couple hours a week. The man wants to get in your pants, Judy. He has to be on his best behavior.”
“You get this sort of attention all the time. You don’t realize how lucky you are.”
“Luck, schmuck! You want the truth? Nina and I would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Nina—who can have any man on the planet—wants someone exactly like you’ve got. The woman is running ads in the personal columns and stalking a rabbi to get him to convert her. Because she wants what you’re getting ready to give away.”
Shelley handed her the box of tissues. “If things aren’t working, shouldn’t you try to fix them rather than throw them out?”
Judy sniffed, but she was listening.
“I’ve seen you get the designers and suppliers to do exactly what you want. You’ve even got ol’ Wiley Haynes wrapped around your little finger. Can’t you sit down with Craig and explain what you need from him? Don’t you at least have to try?”
Judy crumpled the soggy tissue in her fist and swiped at her cheeks. “When did my little sister get so wise?”
“Hey, twenty, thirty thousand in therapy . . . and you, too, can see what other people should do.”
Judy laughed. The sound wasn’t exactly mirthful, but it beat sobs any day in Shelley’s book.
“You know, in all the years I’ve been dating,” Shelley said, “and believe me, they don’t call it a battle of the sexes for nothing, I’ve always been able to look at you and think, ‘It’s possible. Judy found someone; one day I will, too.’ ”
“But you’ve never acted like you wanted that.” Judy wadded up her tissue and took another. “You’ve been running in the opposite direction so fast you’ve made everyone’s head spin.”
Shelley shrugged. “Maybe I’ve just been afraid to admit I wanted something I didn’t think I could have. Maybe I’ve just been stupid.” She thought about Ross Morgan and the pull she felt toward him despite all the reasons to stay away. Yes, she was definitely stupid. “We both seem to have a bad case of the grass looking greener on the other side.”
Judy leaned forward to pick up her high heels. “Right now it all looks like crabgrass to me.” She stood. Without the heels, Judy looked small and waiflike, much too uncertain and vulnerable for Shelley’s peace of mind.
“Believe me, I wish I knew what to do,” Judy said quietly.
Shelley stood, too, and started turning off lights. “You’ll figure it out. I know you.” She realized with some surprise that she really did. Not in the casual jealous way she’d known her older sister, but really. “You’ll find a way to do the right thing.
“In the meantime, be careful, Jude,” she warned. “Not everything can be repaired. I’d hate to see you do anything you’re going to regret.”
Shelley had her own regrets, and she spent most of Sunday reviewing them. That afternoon she met Trey Davenport for a drink and, as tactfully as she could, explained that their relationship was over. Then she spent the rest of the evening trying to come to grips with her biggest—and most pressing—regret: the night she’d spent with Ross.
On Monday morning, a subdued Judy left the condo early for a meeting with her bar mitzvah coordinator. Shelley, who wasn’t feeling all that exuberant herself, passed the drive into the office debating her next move.
The idea of skittering out of Ross’s way and flushing with embarrassment every time they ran into each other was simply unacceptable. And so was all the sexual energy that kept zinging between them; a current like that could electrocute a person. Better to get this out in the open and lay out a few ground rules. So he’d taken over her father’s company. And might still want to see her out of there. So no matter how annoying she found him, she couldn’t seem to ignore him.
So they’d had sex—possibly the best sex of her life—and then he’d ruined it by apologizing.
What mattered was where they went from here. And where they had to go was nowhere.
Pulling into her parking spot, she grabbed her briefcase off the passenger seat and gave herself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror. Then she strode through the parking lot and into the office, enumerating all the reasons she could think of NOT to let sex interfere with all she planned to achieve.
She, Shelley Schwartz, was about to put Tire World on the map and make Fadah Awadallah’s Falafel Shack a household name. Then she was going to pitch the Selena Moore Boutiques account and win it for the agency.
Ross Morgan would simply have to understand that just because she’d gone to bed with him didn’t mean she wasn’t serious about her work. Or capable of standing on her own two feet.
Dropping her things on her desk, she dialed his secretary’s extension. “Mia, is Ross in?”
“Well, he is, but he’s—”
“Good, I’m on my way up.”
“But—”
Two minutes later she was in his outer office with her eyes fixed on the big double doors.
“Shelley, wait,” the secretary said, “he’s—”
Afraid that stopping would weaken her resolve, Shelley continued past Mia. “It’s OK,” she said as she threw open the double doors, “I�
��ll just announce myself.”
Ross looked up in surprise as Shelley, gaze fixed on his face, crossed the room to stand before him.
“Listen,” she said without preamble, “I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling a little . . . awkward . . . about our, er, sexual encounter in L.A.”
The expression on his face changed. He looked as if he’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with him. “Shelley, you don’t understand, there’s—”
“I know, I know,” she waved him off, “it was a really bad idea and it never should have happened.”
His eyes widened. She’d never really understood what people meant when they said that, but as she watched, his eyes actually did get . . . wider. And bigger. In fact, they looked as if they might pop right out of his head. “Right, but—”
“Not that it wasn’t great, of course,” she interrupted. “I mean, I thought the supply closet was pretty incredible, but California was . . .” she paused again to look for the right word, “um, well, actually, I think it was . . . stellar.”
“Shelley, stop.”
“No, don’t be modest. You were, it was . . .” she shook her head in wonder, “really and truly . . . um, you know . . . mind-boggling.
“But the thing is . . .” She paused again to search for the words she needed, but her knees started to shake, and she knew if she stopped too long she wouldn’t be able to finish. “For all I know, you’re still hoping you can make me quit.”
He got up and started around the desk. “What you need to quit is talking. Now.”
Shelley refused to be silenced. She really, really wanted to get this off her chest. Not that she was doing it all that eloquently, of course, but still, she needed to get it all out. “Please don’t interrupt until I’m done.”
A look of exasperation passed over his face. In two strides he was beside her, grasping her by the arms. “Shelley!”
“So, um, I just want to make sure you understand that while I did, um, enjoy myself thoroughly, I think—”
He turned her around so that she was staring at his chest. She looked up into his eyes. There was a warning there that she didn’t understand.
