Merry Ex-Mas

by Sheila Roberts

  She told him, trying not to sound as hysterical as she felt.

  When she’d finished, he said, “Okay, we’ll have to alter the menu.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “You don’t have to help. This isn’t your problem.”

  “I know. I want to.”

  “Then I’ll pay you.” The last thing she wanted was to be indebted to her ex.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He picked up a clipboard and disappeared into the walk-in to do inventory. Of course, there was little enough to inventory and he was back out in a couple of minutes. Oooh, she was going to get hauled away in a straitjacket before this day was over.

  Richard was unfazed, however. While Charley fantasized about hunting down Harvey and flogging him with a frozen salmon, Richard went on a wild-goose hunt, putting in a couple of calls to fellow chefs at other restaurants. Once more he was the head chef at Zelda’s, throwing together a special menu on the fly, compiling a shopping list, calling their suppliers and barking out orders to Bruno and Andy, sending them scurrying to the grocery store for food to tide them over.

  Charley was scurrying, too, getting the new menu printed, then helping Richard and the rest of the crew prep the food. Lunch was crazy, with a ton of tourists, hungry from a morning of shopping and exploring town, but they made it through. Then they had to gear up for the dinner service. By the time that was done, she had less than an hour to run home, freshen up and change into an evening outfit suitable for greeting diners. She made it back just in time to open, and when the mayor’s party arrived everything at Zelda’s was running as it should—smoothly.

  “We’re looking forward to this dinner, Charley,” Mayor Stone said to her when he entered the restaurant, a pudgy blonde on one arm and his sister, Darla, on the other.

  “I know you’ll love it,” Charley said.

  And they would. Richard had managed to find a goose—not enough to serve thirty, but enough to make a goose soufflé. In addition to that, he’d produced a prime rib, the roasted winter vegetables Harvey had promised, a crab-artichoke salad and bread pudding (faster to make than figgy pudding), complete with rum sauce.

  Like the Lone Ranger, Richard had ridden in and saved the day. Who knew? Ex-husbands were good for something, after all.

  * * *

  Jake was coming out of the kitchen with a hot dog when Ella came downstairs. He glanced disapprovingly at her short skirt and clingy black sweater. She’d accessorized with suede boots, gold earrings and bracelet and a nice Hermès knockoff scarf.

  “You look like a hooker,” he informed her. “Are you going out with that wuss again?”

  Oh, he had his nerve! “Just because Axel doesn’t wear cowboy boots and run around shooting helpless deer—”

  “For food,” Jake cut in.

  “Whatever. It doesn’t make him a wuss. And I don’t look like a hooker.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. What do you think is gonna go through that man’s mind when he sees you like that?”

  “Maybe every other man doesn’t have the same kind of dirty mind you have,” Ella retorted.

  “Trust me. They do.”

  “Axel is a gentleman, and unlike some people he actually has self-control.”

  “I have self-control!”

  Yes, she could tell by the way his voice was now bordering on a roar. “Anyway, I can dress how I want and see who I want. And at least I waited until I was divorced,” she couldn’t help adding.

  “I never did anything with anyone!”

  Oh, please. “Well, you’re free to do whatever you want now, and so am I,” she said. Saying those words should have made her happy but it didn’t.

  “Fine.” He threw up his hands. “Go out with that turkey, but he’s only after one thing.”

  She refused to dignify his remark with a response. And she refused to stay in the living room with Jake while she waited for Axel, so she marched out to the kitchen. She’d probably find it a mess.

  She looked around in surprise. There was no mustard jar on the table, which had been wiped down. She walked to the sink. No dishes. He’d even cleaned it.

  “I’m not a total slob, you know.”

  She turned to see Jake leaning in the doorway, Tiny by his side. Tiny seemed to like him best these days. Of course, why wouldn’t he? Jake was home all the time, feeding him treats, making him fat.

  Jake had always been the messy one. You’d never know it now to look at the kitchen. He obviously wanted to sell the house and get out of there as much as she did. That should’ve made her happy, too, but it didn’t. Maybe she was never going to feel happy again.

  You’re happy now, she told herself, and decided to believe it.

  The doorbell rang and she brushed past Jake and hurried down the hall. She shrugged into her coat and met Axel at the door, not even giving him a chance to come in. The last thing she needed was Jake standing there in the background, an unwanted third party.

  “A woman who’s ready on time? Now, that’s impressive,” Axel said. He took in her outfit. “You’re impressive in so many ways, Ella.”

  She could read in his eyes what he was thinking. Jake was right.

  Well, so what if he was? It was nice to be desired.

  Once in the car she felt the need to apologize for the last disastrous showing—or, rather, nonshowing—of the house.

  “Don’t worry,” Axel said. “I’ll find the right buyers, I promise. Tonight I want you just to relax and have fun.”

  Fun was a local artists’ show at D’Vine Wines. Modern art. She almost lost her appetite for the brie cheese she was nibbling.

  What was she supposed to make of that picture of a path lined with crazy-colored trees that could’ve been painted by a third-grader? At the end of the path stood a naked woman with a tulip for a head. And here was a painting of a red couch spread out over four panels. It was hard to see the couch for the random black-and-white squiggles all over it. To Ella it looked as if someone had vandalized the painting.

  “Striking, isn’t it?” Axel said by her side.

  “Striking,” she repeated. It struck her as stupid.

  The artist was approaching now, a fortysomething man with carefully cut shaggy hair, wearing an old gray sweater thrown on over jeans. She supposed he thought his outfit made him look like an artist. She thought it made him look dowdy.

  “Dorian,” Axel greeted him. “Great show.”

  “I’m pleased with it,” the man said. Easy to tell from the self-satisfied expression on his face.

  Ella couldn’t help comparing him to Jake. When Jake had written a song, he was all excitement. And humility. “Do you really think it’s good?” She’d be willing to bet this man never asked anyone that. Just as well. It spared people from having to choose between lying and answering honestly.

  “This is Ella,” Axel said.

  Dorian looked her up and down. “Now, here’s a work of art.”

  “Thanks,” Ella murmured.

  “You should model for me sometime,” he suggested.

  So she could end up naked with a tulip for a head? Anyway, she wasn’t her mother. “I’m not into modeling.”

  He shrugged. “Shame.” Then he turned his attention to Axel. “I have the perfect painting for you. Have you seen New Day?”

  “No, show us,” Axel said. He looked so eager, like a man about to be shown buried treasure.

  Wineglasses in hand, they followed Dorian to a corner of the room to… Oh, that one? Seriously? Ella gaped at the primitive painting of a bloodred sun rising from a river of chartreuse toxic waste.

  “That makes a statement,” Axel said.

  It made a statement, all right: take Pepto-Bismol before looking at me.

  Axel was nodding at it. “Yes, I think I might have to get that.”

  Oh, he had to be joking. Ella glanced at the price. Rather an expensive joke.

  “Do I know your taste or what?” Dorian asked.

  “Tell Bridget to save it for me. I’ll be by f
or it tomorrow,” Axel promised.

  Dorian sauntered off in search of a new victim and Ella turned to Axel. “You really like that?”

  “Absolutely. Don’t you?”

  She could learn to like jazz. She could get into reading the classics, but this? She shook her head.

  “Modern art grows on you once you understand the symbolism,” Axel told her. Was that true or was he simply repeating something he’d heard from some other sucker who’d purchased an overpriced painting?”

  “Trust me, this man’s work is going to be hanging in MOMA someday.”

  “Who?”

  “The Museum of Modern Art, in New York.”

  Oh, that museum. All right, maybe she was ignorant. Maybe she could learn to like modern art.

  “I’ve got some great pieces at my place. Why don’t we go over there? I’ll show them to you, give you an art lesson.”

  Ella was sure he had more in mind than an art lesson.

  “Okay,” she said. Why not? She wasn’t married anymore. She was ready for art lessons.

  Axel’s house was a huge, modern number with glass windows everywhere. The great room had hardwood floors covered with expensive Persian rugs and sleek, modern furniture that suggested you admire it rather than get comfy in it. And there over the equally uncomfy fireplace hung a huge painting of…nothing. Only white space.

  “Um, is it waiting for inspiration?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “It’s called Vacuum,” he said, and launched into a detailed explanation.

  She sighed. “To me, it just looks like a canvas waiting for someone to do something with it.” She wondered if Axel thought of her that way. Was he trying to make her more polished?

  “Well,” he said, “art is subjective.” He sat on the uninviting couch and patted the space next to him. “If you sit and study it, you’ll be surprised by what you see.”

  She sat, she studied, she saw nothing. And she wasn’t at all surprised when Axel decided to kiss her.

  The kiss was as good as any a certain ex-husband could manage and it stirred up interest in all the right places. But it stirred up something else, too, something that protested, What are you doing?

  She pulled away. “Axel, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Oh, of course. You’re still angry over your divorce, but you need to know that not every man is a bum like your ex-husband. You can trust me.”

  That was what Jake used to say. Maybe a woman couldn’t trust any man. “I think I need more time,” she said. That was the problem.

  “Understandable,” Axel agreed, but he kept his arm around her shoulders.

  They sat a moment and contemplated the painting of nothing hanging over his sterile fireplace.

  “It grows on you, doesn’t it?” he finally said.

  She hoped so.

  * * *

  Charley’s day had rushed past in a blur, and by the time the last diner left Zelda’s she was a zombie. She and Richard had run on adrenaline for the past sixteen hours. She fetched a bottle of wine from the bar, along with two glasses, and invited him to join her at the little table in the back of the kitchen where the staff took their breaks.

  She kicked off her shoes and he did the same, watching as she filled the glasses. She handed him one, saying, “You saved the day.”

  “No, we saved the day,” he corrected, and raised his glass in salute. He took a drink, then leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

  She shrugged. “See if I can haul Harvey out of whatever bottle he crawled into.”

  “So he can do this to you again?”

  “Oh, believe me, I’ll be looking for his replacement.” Harvey should be thanking his lucky stars that she wasn’t looking for a hit man. “I should never have believed him when he promised he’d go to AA.”

  Richard shook his head. “You’re too softhearted, Charley. Don’t keep him another day. Eighty-six his ass.”

  “And be both general manager and head chef?”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You have your own restaurant,” she reminded him.

  “I know. But I can stay here a little longer.”

  Long enough to help her find a decent chef? That was easier said than done. “You don’t want to be away from your place, though.”

  “Let me worry about that. Okay? Right now there’s only one place I want to be and that’s here,” he added with a smile.

  She felt his stockinged foot creep up her leg. A day ago she would have not only moved her leg out of range, she’d have tossed her wine in his face. Tonight, well, she was just too tired. And too grateful.

  * * *

  “Let’s do the new song,” Jake’s bass player said.

  Good idea. Jake had left the house ready to punch something and his mood hadn’t improved as the night went on. He had to keep reminding himself to smile. Then he’d think about Ella out with that prissy Axel Fuchs and want to smash his guitar, preferably over Axel’s head.

  Of course he would never do that. It would be a waste of a fine instrument.

  A cute little number with hair like honey, wearing skintight jeans, came up to the bandstand. “Can you play a Christmas song?”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “We’ve got just the song.” To the dancers on the floor, he said, “We’ve got a song for all you married men out there. It’s called ‘Merry Christmas, Mama.’” He turned to Tim, the drummer. “Count us in.”

  And with that they were off. The cute little number frowned as her man shuffled them along the floor in a slow two-step but he was grinning. So were a lot of men in the room. The brotherhood of the sons-in-law. Once the song ended, there was much hooting and clapping.

  “Looks like we got ourselves a hit,” Larry said.

  The cute little number was back at the bandstand now. “Can’t you play something a little nicer?”

  “How about ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’?” Jake asked. Take out mother-in-law and Grandma in one fell swoop.

  “I love my grandma,” she informed him, and stomped off.

  “Yeah? Well, I love my grandma, too,” he called after her.

  “Dude,” Guy said, “what the hell’s eating you?”

  “Nothing,” Jake growled. “Let’s do ‘Santa’s Flying a 747 Tonight.’”

  It was an old country song, but a great dance number and people loved it.

  Not nearly as much as they loved Jake’s song, though. Lots of guys gave him a thumbs-up or slapped him on the back as he made his way to the band’s table when they went on break.

  Yeah, he’d nailed it. If all the mothers-in-law in the U.S. could be rounded up and sent out to sea, the divorce rate would plummet, Jake was sure of it. Well, okay, not Guy’s, whose mama-in-law baked him cookies and served steak dinners in honor of his birthday. She could stay.

  “You guys were great,” said Larry’s girlfriend, Chrissie. She held up her smartphone. “I recorded it.”

  “Sweet,” Larry said. “Let’s put it up on YouTube and see what happens.”

  Jake shrugged. “Why not?” Payback’s a bitch…kinda like my ex-mother-in-law. He grinned and downed his Coke.

  By the time he got home Ella was in bed, her door firmly shut against him. As he passed her bedroom, a tiny germ of a thought two-stepped across the back of his mind. Maybe putting that song up wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe writing it hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe he should tell Larry to hold off.

  But then he asked himself, why? What did it matter now? Ella was moving on. He should, too. Like a gambler in Vegas, he said to himself, “Let it ride.”

  11

  Sunday afternoon found Ella at Santa’s tree lot, along with half the residents of Icicle Falls, who were all bundled up in winter coats and hats. She spotted Cass and her kids and went over to say hi. “Looks like you’re getting a tree early, too.”

  “Busy as we are with the wedding, we decided we’d better do it now,” Cass said.

  “How
are the plans coming?” Ella asked.

  “We picked out the flowers yesterday,” Dani said.

  And that launched a discussion about colors and bridesmaids’ dresses. “I can stay open a little later on Tuesday if you want to bring Mikaila and Vanessa in after they’re done with work,” Ella offered.

  “That’ll be great since Mom and I are going over to Seattle tomorrow to check out bridal gowns.”

  “Oh, fun!” Ella could still remember standing in front of the mirror at the bridal shop, looking at herself in that elegant white gown and envisioning her perfect life with Jake. Parts of it had been perfect. “Sure. Anytime that works for them. Just let me know.”

  Willie was busy inspecting trees one row over. “Hey, Mom, how about this one?”

  “Guess I should get back to business. See you tonight,” Cass said, and went to join her son. Ella could hear her. “That’s a good one, but it’s out of our price range.”

  “Come on, Mom,” Willie wheedled. “It’s Christmas. Don’t be a Grinch.”

  Ella couldn’t help smiling. Cass would cave. When it came to her children, she was a softy.

  Ella had thought that by now she’d be looking at trees with a little one in tow, maybe a girl dressed in pink Baby Gap. Life never turned out the way you planned. Why was that?

  She wandered down the rows, inspecting trees, searching for one that would say Home, Sweet Home to potential buyers. Finally she found it. This tree would look lovely in the window. Anyone entering the house would think a happy family lived there. Well, until they saw the his-and-hers bedrooms.

  “You’ve picked out a beaut,” approved Al, Mr. Santa himself. He looked around, making his Santa hat wag like a tail. “Where’s Jake?”

  Last year Jake had been with her. They’d bought a small tree, taken it home and decorated it with strung popcorn. Jake had eaten more popcorn than he’d strung and she’d given him a hard time about not doing his fair share. It had all been in fun, but come February, when Mims was sitting her down for a serious talk, she’d realized how true those words had been.

  “We’re not together anymore,” Ella said, and the merry smile disappeared from Al’s face. She hated having to tell people, hated seeing the embarrassment and pity on their faces. Poor kid. She couldn’t make her marriage work.