“Eyes closed, eyes closed, making a weird face, looking fat,” Olivia said. “I told you I don’t take good pictures. And look, there are more photos of Jacob than there are of me. And all the rest have the kids in them!”
“Well, let’s get you dolled up a little and take a good one then,” Sally said. “Come on, Livie, let’s find a nice blouse. Something that shows a little cleavage!”
“You have nice assets,” Shirley called after them as they went to Olivia’s bedroom. “You need to learn how to leverage them!”
In the bedroom, Beatrice wandered in from the living room where she and Bradley were playing a video game and joined them in the closet.
“What are you doing, Mom?”
“Mom is going to look smoking hot for a new man, darling,” Sally giggled.
“Sally!” Olivia turned to Beatrice and tried to amend the statement. “Mom is just going to get something nice on so that Sally can try to take a good picture of me.”
“So you can get a new man?”
“No! I mean…”
“I don’t blame you. Dad’s a jerk.”
“Don’t say that,” Olivia sighed as Sally rifled through her clothing. “I just might want to go out on a date someday, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Beatrice shrugged. “Let me help. Here, I know the right shirt.” She pushed Sally aside and reached up to the rod. Pulling a blouse off the hanger with certainty, she showed them. “See? It’s soft. And red. And it shows off her boobies.”
“Beatrice!” Olivia said, but couldn’t help laughing. “You picked the only silk blouse I own. I don’t think I’ve even worn that since the Christmas party last year.”
“It’s perfect, honey! Good job!” Sally said to Beatrice. “Now you put this on and freshen up your makeup, Livie. We’ll get a good picture one way or the other.”
Olivia slipped the shirt on and went into the bathroom. At the vanity, she plugged in the curling iron to use on her tired brunette locks, and pulled out her makeup bag. She looked at her reflection with a critical eye. Hazel eyes. Good, full eyebrows. A few freckles. Lips a little thin, but nicely shaped. All in all, she didn’t think she was too bad, and her ego, in spite of the blows it had been dealt in the last year, rallied as she hollowed out her cheeks with blush and filled in her lips with her favorite lipstick.
An hour later, picture uploaded to the website, Shirley fired questions at Olivia as they sat in the kitchen with the laptop and a bottle of wine. With their showers finished, Beatrice and Bradley were tucked into bed.
“So yes to kids, but no to dogs?” Shirley asked, filling out page after page of forms.
“Right. Bradley is allergic,” Olivia said.
“We’ll say 25-50 years old, okay?”
“Fifty!”
“Maximizes your chances of finding a man who’s worth something,” Sally said. “Fifty isn’t that old. Besides, I think grey hair is sexy.”
“I guess so. But the way people lie on here, I’ll probably get set up with some eighty year old.”
“Oh, you will not. I really enjoyed my date with Gerald last Friday. He wasn’t a hottie or anything, but I got my dinner paid for and he kissed me at the door. Very gentlemanly!”
“You didn’t invite him in?” Sally asked.
“I hadn’t shaved,” Shirley cackled. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything hasty!”
They laughed with her, and Olivia drained her wine glass and refilled it.
“But has he called you back?” she asked, passing a new bottle of wine around.
“Well, no…but there are plenty more where he came from! I’ve got a whole slew of new messages from possibilities!”
“You should have invited him in,” Sally admonished, tossing her long blond hair. “You’re not a teenager anymore, after all. You can have sex on a first date.”
“Call me old fashioned,” Shirley said. “I’d like to know a little bit more about a man before inviting him into my bed, that’s all.”
“I think that’s nice,” Olivia said.
“I think that’s prudish,” Sally snorted. “I want sex!”
“How did your date go?” Olivia asked.
“Great! He called me back just yesterday.”
“Really?”
“Yep. And you know why? Because I invited him in, that’s why.”
“You don’t have little ones to worry about,” Olivia sighed. “I mean, how can I invite a guy in even if I do get a date, and even if I want to, with Beatrice and Bradley to worry about?”
“They have these fancy things called babysitters now,” Shirley said, rolling her eyes. “You might try one of them out.”
“It would be so much better if Jacob would just take them every other weekend like we agreed he would months ago.”
“Yes honey, but with that sweet piece of ass in his bed, why would he want two kids around, mucking up his plans with her?”
“I don’t know,” Olivia felt a throb in her chest as she remembered the times that were good, the times when she and Jacob were first in love, before arguments and differences and underwear models had pushed them apart.
“Now, don’t go getting melancholy,” Sally said, noticing the turn of Olivia’s mood. “Livie, you are better off without that bastard. You know you are!”
“I guess so,” she said, a sudden tear tracking down her face. “It’s just still so fresh sometimes, you know? The reality that we really are finished. I just miss him sometimes. I still wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where he is. Nine years is a long time to just say good-bye to.”
“You don’t miss him,” Shirley said adamantly. “You miss the idea of him. The idea of love, and how it used to feel. I know, believe me. The bed is cold and lonely. But don’t let fear turn you into a hermit. You just have to learn to love yourself first.”
“I know,” she sighed, wiping her eyes. “But it’s hard sometimes.”
“Sure it is,” Sally said, enveloping her in a hug. “But it will get better.”
“Okay.”
“Okay then, what’s next? Favorite movie? Favorite sports team?”
“Father Goose. And I don’t have one.”
“Do you like going out dancing? Going to parties? These are sliding scales here. You have to decide how much of each you are.”
“Put me down for more on dancing and less on the life of the party.”
“Done. And voila! There you go. Your own profile. Now see this little icon here? This will tell you when you have messages. This one tells you how many guys have viewed your profile.”
“Which one tells me if they’re axe murderers?”
“Oh stop. There are nice guys out there too.”
“I hope so,” Olivia sighed.
TWO
“To us, darling,” he said, pouring champagne into a pair of crystal flutes. “To us.”
Olivia took the glass and clinked it against his before putting it to her lips. The fizzy liquid tickled her tongue and a sense of well-being suffused her. She slid closer to him on the leather seat of the limousine.
“Just keep driving, Martin,” he called to the chauffeur. “Keep your eyes on the road.” He winked at Olivia as he drained his glass and set it aside. Gathering her into his arms, he slid his hand over her breast, full and supple, and smiled down at her. She felt warm from head to toe, and climbed into his lap.
“Careful,” he said as she situated herself. “Don’t break anything important.” She laughed and stroked his meticulously groomed goatee, then leaned in for a kiss. He took her face in his hands and then buried them in her hair, pressing her to him. Quickly the urgency grew and she clutched the back of his head as he traced a line of fiery kisses down her throat to her cleavage. She unzipped his tuxedo pants and—
The telephone rang, loud and urgent, in her ear. Disoriented, she sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes. What time was it? A quick glance at the clock revealed 2:30pm. Crap. She was working from home because Beatrice was running
a small fever. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
The phone continued to ring. She reached for it, putting it to her ear as she pressed the button.
“Ms. Broadstreet? I’m Ms. Haley, from daycare. I have Bradley here with me in the nurse’s office. He’s got a fever and needs to come home.”
“Oh…okay,” Olivia said, trying her best to sound awake, and failing. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She rose to gather Beatrice, heading out the door and into the cold air of reality and the steaming July day.
~~~~~~~~~~
Bradley was burning up. He lay in her bed and sipped his juice feebly. Olivia brushed his hair to the side and kissed his forehead.
“Poor baby,” she said.
“I’m not a baby,” he protested, showing that he still had some spunk in his feverish body. She smiled.
“You’ll always be my baby, honey,” she said. “It doesn’t mean you are a baby.”
“Oh,” he said, shutting his eyes and sighing. She took the sippy cup from him.
“Try to go to sleep,” She said, tucking his blankies around his small body. He wasn’t, as he insisted, a baby anymore, but he still loved the receiving blankets she had gotten when he was born. He snuggled into them.
“Okay,” he whispered. In five minute he was out, and she went to the kitchen to put the cup into the fridge.
“Is Bradley going to be okay?” Beatrice asked from where she sat at the kitchen table, feeling much better and working on a math paper.
“Yes honey. It’s just a virus. Has to run its course, the doctor said; just like yours.”
“Good,” she said. “What’s six times eight?”
“Forty-eight. Still having trouble with times tables?”
“I hate math.”
“So do I. Will brownies make it better?”
“Yes!”
“I’ll make some then,” Olivia said with a smile, pulling a boxed mix out of the pantry.
An hour later she sat at the table with Beatrice, helping her do her division practice. From the bedroom, the distinct sound of vomiting interrupted.
“Oh geez,” Olivia said under her breath, jumping up and running to fetch a plastic bowl. By the time she arrived at the bedside, however, the sheets had taken a direct hit. Bradley and his pajamas were covered with regurgitated purple juice and his lunchtime hot dog.
“Oh dear,” she groaned as she started a warm bath and stripped the offensive clothing off his body. He shuddered and complained of being cold as he climbed into the tub.
“Just lay in the warm water, honey. I’ll be right back.”
Stripping the bed of sheets and blankets, she flung them into the wash and started the load. She retrieved new sheets and made the bed again, calling to Beatrice to come and sit with her brother as he soaked.
“Poor Bubba,” Beatrice said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick. I wonder why I didn’t throw up. Hey Mom, can I have a phone?” she called from the bathroom.
“A phone? Of course not,” Olivia grunted slightly as she stretched the king-sized fitted sheet over the mattress and smoothed the flat sheet atop it. “Nine year olds do not have phones.”
“Brittney in my class has a phone,” Beatrice said. “She uses it all the time.”
“For what?”
“Games. And texting boys.”
“Texting boys? At nine years old?”
“Brittney is ten. And she’s pretty. All the boys like her.”
“Oh honey. You’re pretty too, you know.”
“I’m not. I have stringy hair and freckles.”
“Beatrice, you’re beautiful!” Olivia went to the bathroom door and tilted her head at her daughter, who met her gaze with raised eyebrows.
“Seriously, Mom. I’m not. Look at this face. It’s not beautiful.”
Olivia crossed the tile and took Beatrice’s face in her hands.
“I am looking. And what I see is beautiful. I have stringy hair and freckles too, but you told me you think I’m beautiful. Isn’t that true?”
“Yes. But Mom—“
“You said it, not me. If I’m beautiful, then you have to be beautiful too. You look just like me when I was nine. Look right here!” Olivia picked up a folding frame that housed a black and white photograph of herself as a youngster next to her two children’s portraits. “See?”
Beatrice frowned as she scrutinized the picture.
“Yeah…I guess so,” she finally said.
“Good. So there.”
“But you just changed the subject, Mom. Can I have a phone or not?”
“You cannot. I have no money for phones for fourth-graders.”
“I’ll never be popular,” Beatrice pouted.
“If popular means texting boys, then no, you never will be.”
“Oh mom, you’re no fair.”
“That’s me. The no-fair queen.”
The doorbell rang and she went to answer it. On her doorstep stood Tad.
“Hey Olivia. I was on my way home and thought I’d check on you since you weren’t at work today. I heard your kids were sick? Is there anything you need?”
“Oh, thank you so much, Tad. They are. Won’t you come in?”
“Uh, no thanks. I always catch what’s going around.”
“I getcha,” she said with a small laugh. “I don’t blame you. Bradley just puked everywhere.”
“Ugh,” he said, taking a step backwards and covering his mouth with his hand. “Can I bring you some chicken soup or anything?”
“No, that’s okay. I have some on the stove already. But thank you so much for stopping by! That’s really sweet of you.”
“No problem. Just call me if you change your mind. Hope everybody feels better soon.”
“Thanks again,” she said as he beat a hasty retreat and she shut the door. He was on his way home? As far as she knew, his house was on the opposite side of town.
“Who was that?” Beatrice asked from the bathroom.
“My coworker, Tad,” she said, coming in to scrub Bradley. “He wanted to make sure you guys were okay and if he could get us anything.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yes, it is. He’s a nice guy.”
“Are you going to date him?”
“What? No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s just a friend.”
“Friends make the best lovers, Brittany says.”
“Brittany shouldn’t be talking about lovers,” Olivia said, grimacing as she shampooed Bradley’s hair. “Good grief, what else is she telling you?”
“She has HBO.”
“Well, that explains a lot.”
“I guess. But why wouldn’t you date a nice guy you work with?”
“It’s complicated,” Olivia said with a sigh.
But really, was it?
~~~~~~~~
She had mail. Lots of it. The icon on the Hey.com website was blinking furiously at her, informing her that more than one man had found her profile and was wanting to contact her. Picking up her phone, she hit the call button for Sally.
“Hello?”
“Sally. It’s Olivia. I have messages. What the hell should I do?”
“Answer them of course! What do they say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t checked yet.”
“Livie, you are so silly. I’ll be right over!”
“Thanks Sal.”
A few minutes later the two women sat together, poring over the computer.
“Okay, so let’s use the process of elimination here,” Sally suggested. “I think we can eliminate three of them because they all say they don’t care for kids. And this one is only eighteen! So delete, delete, delete, delete.” She clicked the profiles and the men vanished. She hovered over the remaining man’s profile. “He says he’s thirty-eight. Likes kids. Has no dogs. What do you think of his picture?”
Olivia leaned forward to take in the bearded man with blond ponytail.
“He’s okay I guess. Kind of hard to tell with all that hair
going on.”
“He wants to have lunch with you next week. Do you want to tell him yes?”
“His name is Dolf.”
“So?”
“So that’s kind of…weird.”
“He’s Swedish! What’s wrong with Dolf?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “The whole idea of dating again makes me anxious. It feels so wrong somehow. Like I’m cheating.”
“Cheating? Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m serious. Maybe we should just wait a little while longer.”
“Honey, like we said before, you’re just avoiding the truth. Jacob is not coming back to you! You have to move on, and dating is the most important step in that process.”
“I know, I know. I can’t help how I feel, though.”
“I know you can’t. But we have to challenge inaccurate feelings, right?”
“Right.”
“And that is an inaccurate feeling. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have a good man by your side. Say it.”
“I deserve to be happy. I deserve to have a good man by my side.”
“Good. Now what about Dolf?”
“Okay, okay. Tell him okay.”
“Great!” With a few more taps, the deed was done. Olivia was going to lunch on Wednesday with Dolf Johansson, whether she wanted to or not.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I always love Cabo,” he said, looking out at the azure sea, giant boulders punctuating the surf like ancient guardians. He took Olivia’s hand in his broad, warm one and together they strolled along the gritty, deserted beach.
“This is so perfect,” she said.
“I’ll tell you what’s perfect,” he said, pulling her close. “You.”
“Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” she asked, feeling a telltale bulge in his swimsuit trunks. He pulled her down to a blanket and laughed.
“Just the natural consequence of being near you,” he said, kissing her hungrily. She responded in kind, and he reached around her back to pull the string of her bikini.
“Olivia?” Tad said. “Are you all right?”
“Huh?” her head jerked upright and she wiped the trickle of saliva from her chin.
Kissing Robert Page 2
