by Dee Ernst
Doug flashed a grin. “That’s guy-talk for not being able to get it up.”
I brightened. “Really? Remind me to send Rebecca flowers.”
He looked puzzled. “Rebecca? Isn’t she Brian’s sister?”
“Yeah. She’s the best.”
He patted Fred between the ears. “Do you want me to stay a while?”
I tilted my head at him. “Yes. And you want to know why?”
“I can guess.”
“Besides that. With the girls gone, we can actually use a bed.”
“A bed? What an interesting idea.”
It was. Especially since Fred forgot to read the memo and kept getting in the bed with us. We finally gave up trying to push him off, and we ended up in the floor, with him watching from the top of the mattress. I’m glad he finally had a good story to tell all his doggie-friends.
Chapter Eight
I was falling into a comfortable writing routine. Although I’m an early riser during the school year, I always tended to sleep in summer mornings. I found that sticking to my old schedule was working out pretty well. I was up every morning at six-thirty, walked Fred for two miles, had breakfast, and got in two or three hours uninterrupted writing time before the girls even cracked open an eye.
I had set up shop on the back porch, my laptop on a battered rattan table, iced coffee at the elbow. After the morning rush, and a few hours beach time, I was back for at least two hours before dinner. In the few hours before bed, I’d go over what I’d written earlier, make changes, and e-mail everything to my best critic and first line of editorial defense, Anthony. Anthony was still at the Westfield house twice a week, going over what I sent him, answering mail, making entries to my website, and fielding phone calls. He was also dating a yoga instructor named Victor, keeping me informed of community events, preventing Lily from burning down my house, and offering his usual brand of invaluable advice on everything from the improper use of the possessive to my sex life.
To: Mona
From: Anthony
Date: July 8
Subject: Crazed relation
Victor and I are fine, thanks for asking. And I’m thrilled to hear about you and Surfer Ken, although this whole practice dating idea sounds a little strange, like something a crazy teenager would think of – whoops! I forgot. A crazy teenager did think it up. There you go! And in response to your last e-mail, no, I don’t have a crush on every straight man in your life. Just Ben, because he’s so heartbreakingly beautiful that I can’t even give him a nickname, and Surfer Ken, because he’s built like a Greek god. Too bad his face is like the Minotaur, LOL.
I sent two dozen roses to Glinda, as you asked. I can only imagine why. Some things I really don’t want to know.
Work on the new web site is almost done – I just need artwork, which I’m attaching for your approval. I’ve announced the new book, and the fact that it will be released as a Mona Quincy title. I’ll start giving hints as soon as you have a final draft approved.
In case Lily forgets to mention it, you’re finally getting a new master bathroom. She’s worked out some deal with Ben. Lily would have the place looking like a Las Vegas brothel – an extremely tacky Las Vegas brothel - but luckily Ben is so handsome and charming he has her eating out of his hands. Ben snuck me in yesterday while Lily was off planning to overthrow the Garden Club for refusing to serve Planter’s Punch at their luncheon last week. Lily has surrounded herself with every paranoid crackpot in town, and I swear, they’ll be running the place by the time you get back. Every time she sees me, she gives me a very odd look. I keep waiting to show up and find the police waiting to arrest me for trespassing. She does know I work here, right?
Lily has expanded the family by taking in two new kittens. They are adorable, but Lana keeps picking them up by their little necks and dropping them into the toilet. Ben told me he’s had to duct tape a few toilet lids closed, because Lana seems determined to drown these interlopers before they reach puberty.
I read the new chapters and they’re just terrific. I am so loving this book. Sending you a hard copy with all my little notes, but I have no serious complaints. I’m so glad you’re able to write down there.
Must go. Anthony
To: Mona Quincy
From: Your Aunt Lily
Date: July 8
Subject: How I spent Your Summer Vacation
Darling Mona;
Ben was kind enough to show me how to work the computer in your den so that I can e-mail you. I’ve been taking a class at the library with a few of the ladies from the neighborhood, and I must say I really enjoy the World Wide Web. The things that are available are truly amazing, and now that I can use the house computer, I don’t have to worry about all those silly restrictions that the library has on certain sites. I would think that an institution that prides itself on intellectual development would not be so closed-minded about some subjects.
Ben and I are working on that master bathroom of yours. I’m paying for it, as a gift to you for all your warmth and generosity in letting me stay here. I wanted it to be a surprise, but Ben insisted I tell you about what was happening. He also wanted you to know that he was exercising prudent judgment in the selection of all the fixtures. In other words, he nixed the marble columns and the gold plated faucets shaped like little naked angels. He’s a very attractive man, but with very pedestrian taste in bathroom décor. I would personally love to sit in a big, red tub and watch naked baby boys pee water into the bubbles, but Ben went in another direction. We have been arguing over tile, and he won’t budge an inch, so I told him he should drive down to Long Beach Island and discuss the issue with you personally, and he’s going to give you a call. I hope you agree with pink iridescent.
Anthony continues to come to work two or three days a week, even though you are no longer here. I assume this is all right with you, as he does have his own key. But if he’s trespassing, please let me know so that I can call the police and have his ass thrown into jail.
I have adopted two little kittens. I promise to take them with me when I go. Lana has adjusted fairly well. Knowing your fondness for old movies, I’ve named them Olivia and Joan, as they are beautiful sisters and great drama queens. Just last night Joan threw a hissy fit just because I tried to pose her sitting in one of your martini glasses holding a speared pearl onion in her little mouth. Virginia, who lives on South Maple and who was having a few cocktails with me at the time, was trying to get a picture on her new digital camera, so she could win $100.00 from Star magazine’s Cute Pet Of The Week contest. The glass was unbroken, thank goodness, but I still haven’t found the onion. I think it rolled under the couch, and I’ll ask Ben to look for it tomorrow.
Please let me know how you’re doing. I’ve always loved sending and receiving mail. Now that our government needs more money and is raising the price of stamps again, it’s nice to know we can keep in touch without funding the Pentagon’s diabolical plan to annex southern China. What they intend to do with all those extra people, I have no idea, but it might be nice to get those little televisions for less money.
I haven’t heard anything else about what’s happening in Prospect Park. As soon as the landing starts, I’ll let you know.
Love, Aunt Lily
To: Aunt Lily
From: Mona
Date: July 9
Subject: Anthony
Dear Aunt Lily – I’m so glad that we can chat back and forth like this. Please don’t arrest Anthony. He’s working, honest he is. Even thought I’m not there, he answers e-mails, keeps up with my professional correspondence, helps with book-tour dates – he does everything, for God’s sake, so leave him alone and let him do his job in peace. Please. As for our president, I wouldn’t worry about the China thing. He’s got enough on his plate right now. Mona
To: Anthony
From: Mona
Date: July 10
Subject: Whatever
Yes, Anthony, I’m still ‘seeing’ Doug. I asked him last
night how old he was, and he’s 51. Then I asked him about his, well, endurance. I mean, aren’t men supposed to slow down after a certain age??? He just laughed and said he had slowed down – I should have known him at 30!! Very funny. No, not funny. More like Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. But, interestingly enough, the word of my practice dating experiment has spread across all of Long Beach Island. Bobby the fish guy, who owns the place three blocks down where I grab fish dinners to go a couple of times a week, has set me up with his brother, Jack, the art teacher. I’ve met brother quite a few times, as he spends a few weeks down here every summer helping Bobby out at the shop. As I recall, brother is reasonably attractive and kind of funny. He called and we had a nice conversation, and we’re meeting for drinks and possibly dinner Wednesday night. I’ll keep you posted. Ben is coming all the way down here on Monday – he and Lily are having Tile Wars, and he insisted I weigh in. I guess he’s right – I hate to think about Lily unchecked. Your comments on the book were great, by the way. You’re right about Sarah – I don’t want to get too schmaltzy. Cancer and three grandkids may be a bit much. Can she have just one grandkid? Maybe an adorable charmer with missing front teeth, so that Sydney will have somebody to look after? I’ll have to think about this one. Miss you too, Mona
Ben knocked on my door early Sunday morning. He had warned me he was hitting the Parkway before seven, but he caught me before my second cup of coffee and in the middle of a dicey scene in my book involving two naked people in a rowboat. I squinted at him through the screen door, then shifted my gaze to two teen-aged boys slouching behind him.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Ben said, “but my sons asked to come with me. They were a little insistent.”
I grinned. “I bet.” I opened the door. “Come on in, guys. I’ll get some badges so you won’t have to pay on the beach.”
They all filed in quietly. Ben introduced David, going to Yale in the fall, and Ethan, starting his junior year in high school. The two boys looked so much like their father I felt light-headed. I almost asked Ben if we could sign the marriage contracts right then, but couldn’t decide who would get Ethan, Jess or Lauren.
The boys thanked me politely, said they wouldn’t need to be back to use the bathroom, since they usually just peed in the water, then clattered out the door and tore up the street to the beach. Ben watched them for a minute, then sighed. “I really hope you don’t mind. They bushwhacked me as I was leaving this morning, and I didn’t want to call you so early to ask if it was okay. We’ll be going on down to Wildwood Crest to see their grandmother as soon as we’re done here.”
“No problem,” I told him, waving him onto the back porch. “Can I get you coffee? No? Okay, where’s this tile Lily can’t stop talking about?”
He had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and he opened it onto the coffee table, pulling out a dozen or so tile samples. He separated out a piece of pinky-mauve, glazed to look like the inside of a seashell.
“That’s Lily’s choice,” he said.
I looked at it. “For what?”
“Everything,” Ben said. “She wants the entire shower, including the ceiling, as well as the backsplashes over the sinks and the tub surround.”
I stared at him. “It would glow,” I blurted. “It would look neon.”
He nodded. “I know. I think that’s the effect she’s going for.”
“Ben, can you tell me what everything else looks like?”
He pulled a laptop out of his bag. “Here. Take a look.”
Everything that Ben had picked out was perfect. Period looking pieces, almost in the Craftsman style, all simple and elegant. A deep, claw foot soaking tub, two pedestal sinks, and the classiest-looking toilet I’d ever seen. He’d taken digital pictures of the work so far, and I could tell it was going to look just great. I looked at him at last and shrugged. “I don’t know, Ben. I’m thinking plain white subway tile. Is that too dull?”
Ben looked relieved. “Not at all. But I’d like to add a pinstripe. Very narrow. In sage green. Here.” He pulled out a thin piece of tile that looked like Depression glass. “Just for a punch of color.”
“Perfect.” I said, leaning back. “I’ll call Lily and tell her that from now on, whatever you say goes. I’m giving you complete control.”
He pushed her onto the bed, pinning her wrists over her head with one hand, grinning down at her. ‘Does that mean I can do whatever I like?’ he asked, untying the ribbon at the neck of her nightgown. ‘Because if it does,’ he murmured, sliding his hand over her breast, ‘we could be here quite a while.’
“Then I’m ordering those 24 carat gold faucets,” Ben said, straight-faced. “And the emerald showerhead.”
“Lily might forgive you,” I laughed. “Really, Ben, it looks great. But you didn’t have to come all the way down here. I’d have trusted your judgment over the phone.”
He put everything back into the bag before he looked up at me. “Well, I also wanted to see how you were getting on. I was a little worried about you. How are things going?”
I was so surprised that for a moment I could think of nothing to say. “I’m fine,” I finally managed. “Better than I thought I’d be, actually. Thank you so much for asking.”
He settled back in the chair. He was wearing denim shorts and a faded green polo shirt. He had on scuffed leather topsiders with no socks, and his legs were, well, great. He looked tanned and relaxed, and I briefly wondered what he would do if I went over and pulled his shirt off and started –
“Mom, who was at the door?” Lauren was yawning, hair rumpled. “Isn’t it really early?”
“Sorry.” Ben stood up. “That was me. Believe it or not, your Mom and I had emergency bathroom issues.”
She giggled. “I’ve never heard of emergency bathroom issues that could be resolved on a porch, but if you say so…” She wandered back into the house.
I cleared my throat. “So, your Mom lives in Wildwood Crest?”
Ben shook his head. “No. Ellen’s mother. Ellen, my first wife. The boys used to spend weeks with her when they were little, but now with them both working, they don’t get the chance to see her too often. That’s why, when they found out where I was heading, they pounced.”
“It’s nice that they feel so close to their grandmother. My girls sometimes go weeks without remembering they even have grandparents.”
Ben shrugged. “Bonnie, Ellen’s mother, never really approved of me. Not that I blame her. After all, I got her nineteen-year-old daughter pregnant. But when Ellen got sick, Bonnie changed a little. I guess she realized that I really did love Ellen after all. After that, she went out of her way to get in good with the boys. I’m sure that when they spent time with her, they were bombarded with soda, chocolate, and endless television. That kind of bribery makes a lasting impression.”
I finished the rest of my coffee and we sat there in silence for a few minutes. Finally I said, “You’re a good Dad, to spend your day off driving your kids to see somebody who probably doesn’t like you very much.”
He shrugged. “Isn’t that what it’s all about? Having kids? You spend lots of time doing things you don’t want to. The best thing about David going off to college is that now I can spend Saturdays doing want I want instead of driving all over the state in search of a travel soccer game.”
I stood up and stretched. “Thank God my girls are only interested in spectator sports. And shopping.” I watched him unfold and hoist his bag over his shoulder. “Seriously, you all can hang here for a little longer. I’m just writing and the girls are still asleep. Nobody would mind.”
He flashed me a smile that could have guided fog-bound ships to shore. “Thanks, but no. We need to get going. But thank you. And I’m glad you’re doing okay.”
I followed him out, simply because the view from the rear was outstanding. He threw his bag into the truck, pulled out a towel, peeled off his shirt and shrugged out of his shorts, revealing red swim trunks underneath. I watched with my heart in
my throat, wildly hoping for one outrageous moment that he would in fact be naked beneath the denim. He wasn’t. He walked up towards the beach as I slumped against the side of his truck for support.
As he disappeared over the rise of sand, Anne Wilson came running out of her house and grabbed me by both arms.
“Who was that?” she asked in a hushed whisper.
I sighed. “Ben. My plumber.”
She turned to stare where he had vanished. “Will he be coming back?”
“Sure. This is his truck.”
“No, I mean, is your plumbing fixed? Or should I drop something down my toilet so I can call him myself?”
I patted her gently and drew her inside, explaining on the way. Poor woman, she was so disappointed.
Doug thought it was funny that I had decided to expand my dating pool. It was, of course, Miranda’s idea. I don’t know in what little notebook she had written down her plan, but there seemed to be an established course of events somewhere. After my fifth date with Doug, I had reached some sort of benchmark. I’m assuming she didn’t know about all the times we had sex and therefore didn’t factor that in. Anyway, Miranda announced that it was time to practice with somebody new, and she had the ideal candidate in mind. It was her idea that I talk to Bobby Kuschke, the fish guy.
There’s no table service at Bobby’s, only a long line of people waiting for the freshest, hottest fried fish platters anywhere. Ideally, you take your order directly to one of the outdoor picnic tables, splash on lots of malt vinegar, and eat everything while it’s still hot enough to burn your fingers. My daughters don’t like the noise and crowds, so my dinners are usually packed in Styrofoam and plastic and whisked home.
The Friday before MarshaMarsha was due to come down, Bobby pulled me out of line to the back of the shop. He’s a red-faced, sweaty guy, but maybe that’s because he’s cooking in a one hundred degree kitchen ten hours a day.
