by T. Torrest
“I guess I just got sick of having to scratch and claw for every penny. That’s not the life I envisioned.”
Virginia’s jaw dropped. “Money? Are you serious? You’re going to throw your entire marriage away because you’re not as rich as you hoped you’d be?”
I didn’t know how to make her understand. “It’s not just the money, Gin. It’s the broken promises. It goes way deeper than just our flailing bank account.”
My friend shook her head. “I thought you were going to tell me something big like he slept with another woman or something.”
I barked out a laugh. “That would never happen.”
“Yeah, maybe not while you were together…” Virginia trailed off but I knew what she was getting at. Just to drive the point home, though, she finished her thought aloud. “Have you really considered what it will be like if the both of you start dating again?”
I felt a pang in the pit of my stomach. Truth was, the idea of Eddie being with someone else made me sick. That thought alone was almost enough for me to call off our divorce plans, because I just couldn’t reconcile my husband’s hands all over another woman. Numerous women, if his past was any indicator of his future. I wasn’t being delusional when I said that he’d been faithful to me since Day One, even though I knew he’d had plenty of offers over the years. I supposed I couldn’t blame those girls for their eager propositions; Eddie was the type of guy women dreamed about. Gorgeous, charming… a smile that could melt butter.
I guess those daydreaming women never factored in the reality of an empty wallet in their fantasies, however.
I know I sure didn’t.
“I can’t think about that right now, Gin. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
CHAPTER 3
My Sweet Romantic Teenage Nights
BRENDA
Friday, October 3
1969
I tried not to wince from the taste while sipping from my Pabst and instead attempted to appear sophisticated. I recognized a lot of faces in that room, the same teenaged crowd that frequented this bar almost every weekend. The Village Green never checked IDs which was why everyone from school hung out there. But they wouldn’t have been so accommodating toward any rowdy kids that had the nerve to actually make a spectacle of themselves by acting like kids. Not that any of that would matter in a few months anyhow; I’d be turning eighteen at the end of February.
The bar-slash-restaurant was located adjacent to the ninth hole on the opposite side of the course from the Shermer Heights Country Club. Most of the golfers exploited their memberships to imbibe at the private clubhouse rather than tipple with the common riff raff at The Green. In any case, word got out about their lax drinking age enforcement and it soon turned into our favorite watering hole.
There was an old-timey Wurlitzer in the corner of the large room offering a neon glow to the rustic wood that lined its walls. But aside from the jukebox and a few overheads, the lighting was practically non-existent. Not blindingly dark, but definitely subdued. Ambient. Cozy. Plenty of shadowy corners for people to make out. Too bad I didn’t have anyone to make out with.
I’d just broken up with my current boyfriend, Beau. Needless to say, he didn’t show up at the bar to hang out that night. He didn’t really mingle with this crowd anyway, but I knew he was most likely only staying away in order to save face. No one wanted to deal with the endless interrogation after getting dumped.
I know I sure didn’t. It had been three years since my first real boyfriend broke up with me, and I still didn’t like to discuss it.
Terry Wilmington was a senior at the time, which was quite the status symbol for an unknown freshman girl like me. My brother was in his class, and repeatedly tried to warn me off the guy. “He drinks too much,” Bobby had said. “You’re a good girl and he runs with a dangerous crowd.”
Bobby wasn’t normally so overprotective—in fact, we didn’t even get along most of the time—and I was touched by his attempt to look after me. But I didn’t heed his advice.
Maybe I should have.
Almost immediately, I found out how hard it was going to be to maintain the right balance. A girl’s reputation was supremely important in those days, and I was fearful of being unfairly labeled. If you went parking, you were a tramp. If you didn’t, you were repressed.
Terry and I went out for half the year, until he became so sexually frustrated with me that he broke it off to go out with someone his own age. Terry and Madeline Truesdale got married almost immediately after they graduated… and had a “preemie” baby girl exactly seven months later. Dodged that bullet.
After the Terry Wilmington debacle, I think all the boys at St. Nicetius wrongfully assumed I was damaged goods, and that was enough of an excuse for them to keep me at arms’ length the rest of the year.
But then, the summer of ’67 changed all that. It was The Summer of Love, and suddenly, labels like “prude” and “party girl” didn’t exist anymore. There was no such thing as a bad reputation.
After months of keeping their distance, I figured the boys would be coming out of the woodwork to seek my attentions. But still, they stayed away, and I was too wounded back then to change that situation. I felt like life was passing me by.
Then last spring, Beau Brummel unexpectedly asked me out. We’d been going steady since then, and even though we never went all the way, I managed to gain a little more experience with the opposite sex. Our relationship helped to dispel my pariah status, and for that, I was grateful. The general male population of our school started to take notice. I didn’t give most of them a second thought but at least it was nice to know they were looking again.
The attention was flattering but it’s not why I broke up with Beau. I’d just finally realized that we weren’t meant for each other. He was cute, and nice, and he really, really liked me. But “nice” couldn’t compare with “hunky,” and I’d had my eye on hunky for the past three years. It was high time that hunky finally turned his eye on me.
I turned toward Virginia and asked in a low whisper, “Do you think he’ll really come tonight?” There was no need to clarify who “he” was. My best friend knew exactly who I was talking about.
Virginia sighed dramatically, shaking her head in exasperation. I could tell she was getting pretty sick of hearing me pine over Wilson Edwards. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t. Eddie’s here every weekend.”
The guy was so cool that he didn’t even go by his first name. Eddie. It suited him.
“But did Anthony say for sure?”
“He didn’t say at all, Brenda. All I know is that Anthony said he’d meet me here. I can only imagine he’ll bring Mr. Playboy when he does. Okay?”
I didn’t normally lose my head when it came to boys but recent rumors had it that Eddie had been asking around about me. Virginia’s boyfriend Anthony was Eddie’s best friend, and was the one who dropped the bomb about it. What Virginia didn’t reiterate, however, is what she told me earlier that day: Eddie specifically asked her to bring me to The Green tonight. As soon as I heard the news, I started envisioning an idyllic future where Eddie and I would live right next door to Virginia and Tony and have barbecues and raise our kids together who would grow up as best friends and get married and have kids of their own.
Perfect.
My friend’s “Playboy” jab was hardly unwarranted, by the way. Eddie was the dreamiest guy in our school, and every girl knew it. Most had experienced it. Even for those who hadn’t, it was impossible to be unaware of his existence. Everyone knew who Eddie was. How could someone like him stay anonymous? Gorgeous blue-green eyes, the color of the ocean during a storm. Sandy hair that was always hanging in front of his face, practically begging our female fingers to swipe it off his forehead.
As much as I enjoyed looking at him, I never allowed myself to believe I could really make him mine. We’d been on each other’s radar for years, but neither one of us ever did anything about it. He was too consumed by
his legion of free-loving hippie chicks, and I hadn’t yet gotten over my inhibitions. I always figured he kept his distance because I wasn’t worthy of his attention when there were so many other girls willing to fawn all over him. He must have thought so, too. Until now.
Finally, finally, finally the boys strolled in with their customary rock-star confidence, Eddie looking like a stone-cold hunk in a primo black leather motorcycle jacket and matching boots. Blue jeans so tight, I could see his circumcision scar. My poor teenage heart couldn’t take it.
Anthony made his way over toward us, but Eddie barely nodded his head in our direction before beelining for the jukebox. He dropped in a bunch of dimes and punched a few buttons, and “Born on the Bayou” came blaring out of the speakers. He leaned against the wall and scoped the room, seemingly absorbed with nothing more than his string of chosen tunes.
Terrific.
We spent the next couple of hours exchanging looks but that was nothing new. What was new was watching him dismiss any girl that attempted to approach him over the course of the night. Normally, he’d indulge the flirting of anyone that entered his orbit. I’d seen their coy hair-flipping, the batted eyelashes, the inviting looks. I’d seen his easy laugh and the way he’d lean in just so, making any girl on the other end of his attentions swoon from his mere consideration.
But never with me.
I decided that was going to change tonight.
I turned toward Tony and flicked his arm. “Hey. What’s your friend’s problem?” I asked.
“His problem?” he asked back, smiling at my snotty tone.
“Yeah. I thought you said Eddie has been asking about me.”
“He has.”
I was feeling a little high from the alcohol, and I guess all those brews had instilled a false sense of confidence. My voice came out sounding uncharacteristically huffy when I stated, “Well, maybe he should ask me himself.”
Perhaps it was the handful of beers I’d consumed or maybe it was that I’d just completely lost my mind. But whether I was acting rationally or not, I found myself handing my drink to a stunned Virginia as an amused Tony dropped his head and chuckled.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I walked right over to Eddie and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey,” I said. He turned around, not even surprised to see me standing there. Before I could lose my nerve, I asked him the question that had been bugging me for the better part of three years. “How come you never flirt with me? It’s starting to get insulting.”
His lips pressed together, fighting the urge to smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You flirt with every other girl in school, but you’ve never done more than talk to me. And you’ve hardly even done that!”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “Maybe that’s because I want more than talking from you.”
Gulp.
I swallowed hard, realizing too late that I’d not only walked right into his trap, but that I was willing prey. When he didn’t elaborate on his answer, I filled in the blank space with nervous babble. “Yeah but tonight… You asked Ginny to make sure I’d be here, yet you haven’t even come over to say hi. Why would you want me to be here if you were just going to ignore me all night?”
His lips did that pressing-together thing again as a slanted grin cracked through his resolve. He dipped his face close, that beautiful mouth only inches from mine. “I decided it was too dangerous.”
The look on his face gave me the squirmiest feeling in my stomach, like I’d swallowed an octopus. I was sweating, and flushed, and was pretty sure I was going to puke.
It must be love.
“Dangerous how?”
He looked right through me with those stormy blue eyes as he said, “Because I’m afraid you’ll ruin me for all other girls.”
He let just the tip of one finger dance over my shoulder and down my arm. The touch sent a buzz racing across my skin, and I found it nearly impossible to take my next breath. He twirled a lock of my hair around his knuckle and directed his next words to the strand pinched in his grasp. “You’re not a one-night girl. You’re a forever girl.”
CHAPTER 4
Scenes from an Italian Restaurant
EDDIE
Sunday, September 21
1980
At first, I drank.
A lot.
I knew Bren and I had to separate, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.
Obviously, I didn’t like it.
I spent those first days in a whiskey-induced haze, trying to obliterate her smile from my mind. The way her hair felt tangled around my fingers. The way her body felt under my hands.
Her body. Christ.
Bren had a body men could fight wars over. Back in our school days? Whenever she’d walk down the hall, every guy she passed was forced to slip a notebook in front of his zipper, concealing a hard-on. She was irresistible. And her face. Jesus. She was like a goddamn Keane painting. Wide brown eyes that were too big for her head; luscious full lips that you’d want to suck on for a lifetime. Helen of Troy’s face may have launched a thousand ships, but Bren’s launched a thousand dicks.
Even mine. And I had enough experience with the opposite sex that her effect should have been lost on me. The fact that she was unapproachable only added to her appeal. She likes to think that guys didn’t ask her out because she was shy. Fact is, she was too beautiful. It was intimidating. No one wanted the inevitable rejection she was sure to dole out to any putz that tried to make it with her. I was the only guy that had the cojones to attempt it. Then again, lack of confidence was never really a problem for me.
I was no slouch in the looks department. I knew what I was working with.
And work it I did.
During my teen years, I had sex with more women than is appropriate to discuss here. I think I was subconsciously readying myself for the forever with Bren. I got all that sowing-oats crap out of my system years ago. Now, I only wanted her.
And I couldn’t have her.
I pulled my car into the back lot at Mama’s, Hackensack’s greatest Italian joint and my second home. My best friend Anthony took the biz over from his mother back in seventy-two but I’d been employed there in one form or another since I was a teenager. The place used to be a gourmet Italian grocery store, so my first job was stock boy. Once Mrs. Leone converted it into a restaurant, I took a position as waiter. I kept my eyes and ears open, and never missed an opportunity to check out what was doing in the kitchen. When Tony took over, he gave me a job on the line, and eventually, I moved up to sous. Under Marciano’s guidance, I’d become a semi-respectable chef myself.
Not head chef, though, a fact Brenda liked to exploit often.
I shook my head of the memory and pulled the heavy steel door open. Even though the line guys had already been on the clock since dawn, they worked on the other end of the kitchen. Marciano wouldn’t be in until later. I was optimistic that I’d be able to grab a few minutes of alone time.
It immediately became apparent that “alone time” wasn’t going to happen. Tony was waiting for me, leaning against my station, his arms crossed. “How’s it going, Ed?”
I pulled my apron off the hook and slipped it over my head. “I’m guessing you’re not asking me in a general sense.”
Tony eyed me for a pause before saying, “Virginia and Brenda had lunch yesterday. I’ve heard your wife’s side, now I’d like to hear yours.”
There weren’t too many people I would bother talking to about this, but Tony and I had been friends since the first grade. If there was anyone on this planet I could’ve trusted with all the sordid details, it would be him. But I couldn’t tell him everything. It would’ve been a total slap in the face to Bren, and I wasn’t going to sell her out like that. “Shit happens, Tony.”
Tony pushed off the counter and stepped between me and the basket of shallots I was reaching for. “Shit happens? You’ve been with this woman for over ten years—married for five—and you’
re going to explain the sudden demise of your relationship on ‘shit happens’? Hell, you moved out of the apartment a week ago, and I didn’t even find out about it until yesterday.”
I knew he was digging for an explanation. It’s just that I didn’t have one. “What the hell do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me the truth!”
The truth. Ha! “I can’t tell you more than I told you already.”
I slumped against the steel prep table and drummed my fingers against its surface. I became fascinated with the pattern of holes on my work clogs while Tony stared me down. I knew if I looked up, I’d be met with the concerned rise of his eyebrows, and I just didn’t think I’d be able to take it.
I shook my head at my shoes before blurting out an answer. “Fine. The truth is that Brenda thinks I’m a fucking disappointment. The truth is that I couldn’t listen to her tell me I’ve failed her for even one more day. The truth is that she’s obsessed with money and I don’t have any!”
Tony’s mouth tensed in a firm line as his lids tightened. “If a raise is going to be all it takes to save your marriage, I’ll happily bump your pay.”
“That’s not what this is.” I ran a hand over my hair and had trouble meeting my friend’s eyes. “It wouldn’t matter anyway. She’d just want more. More money. More adventurous sex. More goddamn red pistachios in the fucking snack jar on the counter. More, more, more, all the time. I just got tired of living up to her failed expectations.”
Tony let out with a resigned sigh. “Sounds like a sit-down is in order. Seriously, Ed. This all sounds like stuff that can be worked out. I mean, it’s not like she cheated on you, right?”
“No. Never.”
“She develop a sudden predilection toward drugs? Alcohol?”
“No.”
“Gambling problem?”
“None of the above, man.”
“Well, then this is just a matter of Working Shit Out. The both of you are coming to our house tomorrow for dinner. Six o’clock.”
