The Real Thing

by Linda Rettstatt

  Sitting with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Jane drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Surely Mitch would come home. He had to see how foolish this argument had been. But what if he didn’t come home? What if this was a last straw for him and there were other reasons why he wanted out? It happened. They were nearing a turning point in their marriage. Rob would graduate—hopefully—and go off to college next fall. The empty nest loomed. She and Mitch would be alone together. Or would she just be alone? She shuddered. This was not at all what she had envisioned, planned as their future.

  Her cell phone beeped—a reminder that it was time to head to the gym. She dumped the remaining coffee into the sink, rinsed the cup and set it in the dishwasher, then headed upstairs to get dressed. After her workout, she’d casually drive by Steph and Dave’s house and see if Mitch had contacted his brother.

  ~ * ~

  Mitch got out of his SUV and stretched. He crept up to the front door and tried to peer inside. The door swung open and his sister-in-law, Stephanie, startled and screeched. Mitch took a step back. “Good morning.”

  “Mitch? What are you doing here at this hour peeking in the windows?” She stuck her head outside and looked around. “Where’s Jane?”

  “She’s at home. I guess. Can I come in? I really need to use the bathroom.”

  “Sure. Hand me the newspaper, will you? It’s over there.” She pointed to the corner of the porch. “I swear that Crawford boy has a lousy aim for a Little League pitcher.”

  Mitch handed her the newspaper and headed for the powder room. When he then reached the kitchen, his brother sat at the table, yawning and with hair mussed from sleep. “Morning.”

  Dave frowned. “To what do I owe the honor at this hour?”

  “I…um….” He slid his gaze to Steph who stood at the counter pouring mugs of coffee. “Nothing much. I was in the neighborhood.”

  “At six-thirty in the morning? You look like hell. What’d you do, sleep in the car?”

  A flush warmed Mitch’s neck. “Yeah.”

  Steph swung around, setting a steaming mug in front of each of the men. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  She picked up her cell phone from the counter. “You can give me your side, or I can just get the whole story from Jane.”

  Mitch glanced from her to his brother, then down at the steam rising from his coffee. “I left. I need a place to stay for a few days, maybe a week. Or…more.”

  Dave grinned. “You left Jane? We’re supposed to believe that. What’d you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Well, apparently I did exactly what she told me to and it wasn’t right, so….” He pressed his lips together, trying to figure out how to explain this in the presence of his sister-in-law. “Steph, do you think I could talk to Dave alone? It’s kind of personal. Guy stuff.”

  “Fine by me. I’ll get the whole story later, anyway. I’m going to take a shower.” Stephanie carried her coffee mug with her and disappeared up the stairs.

  Dave sat back in his chair and stared, waiting.

  “Okay, so this is going to sound funny, but you need to hear the whole thing before you say a word. Promise?”

  Dave nodded. Not a promise.

  “You know those romance novels Janie writes? Well, she writes a lot of sex scenes. And for some damn reason she thinks we should act them all out first to make sure they work.”

  His brother’s eyebrows lifted. “And that’s a problem how?”

  “You remember when we were learning to drive, how annoying it was that Dad constantly reminded us of every single thing we needed to do? Shift into third. Ease up on the gas. Turn on your signal. Turn off your signal. Well, you get the point.”

  Dave shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m missing how shifting gears and sex… Oh, I get it. Having a little trouble lifting the crane?”

  “No! I have no trouble with my equipment.”

  Raising his hands in mock surrender, Dave said, “Okay. Okay. You’re making me guess, and that was my best guess.”

  “Jane is constantly giving me directions. It’s like being an actor in a cheap film—bend this way, put it there, turn it that way. You know, there are only so many ways a guy can turn.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Uncomfortable with the conversation, Mitch stood and paced. “It’s like starring in some porno flick. She gets these ideas in her head for how her characters will have sex and then makes me act them out with her to see if they work. I’m not a damned contortionist. And neither is she, but she won’t admit it. Remember last April when she threw her back out ‘cleaning the basement’?” He made finger quotes in the air. “No, no. You wouldn’t believe the position she tried that nearly killed us both. Last night was the last straw. She jumped out of bed right in the middle of sex to consult her notes.”

  He stopped pacing and faced his brother. Dave sat, red-faced and trying his best to stifle laughter. “Oh, thanks. I knew I could count on you to be mature and supportive.”

  “I’m sorry, big brother. I still fail to see the problem. What, once a week you have to play at being a rock star in bed?”

  “Once? Try twice, three times. How am I supposed to keep coming up with new ideas?”

  Dave’s eyes widened. “Three times a week?” He slid back his chair, raised his arms, and bent from the waist. “I worship you. You’ll be the hero of the poker club.”

  “You can’t talk about this. I came to you in confidence. You can’t even say anything to Steph. This is private.”

  Dave walked to the counter to refill his coffee. On the way by, he slapped Mitch on the shoulder. “Look, you and Janie have one of the best marriages around. Steph and I look up to you two. You don’t want to stay here. You need to go home and make amends. Work this out.”

  Mitch shook his head. “No. It’s up to her to come to me.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Dave stared at him. “Is there more to this?”

  Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out, Mitch stared down at his shoes. “Maybe. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

  ~ * ~

  Steph sat on the stairs and stifled a gasp. Now she wished she hadn’t eavesdropped and heard Mitch’s last comment. Up to that point, the conversation had been rather amusing. Jane had already told her about the struggles of a writer to make the same old-same same-old seem fresh and new. She knew quite well how things could grow stale after years of marriage. She even consulted some of Janelle DuMonde’s books to spice things up for her and Dave between the sheets. And it worked. Jane was right to do the proper research.

  Rising quietly from the step where she had perched, Steph turned and tiptoed to her bedroom. What was she going to do now? Did she break confidences and tell Jane about Mitch’s conversation with his brother? Well, technically, she had been dismissed from the conversation without promising to keep confidences.

  Poor Jane. How must she be feeling about now with her husband walking out in the middle of sex? She had to get in touch with Jane right away and see how she was doing. Steph hurried to shower and dress. When she returned to the kitchen, Dave stood at the stove making breakfast. “Where’s Mitch?”

  “He’ll be back. He just went to pick up a few things. You want bacon?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just going to run an errand.”

  “You didn’t ask why Mitch would be back.” He removed the pan of eggs from the heat and set them aside. “You were listening, weren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop myself. I do have to go out, though. I forgot to do something important. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Make sure the boys don’t sleep all day.”

  “Give Janie my best.”

  She stopped and turned. “She’s my friend. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

  A car pulled into the driveway. Stephanie peered out the window to see Jane climb out of her Honda.

  “Hey, Dave. How soon is Mitch coming back?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because Jane’s here.�
��

  Jane tapped on the screen door and walked in. “Hi. Oh, were you on your way out?”

  Stephanie dropped her purse and keys onto the counter. “No. We were just going to have breakfast. Join us?”

  Jane shifted her gaze from Stephanie to Dave and back again. “I’m not hungry. Could I talk with you for a minute?”

  “Mitch was already here,” Dave said. “Sit down. You can at least have coffee and tell us what’s going on.”

  Jane sighed. “I’m sure your brother already told you.”

  “His version. We’d both like to hear yours, though.” Dave set a mug of coffee on the table and returned to his cooking. “I have to say, I was surprised. You two always seemed to be rock solid in the marriage department.”

  Jane sat down and sighed. “How much did Mitch tell you?”

  Dave looked to Stephanie, who shook her head. He plated up bacon and eggs and set them on the table, then sat. “I think he told me everything about, you know, your books and…everything.” His faced reddened.

  Stephanie leaned forward. “Jane, I think Mitch just needs to get some perspective. You know how fragile male egos can be.”

  “Hey, I’m sitting right here.” Dave frowned.

  “Some male egos. Look on the bright side, if Mitch stays here for a couple of days, you’ll know where he is and I can keep an eye on him for you. Give both of you a little break.” Stephanie nodded, hoping to elicit the same response from Jane.

  “So he came here prepared to stay,” she said quietly. “I see.” She stood and picked up her car keys. “I should leave, then, before he comes back. I imagine he took the opportunity to go to the house and gather up some of his things while I’m not there.”

  Stephanie reached for her friend’s hand. “Jane, this will work itself out. It’s just a speed bump.”

  Jane laughed. “Yeah, because Mitch and I were so speeding right along. Truthfully, things have been kind of dragging lately.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Dave mumbled.

  “What?” Jane whirled toward him.

  “I…uh… Nothing.” Dave stuffed his mouth with bacon.

  Stephanie glared at him and then softened her gaze as she turned back to Jane. “Honey, you and Mitch are strong. You’ll get past this and laugh at it a year from now. In the meantime, you need anything, call me. You want me to come over later and we’ll have a girls’ night—sappy movie, a bottle of wine and a good cry?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be okay. I’ll probably work half the night. I have a deadline to meet.”

  Stephanie walked Jane to her car and wrapped her in a tight hug. “It’s going to be okay. Dave will talk some sense into Mitch. I’ll see to that.”

  As Jane turned to open the car door, Mitch’s SUV pulled in behind her. He got out carrying a large suitcase and slammed the door.

  “Would you move, please?” Jane called.

  But he ignored her and kept walking around the other side of her car. Before Stephanie could intervene, Jane shouted more forcefully, “Mitch!”

  He stopped and turned. “What?”

  “Would you move your SUV? You’re in my way.”

  He dropped the suitcase and jammed a hand into his pocket, pulling out his keys. “That pretty much sums things up.”

  Chapter Three

  Jane stood in front of the half-emptied bedroom closet. Mitch had cleaned out his side. He did not plan to come home any time soon. She backed up and sat down hard on the bed. Her cell jangled and she pulled it from her pocket expecting it to be Mitch.

  “Mom, I’m gonna stay at Mark’s tonight. Okay?” Rob asked.

  “Don’t you need clean clothes?”

  “Nah, I’m good. See you tomorrow. Bye.”

  “Bye.” Alone. Jane fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tightness gripped her chest and tears stung her eyes. She sucked in her lower lip and bit down until it hurt, refusing to cry. Janelle DuMonde had gotten where she was today by writing strong, fierce heroines. Jane was not about to fold.

  She needed to get it together and focus. She had a deadline. She’d just have to make this work for her instead of against her. Closing her eyes, Jane summoned Natalie and Jackson, the heroine and hero of her current novel in progress. How could she funnel the emotions erupting in her into them? Drawing in a deep breath, she channeled Janelle DuMonde, lifted her body from the bed and headed for the den. It was going to be a long day and night.

  Jane stared at the computer screen for an hour without typing a single word. From the moment she sat down to write her first book, she had never encountered writer’s block. It was a foreign concept to her and totally unacceptable. She reread the last chapter, poised her fingers over the keys, and…. Nothing.

  As a last resort, she raced up the stairs and rummaged through the closet. The dress, the shoes, the attitude all awaited her. When she dressed the part of Janelle DuMonde: Romance Author, for her book signings, she felt different—a little saucy, a lot confident. Maybe dressing now as Janelle would help. She jammed her feet into six-inch stilettos.

  When she stood in front of the bathroom mirror at eleven a.m. on a Saturday morning applying Janelle’s false eyelashes and sweeping her chestnut brown hair up into a classy chignon, Jane briefly wondered if she was losing it. The last words she and Mitch had exchanged suddenly rang through her mind. “You’re in my way,” she had said. To which he replied, “That pretty much sums things up.”

  Was that how Mitch had been feeling all along? Their lives had changed after her first book was published and then contracted for a movie. People started to recognize her—well, to recognize Janelle. She was gaining momentum as a celebrity. They could barely go out to dinner now without someone approaching and asking for her autograph or gushing over her books. But she never pushed Mitch aside. He was supportive, not an obstacle. She always included him, introduced him as her husband. Her fans even started calling him Mr. DuMonde. He hadn’t seemed to mind.

  She applied Janelle’s trademark Scarlett Starlette lip gloss and smacked her lips together. Now she was ready to write.

  ~ * ~

  Mitch lugged the suitcase down the steps to the family room in his brother’s basement. His fourteen year old nephew, Bradley, lay in his boxers, sprawled on the sofa, snoring loudly.

  Mitch opened the luggage and removed his suits, still on their hangers, hoping to preserve them from wrinkling. He searched for a place to hang them, finally settling on the curtain rod in the downstairs shower. His shirts were still neatly folded and he cleared the desk top to set them out along with his ties. A thorough search of both pieces of luggage confirmed his fear—he had forgotten his shoes. He would need those for Monday morning.

  “Hell.” He’d have to go back and get them. No time like the present. He needed toothpaste, anyway.

  Bradley snorted, scratched his crotch, and rolled over on the sofa, drooling on the cushion. This was where Mitch would have to sleep? He shuddered.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stood at his front door, confused as to whether he should use his key or ring the bell. This was still his house. But he was the one who left. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” He jammed the key into the lock and opened the door. All was quiet. The garage door was closed, so he had no way of knowing if Jane was at home. Should he call out for her, or should he high-tail it up the stairs, grab his shoes, and run for it?

  He decided the latter was his best bet. He took the steps two at a time and turned in at their bedroom. The shoes sat on the floor of the closet. He snatched them up and hustled back down the stairs. Curious, he crept down the hall where he found the door to the den closed. So she was working. He could barely breathe and she was able to work? That put things into perspective.

  Without warning the door opened and he was face-to-face with Jane’s alter ego, Janelle.

  “Jesus, Mitch. You scared the life out of me.”

  He inspected her from head to toe. “You have a signing somewhere?”

  “No. I’m w
orking.”

  “You usually work in jeans and a tee shirt. What’s with the Janelle DuMonde get up?”

  “It isn’t ‘get up.’ I just find it easier to write sometimes if I get into character.”

  Mitch shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. Here’s a newsflash for you. You haven’t been out of character in three years.” He held up his shoes. “I just came to get these. Is Rob home yet?”

  “No, he’s staying at Mark’s tonight.”

  “I’ll call him tomorrow, then.” He turned back down the hall.

  “Wait. What are you going to say?”

  “That we’re taking a little break and I’m staying with Uncle Dave for a while.”

  She marched down the hall behind him, stilettos tapping on the hardwood. “We are not taking a break. You are. I did not tell you to leave.”

  “You didn’t ask me stay, either.” He reached the door and then paused. “You don’t need me, Jane. You need someone more bendy and with no needs of his own. You need Mr. DuMonde.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “You have to ask? Can we not do this now? Let’s take a few days to think.” He held the doorknob and looked back at her. “I love you. But right now, I don’t think I can live with you. Not the way things have been. Last night was the last straw. I have to wonder if you’ve ever been satisfied with me.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. This is unreal.”

  “Yes, exactly. That’s my whole point.” He pulled the door closed behind him.

  Mitch tossed his shoes onto the passenger’s seat and sat for a few minutes. He noticed Jane peering between the blinds from the living room window, watching. In over twenty years of marriage, with the exception of the nights Jane spent in the hospital after the births of Kristi and Rob and the rare occasions Mitch had to go out of town for business, they’d never slept apart. They’d had their share of arguments, but he’d never spent one night on the sofa and neither had she. They’d never gone to bed angry.