Better Than Your Dreams

by Dee Ernst

  “I’ll let you know,” I said carelessly, trying to hide my sudden jolt of sadness. I glanced at Carmella, who was watching Ben and me like she would a tennis match, her eyes shifting from one side of the table to the other.

  “What about Dad and Tyler?” Lauren asked. “I thought they’d be with us this year.”

  “And Grandma,” added Jessica. “And Aunt Rebecca.”

  “Well…” I started. I glanced at Carmella again, who was not jumping up to invite my entire extended family out to Brooklyn.

  “Obviously,” Lily said to Carmella, “you all will have to come here. It only makes sense, right, Mona?”

  I stared at Lily, then at Carmella, who was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Right.”

  I woke Monday morning alone. Except, of course, for Fred and the cats. The girls had all left by Sunday afternoon. Lily got picked up by Tony and was whisked off to Bay Ridge.

  I lay in bed as long as I could, then dragged my lonely butt out of bed, took a quick shower, and walked to work.

  There was a big detached garage behind the house, and over it was a small studio apartment. The chauffeur probably lived there back in the twenties when the house was first built. Now the space was my office, long and narrow, with a half bath at one end and a kitchenette at the other. It was there that I originally went to get away from my husband and kids to write alone and in peace.

  Now I could pretty much write alone anywhere in the house I wanted, but old habits died hard.

  Besides, Anthony was coming over, and we had to get my career back into high gear. It could take Sylvia months to get a contract on my new books, and months after that to actually cash any checks. I needed some royalties, and fairly quickly. I sat back on the overstuffed couch and drank coffee until he arrived.

  He climbed the stairs, unwrapped three scarves from his neck, shrugged out of his tweed jacket, then sat down next to me.

  “Tell me all the wedding plans.”

  “We have a wedding planner.” The good thing about that, I’d told myself, was that since I didn’t have to worry about details of the wedding, I could concentrate more on tearing my hair out with worry and frustration. “Vinnie’s daughter Carmella.”

  “As in Carmella Soprano? Oh, I just might die from happiness right here and now. What’s she like?”

  “Think Sophia Loren. In anything.”

  “Oh, my. What has she planned so far?”

  “Pretty much everything—where to get the dresses, flowers, finding the place, food—she’s very good at her job. Both Miranda and Lily are in capable hands.”

  “What has Miranda got to do with anything?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “Oh, right. I haven’t talked to you since Friday morning. Miranda is getting married.”

  He was silent, then broke into a crazy grin and hugged me. “Oh, Mona, how wonderful! But I didn’t even know she was dating anyone seriously.”

  “Me neither. It happened pretty fast—like, in the past three months.”

  He pulled back. “Well, that’s certainly not a very long time.”

  “No, I don’t think so either.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not over the moon with excitement?”

  I sighed. “No, not really.”

  “Hmmm. So, who’s the lucky young man?” Anthony thought all of my daughters were the smartest, sweetest, most special girls on earth.

  “David Cutler.”

  He started to laugh. “Oh, how funny is that? Ben’s last name is Cutler.”

  “Yes. And his son’s first name is David.”

  He stopped laughing. “No way.”

  I nodded. “Way.”

  “Wait a minute. Your daughter and Ben’s son are getting married?”

  I nodded.

  He took my coffee mug, got off the couch, walked over to the coffeepot, then returned with a steaming cup for himself and a refill for me. I could tell he was thinking hard.

  “You do know, don’t you, how extraordinary it is that my favorite family of women is marrying into my favorite family of men. I bet that Ben is going to propose any day now.”

  “He already did.”

  “What! Oh Mona, how wonderful! Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  “Because I didn’t say yes. In fact, Ben and I are taking a bit of a break.” It was hard to say the words. They caught in my throat. “Just to, you know, sort things out.”

  He put his coffee mug down slowly, staring down at the floor. Then suddenly he started to cry.

  “Oh, Anthony, please. It’ll be okay, honest.”

  He covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking.

  Anthony had been with me as my personal assistant for more than ten years. And for most of those years he had a deep and unwavering love for Ben Cutler. His crush was so intense that he used to become completely tongue-tied in Ben’s presence. Eventually they became friends. Now, even though Anthony had been with his partner Victor for some time, there was still a bit of lust in his heart. And he had great expectations about Ben and me being together.

  I put my arms around him. “Anthony, listen to me. Ben and I still love each other. We’re just having a difference of opinion about the kids getting married, and well, marriage in general. But it’s just a wrinkle. We’ll work it out.”

  “What difference of opinion?”

  “He thinks that it’s perfectly fine to get married to someone after knowing them a few months, and I don’t.”

  He jerked his head up. “Seriously?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it’s not perfectly fine.” He sniffed. “In fact, it’s almost stupid. And he’s okay with it? I guess it’s good to find out there’s at least one thing wrong with the man. But you won’t hold it against him forever, will you?”

  “No.”

  “Promise?”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Anthony, I can’t make promises like that. But I’ll try, okay?”

  He sniffed. “And what about you?”

  “As much as I love Ben, I don’t want to be married again. It’s not about him; it’s all me. And that’s how I feel right now.” I gave him a quick hug. “But do you really think I’d just let Ben go? I mean, he’s one of the best people in the world. I’ll never give him up without a fight.”

  He wiped his face with his palms and took a long, shuddering breath. “The two of you belong. You’re perfect together. I can’t imagine you being with anyone else. And it’s not just because he’s so damn good looking.”

  “I know.”

  “Although that’s kind of part of it.”

  I smiled. “I know.”

  He twisted his lips. “Is she pregnant?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s good. They are going to make beautiful babies. You know that, right?”

  “Right. But not anytime soon.”

  “You and Ben could also make beautiful babies.”

  If I had been drinking my coffee, I would have spewed it all over myself. “Are you crazy? I’m going to be fifty, Anthony. Not right away, but in the next few years.”

  He smiled slyly. “It’s been done before.”

  “And may very well be done again, but not by me.”

  He had calmed down enough to reach for his coffee and settle back against the couch. “I trust you, Mona. I have faith that you and Ben will soon be back to your happy couple hood. And I’m sure that Miranda will be happy. I mean, come on—Ben’s son? What’s not to love there?”

  I sighed. “This is kinda hard.”

  He put his coffee mug down again and took both of my hands. “I’m sure it is,” he said very seriously. “You do know, don’t you, that whatever you decide, I’m behind you one hundred and ten percent?”

  I squeezed his hands. “Thank you.”

  “Now, I read your new stuff, and it’s great, but we have to start working on this backlist thing,” he said, letting go of my hands and putting on his business face. “I found formatters and a few
cover artists. We need to start preparing ourselves. This self-publishing is a lot more work than I thought. And you need to get going on this so you can make some money and give me a raise.”

  “What have you done to deserve a raise?” I asked, smiling.

  “I want to put in an in-ground pool at the house.”

  “Of course. Okay, let’s get started.”

  I came of age in the land of feminism. I had always scorned the woman who felt so insecure that she felt the need to use her sexuality to get what she wanted, rather than her brains, strength, and will. I had made a career for myself—and a very successful one—without having to sleep with anyone to get what I needed. I never even used sex as a weapon—or enticement—in my marriage. I knew that I was the type of woman certain men found attractive, and I had been known to shamelessly flirt with waiters to get faster service, but I never thought of myself as a femme fatale, using my feminine wiles to prey on unsuspecting men. I was better than that.

  So I wasn’t sure what I was thinking, exactly, when I went into Bloomingdale’s and bought one hundred and sixty-seven dollars’ worth of black lingerie. I did know that when I got home and tried everything on, I was satisfied enough to call Ben and ask if he was busy, and if he wasn’t, could I drop by? Maybe for a drink? After all, we were both adults, and we had things to discuss. It was perfectly natural for me to want to see him, right? And if I managed to remind him of what the two of us once were and could be again, well, that was all right too.

  He said yes.

  I found the only pair of black spiked heels I owned, a pair that I had worn once in California but never again because of the sharp pain they inflicted on all ten of my toes. But I didn’t care—I wasn’t planning on keeping them on for that long. I threw my camel hair coat over my black lace bustier, black satin tap pants, black stockings held up by a black garter belt with tiny red bows, and headed out the door.

  I pulled into his driveway with my heart pounding. I had spent the entire drive over running scenarios in my head. Since I was a romance writer by trade, you can imagine that the ground was pretty fertile, so I arrived in a state of what we romance types like to call “heightened arousal.” I was ready to jump his bones. I checked myself in the rearview mirror, fluffed my hair, got out of the car, then went up to the front door.

  He answered right away, handsome and smiling. “I’m glad you called,” he said. My heart jumped into my throat. Right inside the foyer, I knew, was a nice oaken coatrack, the kind with a bench for sitting and pulling on winter boots. It could also be used for other things that could be done in a sitting position, and I was walking through the first few steps in my head when he reached back to that selfsame coatrack and brought forth a coat.

  “I thought we’d walk into town. That jazz piano player you like is playing; you know the one? We can have a few drinks there. It’s a great night for walking. What do you think?”

  He was already in his coat and closing the door behind him. What did I think? I thought that he was taking this whole “take a break” thing a lot more seriously than I was. I felt suddenly foolish, thinking I could just walk in, flash some skin, and make everything all better. I also felt that it didn’t matter how great the night was; walking eight blocks in those heels was going to kill my feet. But I smiled and linked my arm through his. “Perfect!”

  We took a few steps. “You’re taller,” he said. “Are you wearing heels?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, laughing a little. “Breaking them in, you know.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t know. But I’ll take your word for it. Do they hurt?”

  “Just a little,” I lied.

  Ben wasn’t a big talker under the best of circumstances, and since the air between us was so unsettled, we mostly made comments about the weather and local politics as we walked. It took only three blocks for my toes to start hurting, and by the time we arrived at the bar, my entire left foot was in agony, and the right foot was not far behind. Luckily there was a small table by the door, so I could sit down right away.

  Ben was still standing. “Do you want me to hang up your coat?”

  “Ah, no, thanks. A bit chilly right here.”

  “Do you want to stand by the bar?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, This is fine. Really.”

  I scooted under the table, turned in my chair to cross my legs, then felt the coat open to my thigh. I looked down. The top of the stocking and the tip of the garter belt were in plain view. Damn. I tugged to close the coat and smiled brightly as the waitress came by.

  “Vodka martini,” I told her. “Straight up, with an olive. And keep them coming.”

  “Ah, Mona,” Ben said gently. “Don’t you have to drive home?”

  Ooookay then. I lifted my chin. “You’re right. Make that a white wine. Pinot.”

  Ben ordered a beer and sat back. “I’m glad you called. I want to give you a heads up. I gave David Ellen’s engagement ring before he went back to Boston. He’s having it resized. He’ll give it to Miranda at Thanksgiving, I think.”

  I felt a rush of emotion that pushed aside all the confusion and disappointment I had been feeling about Ben. Ellen had been David’s mother, Ben’s first wife. The very first woman he’d ever loved. The woman who had made him believe in love at first sight. And my daughter would be getting her ring. “Oh, Ben, how lovely. Miranda will be so excited. She hadn’t expected a ring.”

  When Miranda had mentioned quite calmly at the breakfast table the previous Sunday that she didn’t care if she got an engagement ring or not, Lauren and Jessica had joined me in staring in utter disbelief. Miranda, for all her amazing qualities, had a few less than admirable traits, and her blatant and unapologetic materialism had always been one of them. This was the girl who took a second job one summer so she could buy UGG boots in every color. And she didn’t want a ring?

  Ben grinned. “David and I had quite a conversation about Miranda. He’s well aware of all her, well, shortcomings, and realizes that she’s trying very hard to change for his benefit. She knows he’s saving all his money for a house. But he knows she’d do anything for a big, bright diamond ring. He was getting ready to sell his Corvette.” David had a classic ’63 Corvette that he had bought when he graduated high school and had been taking years to restore it. Last I heard, it was almost finished. “That’s why I offered him Ellen’s ring.”

  I was getting teary. “That is so sweet. I mean, both of them. Kind of a ‘Gift of the Magi’ thing.”

  “That’s what happens when two people really want to spend the rest of their lives together. They’re willing to make sacrifices without even thinking about it.” The waitress had arrived with our drinks. Ben took a sip of beer, watching me over the rim of his mug. “Know what I mean?”

  I stared into my wineglass. The door opened, and a blast of cold air shot up the hem of my coat and hit the bare skin of my left thigh. I shivered. “Yes, Ben. I know.” I took a quick sip. So, my plan for a quick and spontaneous seduction was obviously off the table. Even a slow and carefully planned seduction was out if he’d already decided I wasn’t going to spend the night. Now I felt really stupid. I should have known better. Ben never said anything that he didn’t mean, and he had said he wanted distance. I tightened the belt of my coat.

  “When does the piano guy start?” I asked.

  Ben nodded slightly. “Pretty soon. Nine, I think. Are you sure you don’t want to take off your coat?”

  Despite the door opening and closing, and the semi constant breeze going up my legs into just-one-man’s-land, the place was getting warm. In fact, there was a thin line of sweat along the back of my neck where the wool collar was rubbing. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  “Carmella seems nice. I bet she’s very good at her job,” Ben said very casually, but my radar went into overdrive.

  “Yes. And she’s very attractive, if you like the black-widow type.”

  “Yeah, what’s the story there? Lily started telling me he
r husband was knocked off?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently. He was on a routine assignment for his wife’s family, and he disappeared for a week. When they found him, there was concrete and an oil drum involved.”

  Ben shook his head. “It must have been tough, raising two boys alone.”

  “How do you know she has two boys?” My grip tightened on the stem of the wineglass.

  “She called me Monday night.”

  I almost snapped the wineglass in half. “Oh? About the wedding?”

  “Yes. She just needed some info, you know, names for the guest list. We got to talking.”

  “And are her sons in the family business?”

  He shook his head. “No. Trevor is in cooking school, and Paulie is over in France, studying art.”

  “Paulie?” Wait. Ben was calling her kids by their nicknames?

  “Her oldest. She wanted them as far away from her father and uncle as she could get them.”

  “Well, bravo for her for good parenting skills. I’m sure if my father were an underworld impresario, I’d want my girls off doing something else with their lives.”

  Ben looked at me shrewdly. “Underworld impresario? Hmmm. And just think, he’s marrying into your family.”

  “True. But I trust Lily to keep him in line.” I finished off my wine. A bead of sweat was running down the middle of my back, and the underwire of that fancy lace bustier was poking a hole in the skin under my right arm. The door opened, and two couples crowded the door, holding it open while they spent at least three hours looking to see if there was a place to sit, letting in another chilly gust.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to move?” Ben asked.

  “No, really. Besides, I’ve got a great view of the piano,” I lied. I did, provided about thirty people, seven tables, and a few dozen chairs moved out of the way.

  I flagged the waitress and asked for water, and Ben and I sat in silence. It was a good silence—we had always been able to sit together without talking, enjoying looking at the people around us, relaxing in each other’s company.