by Carol Snow
“I want to see the Ducks!” He burst into tears.
Stupid Hank, stupid Darcy, stupid Ducks. And now I looked like the bad guy. Again.
“It’s fine,” I told Hank, my chest hurting. “Really. Ben and I can celebrate on Friday.” I turned around to face my damp-faced son. “We’ll go to Lomeli’s for dinner—okay, Benji? And then to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream.”
He nodded through his tears.
“You sure?” Hank asked.
“Sure,” I forced myself to say.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I tried to smile.
Chapter Three
What an asshole,” my friend Nina said a week later, lounging on my bed with a glass of white wine as I wiggled into a form-fitting brown turtleneck dress.
“Hank feels bad.”
“Don’t defend him.” She slid off the bed and tottered into the next room to refill her glass, taking small steps to keep from toppling over in her enormous silver heels.
“What do you think of this dress?” I asked from the doorway.
She squinted and shook her head. “Don’t you have anything sluttier? You look like you’re going to a PTA meeting.”
Nina, who was actually the elementary school PTA treasurer, had gone all-out for my birthday dinner, in tight white jeans, a low-cut turquoise silk top, and many pounds of rhinestone jewelry. She was taking me to dinner in Los Angeles—at the Ivy, no less. Her husband, Mike, would stay home with their two kids, Rachel and Carson. She’d invited Terri Sheffler, whose son Tyler was in the same class as Ben and Carson, to come with us. I didn’t especially like Terri, but she didn’t drink and had agreed to drive.
Back in the bedroom, I dug through the overstuffed closet that I shared with Ben. “Nope—nothing slutty. Maybe I’ll just wear jeans.”
I didn’t even want to go to L.A. In fact, I had no desire to go out at all, as much as I appreciated Nina’s efforts. All I wanted was to sit on my couch and wait for Ben to come home.
That morning, he’d bounded out of bed and into the living room. Ben was a noisy sleeper, so when he was with me I slept on the couch. Our quarters were tight—just two rooms and a kitchenette in a little guesthouse.
Ben grabbed my arm and shook me awake. I had a moment of happiness as I waited for him to say, “Happy Birthday, Mom!”
Instead, he’d asked, “What time am I going to Dad and Darcy’s?”
Nina’s voice brought me back to the present. “We should go shopping sometime,” she said. “Did I show you the cute purse I got at Roadkill last week?” Roadkill was Nina’s favorite store in town.
“I can’t afford to go shopping.”
Nina slipped off the bed and tottered over to the closet. “Where’s that black sundress you wore to our barbecue last summer? Mike said it made you look hot.”
Hank had never told me that any of my friends looked hot. I’d thought that meant I could trust him.
I dug out the black sundress, which looked like it belonged over a bathing suit. “I’ll freeze,” I said.
“You’ll just have to drink more,” Nina replied. “That’ll keep you warm.”
Two hours later, I realized that there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to get me through the evening. The fun started when Terri circled the Ivy for ten minutes, looking for parking, because she refused to pay the valet. Finally, after walking several extremely long blocks past half a dozen trendy boutiques with size 0 mannequins in the windows, we limped across the brick patio to the hostess stand.
“Inside or outside?” the pretty young woman queried.
“Whichever is better,” Nina said.
“It’s really a matter of personal preference.”
Terri craned her head this way and that, trying to peer beyond the French doors. “Will we see any celebrities?”
“It’s entirely possible.”
We wound up sitting outside, near the hostess stand, because the night was warm (though not warm enough for a sundress) and we could see celebrities coming in and out—though as far as I could tell, the only people eating here were middle-aged tourists hoping to brush elbows with the glitterati. A weathered picket fence, dripping with roses, surrounded the patio. White cloths covered the tables, while red-and-white checked cushions softened the iron chairs.
As soon as we settled into our seats, Terri—who’d scored the spot closest to the propane heater—leaned her elbows on the table.
“So did you suspect anything?” she asked me. “Did you think Hank was fooling around?”
A potted African violet sat in the middle of the table, next to a flickering candle.
“No.”
“Because if John ever fooled around—which he just wouldn’t, he’s not that kind of person—I’d definitely sense a change.”
When the waiter showed up to take our drink order, I thought she’d let it drop. Instead, after requesting a Sprite, she picked up as if there had been no interruption.
“But John and I have been married for thirteen years, plus we went out for five years before that, so it’s different. And plus, I just know he’d never look at another woman. Till death do us part and all that.”
She plucked a piece of flatbread from the basket on the table, snapped off a piece, and chewed contentedly.
At least the service was good. Our waiter glided back with our drinks and smiled expectantly while we took our first sips. Like all of the staff, he wore a flowered tie with his button-down pink shirt. His pants were white. He wore his dark hair gelled behind his ears.
“Appetizers?” he purred, checking the other two faces before settling on mine.
“No, thanks. But I think we’re ready to order dinner.” I just wanted to get this over with and go home. Besides, this place was expensive, and I didn’t want to waste Nina’s money.
“I’ll have another cosmo,” Nina said, already halfway through the pink liquid in her martini glass.
“Of course.” The waiter nodded at Nina and then returned his gaze to me. My ringless left hand lay on the table. I tucked it in my lap.
“The lobster ravioli appetizer,” Terri said, frowning at her open menu. “Are they like regular ravioli, only with lobster?”
“Better,” the waiter said.
“Fine. I’ll have them. And the corn, whatever. Chowder. I haven’t figured out what I want for my main course yet.”
“No worries.” He turned and gave me a Lifetime movie-of-the-week smile. “How do you like your martini?”
“Good.” It was too strong. I’d really just wanted a glass of wine, but Nina had insisted I order something “fun.”
“Another one?”
“No, thanks.” I’d hardly had any of the first.
“Yes!” Nina slapped the table. “She wants one!”
“Fine,” I said. It was easier than arguing.
The waiter beamed at me. “Would you like to try something different? Maybe something not on the menu? Do you want me to surprise you?”
“Sure,” I said. “Surprise me.”
Nina watched him walk away and then said, “He is so into you. I told you that dress was hot.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s just looking for a good tip.”
“C’mon, he’s cute. Don’t you think the waiter’s cute, Terri?”
“A little flashy.” She continued to frown at the menu. “I think I’ll just get the steak.”
Nina wasn’t going to let it go. “I mean, he’s no Ken Drucker . . .” She grinned.
I rolled my eyes. Everyone thought Ken Drucker and I were a perfect match because we had so much in common. We were both divorced. We both lived in Fullerton. We both—well, that was about it.
I had no interest in Ken Drucker. I had no interest in the waiter. When I married Hank at twenty-two, I thought my life was set. I didn’t even know what interest felt like.
I slapped my menu shut and placed it on the table. “I’m just going to have a burger.” I selected a piece of savory bread from the basket in t
he middle of the table, slathered it with butter, and was about to take a bite when—
“Caught ya!”
I froze and stared at the fit blond woman who had appeared at my side. She wore a simple white tank top, well-fitting blue jeans, and arty glass jewelry. When she saw my stunned expression, her smile grew even larger.
“Look how white that bread is. Whole grains only! You know that! As far as your body’s concerned, eating a piece of this bread is like eating a great big scoop of sugar.” Her voice was nasal, her accent vaguely Midwestern.
“I’m just—hungry.”
“Hunger is okay!” She moved her hands as she spoke. Her glass rings shone in the candlelight. “You’re listening to your body—that’s good! But you wouldn’t put cheap fuel in your car, would you? Same thing! You shouldn’t put cheap fuel in your body.”
“I put cheap fuel in my car all the time.”
The blond woman laughed like that was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. I checked Nina’s face. Was this some kind of prank? I wouldn’t put it past her, but I would have expected something more along the lines of male strippers bearing Jell-O shots. But, no: Nina and Terri looked just as confused as I did.
“I love your hair.” The blond woman reached out to touch a strand.
“Uh, thanks.” Nina had convinced me to curl it and wear it down. She’d also pressed me to wear makeup and jewelry. It was all supposed to make me feel festive. Instead, it just weighed me down.
“The blond was nice for a change,” the woman said. “But it was a little too Courtney Love, if you know what I’m saying. Besides, brown complements your complexion better. Have you ever considered auburn highlights?”
I shook my head in confusion—and then, finally, I got it. I would have figured things out much sooner if only the woman had been eleven years old and wearing a Kitty and the Katz T-shirt.
“I’m not Haley Rush.”
She smiled as if I were joking and then her face froze and her eyes grew wide. “You’re . . . not. Oh. My God. This is just—I’ve never . . . Wow.”
“Do you actually know Haley Rush?” Nina asked.
“Yes! I’m her food coach—we’re extremely close. Don’t tell anyone, but Haley has a major weakness for Twinkies.” She leaned closer to study my face. “This is just . . . astonishing. You could be twins.” She held out her hand. “Sasha Reese.” Her fingers were cold and bony.
“Veronica Czaplicki.”
“Really?” She stared at me for a moment more. “Is it okay if I take your picture?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled out her cell phone and aimed it at my face.
“Sure,” I said, as she clicked.
“I can’t wait to show this to Jay.”
“Leno?” Terri asked, brightening.
Sasha gave Terri a once-over: the curled and sprayed hair, the conservative black-and-white dress, the double chin. “No.”
Dinner was okay. The burger filled me up, and I got a kick out of all the diners sneaking glances my way. When he brought my second custom martini (which I disliked as much as the first, only for different reasons), the waiter actually said, “I love your work.”
I said, “I love yours, too.”
And he laughed and laughed and finally said, “This isn’t my real work,” because, you know, he’s just waiting tables until he can break into “the business.”
I said he just had to believe in himself, and can I have some ketchup to go with my burger?
As we ate, Terri asked if I thought that Hank had fooled around before Darcy. I shrugged and said, “Dunno,” as if the thought had never crossed my mind. And then I took a really big bite of my burger so I wouldn’t have to say anything more.
As Nina was finishing up her third cosmopolitan and Terri was sucking down the last bites of her fudge pecan brownie, a man dodged around the tables and stopped next to me. He wore a black T-shirt, torn blue jeans, black Vans sneakers, and an expensive-looking silver watch. His brown hair was straight and overgrown—just long enough to tuck behind his ears. His eyes were dark and sharp.
He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. “Amazing.”
Was he going to ask for an autograph? I squirmed in my seat. “I’m not Haley Rush.”
He crossed his arms and continued to study me. “I know.”
“Then why—”
“I’m Jay.”
“I’m confused,” I admitted.
He smiled, which made his eyes crinkle. “I’m Haley Rush’s manager.”
“Oh. Well.” That explained things. Sort of. “Congratulations. I guess.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Does it happen a lot—people mistaking you for Haley?”
“Sometimes.”
“Constantly,” Nina blurted.
Terri took a break from licking the chocolate off her fork to say, “You know, I don’t really like that show, what’s it called? Kitty and the Pussies?”
Nina howled, but I don’t think Terri was trying to be funny. She continued, “It’s just not believable that someone could go to medical school and tour with a rock band at the same time.”
If her assessment bothered Jay, he didn’t let it show.
“You even sound a little like her,” he told me.
“I sing like her, too.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Jay’s cell phone rang. Well, actually, it sang: some tinny pop sound. He held up an index finger to tell me to wait. (We hadn’t gotten the bill yet; of course we’d wait.)
“See?” Nina told Terri. “You got to meet a celebrity.”
“I don’t think he counts,” Terri said.
“What is it?” Jay said into the phone, sounding tense. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just tell her I’ll get it on my way home.” He crossed his spare arm over his chest. “Realistically? Twenty minutes. Thirty, tops.”
The waiter appeared with the bill. “It was an honor to serve you,” he told me. Seriously. He said that. And then he placed the bill between Terri and Nina, which I appreciated far more than all of his sucking up.
Nina opened the leatherette folder. Terri leaned over to look.
“Should we just divide by three?” Nina said.
“Well, you know, I didn’t have any alcohol.” Terri straightened in her chair. “So it’s really fairer if we divide the food by three and then you and Veronica split the rest.” I’d assumed Terri would split the cost of my meal with Nina, but, whatever. Nina could afford it.
Still on the phone, Jay hissed, “Just tell her she has to wait.” He pushed the end-call button hard with his thumb and slipped the phone into his pocket. He smiled. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.”
“So . . . Veronica, is it? That’s what Sasha told me.”
I nodded.
“Are you local, Veronica?”
“I live in Fullerton.”
“Where?”
“Fullerton. It’s in Orange County.”
He wrinkled his nose, just a little.
“Just north of Anaheim,” I added.
“Ahh.” He wrinkled his nose a lot.
Terri held up the bill. “Okay, so I owe thirty-six dollars and you guys each owe sixty-one.” Un-frickin-believable. She’d eaten more than Nina and I combined.
Nina reached for her Liz Claiborne purse. I felt bad that she was getting stuck spending so much for the two of us, but bringing Terri along had been her idea. She pulled some bills out of her wallet and dropped them in the middle of the table.
Wait a minute: three twenties and a one? That covered her, but what about me? Nina knew I couldn’t afford a place like this. I caught her eye and waited for her to register the mistake. Instead, she grinned drunkenly and said, “We could go dancing. You want to go dancing?”
“I’ve gotta get home,” Terri said, rubbing her belly. “The boys won’t sleep until I’ve kissed them good night.”
“I better use the potty, then,” Nina pushed back her iron c
hair. It squealed against the worn bricks. “Come with me, Terri.” She grinned at Jay and then at me, wiggling her eyebrows.
I scowled at her. Not interested. It’s not that he wasn’t cute enough; actually, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and trim build, he was just my type. (Hank hadn’t been my type at all.) But if and when I ever started dating, I’d limit myself to guys with normal jobs and grown-up clothes.
Once Nina and Terri were out of sight, Jay slipped into Nina’s chair. “Do you mind?” he asked (a little late).
“Of course not.”
He nibbled on his thumb and studied my face. “Do you work, Veronica?”
“I’m a substitute teacher.”
He nodded, considering. “So, your hours are . . . flexible.”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
His phone rang (sang) again. He angled away from me, but I caught every word. “I said I’d get it and I’ll get it. Soon. She can wait. Twenty minutes. Well, I mean it this time. Don’t leave her alone!”
“Problems?” I asked once he’d hung up.
“Oh, no.” He chuckled. “Haley’s got this addiction to Pinkberry—you know, the frozen yogurt? It’s tart instead of sweet? Her assistant was just calling to see if I could pick some up for her.”
“Her assistant works Saturday nights?”
“He’s not working, really, he’s just—hanging out. They’re friends.”
Our waiter came by, obviously thrilled to have an excuse to hover, and asked Jay if he wanted something to eat. Or to drink? Some bread? Water? Anything?
By the time Jay finished saying no, no, no, no, no, Terri and Nina were winding their way around tables.
Jay pulled a business card out of his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “I’d love to talk to you about a possible job opportunity,” he said quietly. “Later. Away from all of these people. Just—don’t tell your friends about it, okay?”
I didn’t agree, just slipped the card into my pocketbook.
He popped out of the chair.
“Jay! Don’t leave!” Nina said, approaching the table. “We’d love to have you join us for coffee. Or maybe a drink?”
