Lauren Takes Leave

by Gerstenblatt, Julie

“Saturday night. I don’t want to end up like that husband in the court case. Or the tennis instructor.” I can hear him smile.

  “Saturday night. At Jodi’s dancing event at her temple? It’s a date.”

  “Lauren, I love you,” he says. “I want our life back.” He sighs. “Good luck deliberating.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ve made up my mind now,” I say, wondering whether Doug knows we are speaking in code.

  “That’s good. That’s great!” Doug declares. “And Lauren?”

  “Yeah?” I giggle, high on a newfound interest in my own husband.

  “Send my love to Jodi and Kat, would you?”

  Chapter 20

  Sobustedsobustedsobustedsobustedsobusted!

  How does he know?

  What does he know?

  I am trying to find my partners in crime to tell them that we’ve been found out—somehow, to what extent I’m not sure—but the crowd has grown so thick with bodies that it’s hard to see past the person in front of me, much less around the whole space.

  So instead I grab some strapping young college boy and ask him to dance. Maybe I can have a good time in Miami without damaging my marriage any more than I already have.

  The funny thing is, I think, shaking my hips and trying to get into the music, is that Doug didn’t sound mad. Not at all.

  Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe what he really said was, Let’s buy a cat.

  It is certainly possible, with all that noise and all that alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, that I misheard him. Right?

  The guy I’m dancing with is twenty-one, tops. He’s youthfully skinny, with long arms and a pronounced Adam’s apple. He’s looking at me really strangely. “Where you from?” he asks, trying to make polite conversation.

  “New York!” I shout. “You?”

  A shadow crosses his face, and then he breaks into a huge grin. “Mrs. Worthing?” he asks. “I thought that was you!”

  “Johnny?” Second period. Sixth-grade English. About a decade ago. Fourth row, second seat. B-plus student. “Johnny Dawes?” I’m going to be sick.

  He laughs. “It’s Jon now.”

  “Of course it is.” I nod solemnly, not wanting to laugh in his cute (very cute, maybe even sexy—stop it, Lauren, for God’s sake, he was your student!) face. It’s amazing how boys do that, grow up and become men. Men like Jon, here, with all these muscles peeking out from under the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

  I am foul and awful and horrid.

  We’re still dancing, though I’ve reined in the gyrating and am now doing a 50’s-style sway. I’m going to look uncoordinated and uncool, but that’s better than being pegged as a cougar. The song is a sexy rap number. Usher’s lyrics “I want to make love in this club / in this club” float past me and I cringe in humiliation.

  What would be worse? To stop dancing or to pretend this is normal? I go for normal. “How’s your mom?” I shout over the noise. How’s your mom?

  “She’s fine, thanks.”

  Which one of us is going to stop the madness? Unless. I look at Jon’s face. He’s giving me the eye. It’s like he’s into me.

  Don’t get me wrong: I want to be wanted. Just not by a twenty-one-year-old who could never tell the difference between the homophones their, there and they’re.

  At least he’s legal, I think. Neither one of us really has anything to hide. It’s just a harmless dance.

  Except that I’m married and I used to be his teacher.

  “Hey?” Jon asks. “How come you’re not in school?”

  Oh, and that.

  I jog my alcohol-soaked brain for an answer. “I’m here on a conference, with…some other teachers.” Which is sort of true.

  “Cool.” He doesn’t really care. “I go to college in Massachusetts,” he says, “with those guys.” He points to where Jodi is dancing with two beautiful specimens of fraternity life.

  “Oh, that’s my friend with them! I’ve been looking for her!”

  “Hey, I think that friend of yours is giving Steve and Patrick her number,” Jon comments.

  “No, I’m sure she isn’t,” I counter. Jon shrugs.

  So now I’m curious. I turn to see that, indeed, Jodi’s BlackBerry is the center of that little group’s attention. She holds it as they all talk and dance at the same time. She’s smiling and laughing and typing something on her phone.

  “Do you mind?” I call out to Jon, gesturing that we should dance our way over to them.

  “Hi-yyy,” Jodi says, enveloping me in a one-armed hug.

  “Hi?” I say. “I have a weird question for you?” I decide to hold off on telling her about Doug, since I’ve decided not to trust what I think he said.

  “Okaaay,” she purrs. Her pink floaty top moves back and forth with the music, and her hips sway slowly. “Say hi to Pat and Steve. They go to Harvard.” Johnny Dawes goes to Harvard? This really is a parallel universe.

  “How nice for them. And Jon,” I add, smiling over at these boys. “Hey, Jon, come here and meet my friend Jodi.”

  “Mrs. Moncrieff?” Jon asks, clearly shocked by his double-whammy of good fortune. Van Halen was right: I’m hot for teacher.

  “What the fu—?” Jodi says, stopping herself short from dropping the whole f-bomb in front of one of her former third graders. “Johnny Dawes?”

  “Hi!” he says, smiling in a way that reveals the little boy underneath all the years.

  “It’s Jon now,” I say.

  “Nice one, Lauren.” Jodi whispers.

  “He’s legal, not jailbait,” I assure her.

  “Oh, good. Now I feel much better,” she says sarcastically.

  “Hey, Jon says that you were taking down his friends’ phone numbers just before. On your BlackBerry.”

  “What?” Again, she looks at me like I’m crazy. “Oh!” She laughs and takes her phone back out of her tiny purse. “The boys from Harvard here said that they thought I was hot. So, first I told them that they were correct, naturally. And then I told them that I’m old enough to be their mother’s much younger sister.”

  On the screen of her BlackBerry glows an image of Jodi’s three daughters, taken last summer on the Cape.

  “I was like, this is Jossie, and she’s eight, and Lyndsay is six, and my baby Dylan is already five! Can you believe it? And here they are skiing, and here they are at the ballet recital…” she says, flipping through the pictures.

  We look up at Steve’s horrified face. “You mean… you’re…MILFs?”

  “And they were my teachers back in Hadley!” Jon adds.

  Steve immediately grabs Pat and Jon and heads for the exit as Jodi and I die of laughter.

  “Bye, Johnny!” I call. “See you at homecoming!”

  I make the definite decision not to tell her or Kat what Doug said. Why spoil her good time?

  Plus, if I heard him correctly and he’s not buying the kids a cat, then what does he know, exactly? That we’re together. So what? Maybe he thinks we’re all hanging out at some hotel in New York City or something. Atlantic City, maybe.

  I quit deliberating any more and decide to believe that.

  We find Tim, Lenny and Kat together by the bar, where we agree to do just one more shot of Jäger. I swallow my pride and tell Lenny that he looked great dancing with those women.

  “One of them called me Justin Timberlike!” Lenny laughs. Then he gets kind of pensive. “Can you and I…take a walk for a minute?”

  “Um…sure,” I say. A half hour ago, I was sort of dreading this conversation. But the fresh alcohol moving steadily through my bloodstream creates a blurry sensibility that makes it all okeydokey.

  “So…” he begins. I think he’s going to bring on a breakup speech, which my ego can’t handle right now.

  “I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided that you should totally keep flirting with strangers tonight,” I jump right in. “I mean, unless you just want to keep playing the field and fuck that redhead over there,” I sort-of jok
e.

  He balks, confused. “Who?”

  I point her out. He shakes his head quickly back and forth.

  “That’s Kelly! She’s my half sister’s college roommate. I just ran into her by accident and had to give her a big hello. Random, right?”

  “So random,” I say, trying to backtrack, but Lenny won’t let it go that fast.

  “You’re disgusting, Worthing. She’s, like, twenty! On spring break!”

  “Oh,” I manage, flushing slightly. These spring breakers are really confusing.

  “In case this wasn’t clear,” he says, his voice rising, “I came here for you.”

  “But—” I start.

  “And, in case this also wasn’t clear, you haven’t given me the time of day since I arrived. Until that intensely amazing sucking-face session, which ended with you pushing me away.” He’s angry now, his hands gesturing broadly. “Maybe I should just text you right now and you’ll eagerly respond. But in person? Nada.”

  His indignation makes me squirm; it’s hard to find something to say in response. You’re right? I lured you here and now I’m avoiding you like in some adolescent game? I’m so sorry for leading you on? I had no right to toy with your feelings like that? Look at what a mess I’ve made?

  And then, just as Lenny starts walking away from me, I find my way through this emotionally foggy mess. “Wait a fucking minute, Lenny!”

  This stops him dead in his tracks. He turns, his shoulders drop. He waits. “What?”

  “What? How about this!” I’m feeling some nice rage myself now. “I. Didn’t. Ask. You. To. Come. Here. You did this, not me!” He bows his head and comes closer to me, until I’m eye-to-eye with his chest. I take my pointer finger and star poking him with it. “I flew to Miami to avoid real life, to get away from everyday dramas, to have a fun vacation with my friends. Not to have sex with you! Honestly!” The music has stopped for some reason and the whole club is staring at the two of us.

  “Make some fucking noise, people!” Kat calls, just as some cheesy Top 40 starts up again.

  I try again, softer this time. “We were just flirting. I thought you knew that.” I shake my head and try to pin down all the contradictory emotions I’m feeling, but they are on a moving target. “But still, I guess it’s no excuse. We’re both adults. I should have known better, I should have thought ahead to where flirting with you could lead.”

  Lenny takes my hand away from where it has been stabbing him and steadies it with his own two hands. “Lauren. How long have we known each other?” He stoops down and looks me in the eyes.

  “Since second grade. I can’t do the math on that. Even when I’m sober.”

  “A long time. So long that I know just how bad you suck at math. You cried after every quiz in Mr. Grady’s fifth-grade class.”

  “For the record, he was an asshole.”

  “Agreed. And maybe me, too. Maybe I’ve been an asshole for coming here, for putting you in this position.”

  He stops and I stare at him. “You mean, you aren’t going to follow that up with some kind of teaser, like, ‘But if I could get you into any position…’”

  He laughs. “I’m trying really hard to be aboveboard here, Lauren! Don’t remind me of all the dirty things I could say. That’s how we got into this mess to begin with.”

  “So…we both fucked up here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, mostly you did.” I smile.

  “I’ll accept that extra dig only because I get to hang out with Tim Cubix and talk shop.”

  “I’m going to miss flirting with you,” I say, going for honesty. “I kind of don’t want that to be over. Bad as flirting is, for us and for my marriage and stuff, I can’t deny that it is…really fun. Truth is, I kind of want to keep you and have my life back.”

  Which I cannot believe I am admitting to anyone, least of all Lenny, but there it is. In vino veritas.

  “You dream big,” Lenny laughs. “A woman who wants it all.” He puts on a fake voice about an octave higher than his normal one. “‘Waiter, I’ll have a stable husband with a side of dirty flirting, please, medium-well.’”

  It’s embarrassing, hearing your own desires splayed out like that, spoken back to you in jest. But he’s right, of course. I tried to bend the rules to fit my whims. I craved midlife with a shot of adolescence.

  “So. I can’t sleep with you. Not here in Miami. Not ever!” I exhale, perhaps letting air into my lungs for the first time since Lenny showed up today. “Which is good! It’s feels so right not to have sex with you.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” he says.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I interpret his pause as a yes and continue. “Why me, why now?”

  Lenny looks over my head like the answer is somewhere out on the dance floor and he just has to stop it from breakdancing long enough to stand still.

  “Because I finally had the guts.”

  I burst out into laughter. “Oh, sure! Lenny Katzenberg lacked the courage to kiss me in high school! That’s a good one.”

  “Lauren,” he says. “How stupid are you?”

  I decide not to answer that.

  “Do you remember all those times we were alone together as seniors, working on the yearbook?” I nod. “So, then, do you remember moving away from me every time I tried to kiss you, or make any type of move?” I shake my head.

  “I thought you, like, hated me or something. That you merely tolerated my presence. You always shivered with disgust when I ‘accidentally’ brushed my hand with yours as we passed the scissors and stuff back and forth.”

  I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t shivering with disgust, dumbass!”

  “Oh.”

  “We could have been a thing!” I realize, twenty years too late.

  “Talk about your bad timing.”

  Lenny and I both bow our heads in silence, sharing a melancholy nostalgia for a teenage lovefest we never got to have with each other.

  “Some things happen for a reason, I guess. Or don’t.” I smile sadly.

  Lenny shrugs with his whole torso, shoulders reaching up to his ears. He holds it like that for a moment before letting the tension release. “Bottom line? In the present time, even with all of this shit between you and me, I’m really glad I’m here.” He kind of ruffles my hair in an uncle-ish way. “You?”

  “Jury’s still out on that,” I say.

  We make our way back from our heart-to-heart, strolling around the far side of the pool in the center of the Clevelander’s courtyard.

  “Do you see that?” Lenny asks, gesturing across the pool to where Jodi and Tim are seated at a round table. Although we cannot make out what’s being said, Jodi is clearly giving a piece of her mind to some guy with a Mohawk and lots of gold jewelry. We quickly push through the throngs of drunkards and reach the table.

  “How dare you?” Jodi scolds, now standing and facing this very large, fierce-looking man. “You have no right taking pictures of us!”

  “Lady, I was just getting a shot of…” He trails off, trying to come up with an excuse. “The pool?” he finishes.

  Jodi tosses her long hair defiantly. “You were not! You took a picture of me and my friends here, and I don’t appreciate it one bit!”

  “Jodi…” Tim begins, trying to calm her down. Kat arrives at the table just as we do.

  “Forget it, Artist. Once she starts…” Kat shakes her head. “You just gotta let her go until she’s done.”

  “Wow, she’s worse than Ruby!” he laughs.

  “Lady, your ass is beautiful, what can I say?”

  “My…?” This stops Jodi. “You were taking a picture of my ass?” Her tone is noticeably softer. “Not a picture of…” She trails off before saying “my friend Tim Cubix here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bows. “It’s a beaut. I have a collection on my wall and yours is gonna go front and center.”

  “Well.” Jodi smiles. “In a perverted sort of way, I’m more than
slightly flattered.”

  “That’s my girl,” Kat jokes as I join her at the table.

  “Now, if you could just…” he says, motioning for her to move left a little bit. Left, toward Tim.

  “Jodi! He’s lying! Paparazzi alert!” I call out. Jodi immediately pushes Tim out of the way and poses for the shot alone, with her hair covering her face, unrecognizable. Then she grabs Tim’s arm and they push their way toward the exit as Kat, Lenny and I follow close behind.

  “Hey!” I say, tapping the arm of the bouncer Jodi danced with earlier. “Could you maybe throw that asshole over there into the pool?” I point to Mohawk, who’s fiddling with his phone.

  “For Jodi? I’d do anything!” he yells back.

  “And make sure his phone goes in with him, please, sir!” Kat adds. “Bastard!” she yells toward the paparazzi, giving him the finger.

  Outside the Clevelander, we gather by the far side of the courtyard gate and peer over the railing as the dude, his Mohawk, and his phone go overboard. Jodi and Tim high-five each other as we all jump into a cab idling on the corner.

  “When that guy gets dry, he’s gonna come looking for us. I know the type. Plus, he’s got friends, so he’ll just send out an APB till I’m found,” Tim says, leaning back in the taxi, which still hasn’t moved. “Fucking bummer.”

  Chapter 21

  “Where to?” the cabbie asks.

  “Tommy’s Tattoo Parlor,” Tim instructs. “You know it?”

  The cabdriver nods and pulls away from the curb.

  The ride is a silent one, as we each assess our own blood-alcohol levels and try to regroup.

  “I’m sorry,” Jodi says to the darkness.

  “It’s okay,” Tim says, knowing the apology is meant for him. “You didn’t know. You have no reason not to trust people.”

  “No, I mean, I’m sorry for buying those tabloids for all those years, for feeding the media’s frenzy and for contributing to what almost happened to you tonight.”

  “It is a serious pain in the ass,” Tim concedes. “But it’s bigger than just you, Jodi. Way bigger.”

  “I just want you to know that I’m starting to get it. That maybe being famous isn’t the point…” She trails off. “I’m not making sense. But that was kind of scary.”