Better Off Without Him (Romantic Comedy) Page 5

  We all sat drinking in silence for a few minutes. My lips, during this time, became completely numb. Patricia, recognizing the signs, took charge.

  “We need lunch,” she announced. “We need lots of food, soon, or we’ll be passed out when the girls do get home.” She opened my refrigerator and began hauling things out. I watched her with keen interest.

  I am a very good cook. I am also a very good eater. I have to work hard at not ballooning up to a size 22W. By working hard, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not talking exercise. No, not at all. Although I do walk a great deal, including up to Town and the Yoga Centre, where, about once a week, I stretch and moan to Navaho flute music and very bad incense. No, by working hard I mean that I stay away from white food and ice cream, except on weekends, of course, and I try to eat a healthy balance of protein and complex carbohydrates, as well as low-fat fats to keep my skin and hair looking good.

  Patricia is an excellent cook. Gourmet stuff. Without ever having to look at a recipe. And she’s bone thin. She explained to me that her weight had never been an issue for her, that her whole family was just naturally slender and she could eat whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to. I still like her.

  In a remarkably short time, she presented us with a platter of open-faced sandwiches, some hot and bubbly from the broiler, lots of lovely salad and big glasses of cold water. She called up and asked Ben if he was hungry. Then we all sat and waited for him to come down the stairs.

  Now, Ben coming downstairs is not nearly as impressive as Ben going upstairs, as you can imagine, or maybe you can’t, but it’s still a show worth watching. He sat down with us, smiled politely, and we all began to eat our lunch.

  My first bite was asparagus and roasted red pepper under melted fontina cheese. “This is really good,” I told Patricia. “Where did you get the cheese?”

  Patricia waited until she had swallowed to answer. “From your fridge, dear. Where else?”

  “And the asparagus?” I asked.

  “Where do you think?” Patricia doesn’t get angry at stupid questions, only stupid people.

  “I don’t remember buying it,” I said, trying to explain myself to Ben. Ben smiled. “I’m surprised you still remember your name at this point,” MarshaMarsha said. “How are you feeling?”

  I thought about that. Aside from a very big buzz that was filling me to the eyeballs, I was really pissed off.

  “I’m really pissed,” I said.

  They all stopped to watch me.

  “Really angry,” I continued. “He’s not just leaving me. He’s leaving his family. His daughters. And for what? That’s what I don’t get. If he wanted to screw her, he could have done it and I probably never would have even known. He’s always working late and going on business trips. He could have had his little thing on the side and gone on with us at the same time. Why did he have to tell me?” I felt tears again. “Why did he have to hurt me like that? It’s just so – so - well, mean. Mean. Why would he do that?” I looked around at three kind and sympathetic faces.

  “Oh, honey,” MarshaMarsha said softly.

  I took another sandwich. Crumbled bacon, mushrooms and hot blue cheese. I took a few bites, chewing carefully as no one said a word. I was starting to feel more focused. I took several gulps of water.

  “I don’t know how he’s going to explain this to the girls,” I said. “Is he going to tell them the truth? I mean, come on, a thirty-year-old girlfriend?” I viciously stabbed my salad with a fork. “And the thing is, I thought everything was fine. I mean, we weren’t fighting. We were still having sex. We planned his sister’s birthday party. It’s a surprise party. Here. I didn’t know anything was wrong. If I thought we were in trouble, I’d have been more prepared, or something. But he just came home and said – “ I stopped and drank more water. I looked fiercely at Ben. “You didn’t cheat on your wife, did you?”

  Ben shook his head. “No. She wanted kids. I already had the boys from my first wife.” He never talked about his first wife, adding an air of mystery to his past. Like he needed to add anything. I could see Patricia starting to move her hand to touch his, then pull back. Luckily, I was closer. “I’m glad,” I murmured, patting the back of his long-jointed, strong hands, feeling the soft and springy hairs on his fingers…never mind.

  Ben pushed back from the table and Lana jumped up onto his lap. She rubbed her head against his abdomen a few times, kneaded her paws into his well-muscled thigh, and settled into his lap, licking her whiskers with a tiny pink tongue and purring.

  Slut.

  Ben absently scratched her head, causing all three of us at the table to tilt our heads slightly to the side, as though his fingers would then catch a good spot behind the ear.

  “He’ll come around,” Ben said assuredly. “Guys get stupid at a certain age. He’ll realize what he left behind and come to his senses.”

  “Yes,” Patricia said silkily. “But the question is, should Mona take him back?”

  I thought about that. “Of course. I mean, there’re the girls, and the life we’ve built together. I want to save that.”

  Ben was nodding. “Naturally. You’re a smart woman, Mona. Be patient, and I promise, you’ll get what you want.”

  Luckily, the food and water had their desired effect, or I would have added that I also wanted a weekend away with my favorite plumber, preferably spent naked.

  MarshaMarsha swooped in and started clearing the table. She probably wasn’t sure if I had reached a sobriety point that could be trusted.

  I took a long breath in and shook my head. “This hasn’t really sunk in yet,” I told them. “I’m having a hard time getting my head around all this. I need to sit someplace quiet and try to sort this out before the girls get home.”

  “Absolutely,” Ben said, picking up Lana as he stood and holding her against his chest. She looked so smug. I swear, she was smiling. “I need to go down to the basement and finish this up, but I should be out of here in less than an hour.”

  “I’ll clear this up,” MarshaMarsha offered. “Why don’t you go into the living room and just sit for a while?”

  “Excellent idea,” Patricia chimed in. “I’ll help you, Marsha.” She looked with regret at the martini pitcher. “I don’t think you’ll be needing any more of these today.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I need a clear head for the rest of the day.” I was getting up, and starting toward the front of the house when the doorbell rang. We all looked at one another, and moved as one to the front door.

  I opened the door and there stood my aunt, Lily. She was paying off a tired-looking taxi driver who apparently hauled at least six pieces of luggage from his cab up the walkway to my front door. She smiled brightly as she stepped over her Louis Vuitton make-up case.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call, Mona, but I didn’t want to get into an argument over the phone, so I just came on over.”

  “From Brooklyn?” I asked, as I took her coat. “With all this?”

  “Everything else is in storage,” she explained. “Hello, Patricia, how are you? And Marsha? Did I interrupt something? Ladies’ lunch?”

  “Sort of.” I said. Ben was gallantly moving several suitcases into the hall. “Aunt Lily, what’s going on? Why are things in storage?”

  Lily adjusted her sweater. “I sold the apartment.”

  My jaw dropped. She had, for years, lived in a two-bedroom coop in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. “Sold?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “Well,” she shrugged. “Eventually. I don’t know where, exactly. So I just thought I’d stay with you until I figured it all out.” She smiled serenely. “I know you won’t mind. I just hope Brian isn’t too upset.” She looked at Ben. “Those go up in the guest room, dear. I don’t know who you are, but I do hope you’re going to stay for a while.” She swept past us into the living room. At that moment, Fred, who finally figured out that the doorbell he heard was his doorbell, came bounding out of
the den, barking furiously and knocking over two large suitcases. The phone, mercifully silent until now, began to ring. And the carbon monoxide alarm, hung at the top of the stairs, inexplicably began to wail.

  I looked at Patricia. “Forget that clear head crap. Make more.”

  Chapter Three

  My Aunt Lily is my father’s only sibling, his younger sister, and she is also my godmother, born of a generation who took the duties of godmother very seriously, so she has always been a keen and, I must admit, welcomed presence in my life. Every year, from my fifth birthday until I went away to college, she spent a whole day with me in New York City – a fancy lunch, a trip to a museum, and a carriage ride in Central Park. She took me to my first ballet. For my sixteenth birthday, she gave me a strand of pearls. I’m quite sure that, had I been a boy, she would have taken me to a discreet whorehouse and bought me my first woman instead. After the death of her husband, my sweet Uncle Larry twelve years ago, she sailed gracefully into old age without him, traveling to all the places they had dreamed about together, and keeping two season tickets to the Metropolitan Opera. I know she loved Uncle Larry very much. It’s a tribute to her strength and zest for living that the mourning process did not interfere in any way with her desired lifestyle.

  Aunt Lily is tall, thin, stooped, and dressed like Miss Marple, in straight skirts, soft blouses and cardigan sweaters. She wore stockings and low-heeled shoes in all weather, and although I had seen her in a bathing suit, she generally kept most of her skin covered in public. Her hair was snow white, cut short and carefully permed. She’d hit seventy-two that winter and, thankfully had not appeared to lose any of her mental agility. She had, however, lost what Brian called the “couth gene”. She said whatever she wanted whenever she felt like it, and often left a room with several open mouths behind. I really do love her.

  But at that moment, with bells ringing and the dog barking and the faint snarl of an impending headache at the base of my skull, I really wanted her gone.

  MarshaMarsha answered the phone, Ben bounded up the stairs, and Patricia grabbed Fred and yanked him back to the den. I stood for a moment in the hallway, taking a few breaths, then went after Aunt Lily.

  I love my living room. It’s long and broad, with tall windows and a beautiful fireplace. All the furniture is what Ethan Allen calls transitional. Comfortable, but not formal. Cushioned without being overstuffed. Elegant but welcoming, in soft taupes and grays and creams. I often just sit here with a book and look around in pleasure. Brian and I had often come here just to talk. It’s a talk-in kind of room. The dog is not allowed on the furniture and there are never any empty soda cans around.

  Aunt Lily was sitting in my favorite chair, still adjusting her clothing, smiling at me. “I did interrupt, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Mona, but, I felt it best to just walk through the door. If I tried to explain what it was I was planning to do, I was afraid we’d argue, because I don’t have a clue what to do next.”

  “I see.” Although I didn’t. “So, you sold the apartment?”

  “Yes. For 1.3 million dollars.”

  “Oh.” That’s the kind of information that could stop any conversation. At the same moment, MarshaMarsha stuck her head in.

  “Your sister-in-law is on the phone,” she said. “Marsha.”

  Good Lord, those tribal drums were quick. “Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow,” I said to MarshaMarsha. I turned back to Aunt Lily. “You were saying, ah, 1.3 million?”

  “Yes. I could have held out for more, but I wanted a quick sale. I’ve become very concerned about the impending arrival of Martians in Prospect Park and wanted to get out of Brooklyn as quickly as possible.”

  That’s also a big conversation stopper. My jaw may have been hanging open. Patricia sailed back in, looking totally unruffled.

  “Lily, we were just finishing up lunch. Can I get you something? The trip must have been horrendous in midday traffic,” Patricia said, looking at Aunt Lily as though Aunt Lily were just any normal person.

  “Patricia, that would be lovely. I am famished. And, truthfully, I’d love one of those famous martinis of yours.”

  Patricia looked modest. “Certainly. We were just discussing another round as you came in. Perfect timing.”

  “Aunt Lily,” I said loudly, “was just saying that she felt the urgent need to leave Brooklyn because of the impending Martian invasion of Prospect Park.”

  Patricia blinked. “Well, then, we’d better get you a double,” she crooned, and swept out. MarshaMarsha, hovering in the hallway, stuck her head back in.

  “Martian invasion?” she asked. I don’t blame her. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t be curious?

  “Yes. It’s not generally talked about, but those of us on the Park know.” Aunt Lily tightened her lips. “The media, of course, refuses to listen.”

  I didn’t know where to look. Luckily, Ben came in, shaking his head.

  She watched as he came towards her, his stride long and purposeful, his dark hair curling beneath the brim of his hat, his broad shoulders pushing aside the crowd. He caught her eye and smiled, and she felt a slow pounding in her veins as he came closer.

  “I think there’s a short in the alarm,” he said. “That’s why it went off. It’s hard wired in, you know, so I had to disconnect it at the electrical panel. I’ll call Alex tomorrow and have him take a look, okay?” Alex, I vaguely remembered, was an electrician, short and red-haired. Wore a Rolex. Ben turned to Aunt Lily. “I’ve put all your bags in the guest room. Have a pleasant visit.”

  Aunt Lily was visibly flirting. “Why thank you, my dear man. And who are you again? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “This is my plumber, Ben,” I explained, sinking wearily into a chair. “Ben, this is my Aunt Lily.”

  Ben actually walked over and kissed her hand. “A pleasure. May I call you Lily?”

  “Oh, but of course. So, you’re Ben? Why, the girls have told me all about you.”

  I looked over in alarm. “The girls? My girls? Have told you all about Ben? What have they told you?”

  Lily was smiling mischievously. “They’ve told me that he has the most marvelous ass. My dear man, could you possibly turn around and bend over?”

  Ben was, understandably, speechless. MarshaMarsha looked at me in complete amazement, took a deep breath and spoke, very heartily.

  “Ben, are you done in the basement, or are there still a few things to finish up?”

  Ben smiled woodenly and backed out of the living room. I think that only his iron will prevented him from clasping his hands protectively over his marvelous ass.

  Aunt Lily was craning her neck to watch him disappear around the corner. “My heavens,” she said, “if I were twenty years younger, I’d ride him hard then rub him down slow.” She smiled wistfully. “Then I’d ride him again.”

  Before I could say anything, not that I was capable of reasonable speech, but still, Patricia came back in, carrying a tray laden with sandwiches and, thank the Lord, another pitcher and some more glasses. She had broken out the second string as far as the martini glasses went – the shorter ones, smaller bowls, thicker stems. Still perfectly adequate, of course.

  “Now, Lily,” she said as she handed Aunt Lily a plate of food and began pouring, “tell me all about the Martians.”

  “Well, they’re not really Martians,” Aunt Lily said, nibbling the corner of something topped with melted fontina.

  My shoulders slumped in relief. Thank God. Of course, there were no Martians. She probably was thinking of the conservation group that camped in the park last year to protest the spraying of the white-winged moth or something.

  “Well, of course there are no Martians coming,” I agreed, gratefully taking a very tiny sip.

  “No. I don’t know what they’re called, exactly,” Aunt Lily continued. “Their planet, you see, is very far from here. So Mr. Knapper, you know, from down the hall, just called them Martians. But I’m sure they have their own proper name. You know, like th
e Muslims and the Iowans do.” She sipped her martini and nodded in appreciation. “Excellent, Patricia. I really needed this. And the sandwich, too. I did interrupt something, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Mona dear. A celebration, perhaps? Is it someone’s birthday? Or just a girls’ get-together?”

  “Brian left me,” I blurted. “Today. This morning. For another woman.”

  Aunt Lily stared at me. “Really?”

  “Yes.” I drained the entire contents of my glass without a blink.

  Aunt Lily put her glass down and sighed. “Well, thank heavens for that. You’re lucky to be rid of him, Mona dear. He was without a doubt the worst husband ever.”

  Patricia, I could see, was visibly moved. That didn’t happen to her very often. Her lips actually parted and her hand, bringing her glass up to her lips, stopped midway.

  “Aunt Lily,” I sputtered. “I thought you liked Brian!”

  “Oh, I do dear. Very much.” Lily had put her plate of food down on the coffee table to take her drink from Patricia, and was now squinting at the sandwich selection, her hand wavering between the cold proscuitto and the hot blue cheese. “He’s so charming. Funny, but not too obvious. Good at parties. And he’s generous. That necklace he gave you a few months ago? Very well done.” She was frowning and she looked up at me. “But as a husband he really sucked. I never could figure out why you stayed with him for so long.”

  “He was a great husband,” I roared. “And a wonderful father. He has always been a great partner.” Right up until he started screwing around, that is.

  Aunt Lily took a few moments to swallow her sandwich, then sipped her martini again, delicately. “He never did a thing to help you, dear. Let’s face it, you ran this home and took care of the girls, and aside from bringing home a great paycheck, he never lifted a finger. You have always done it all, dear. My heavens, you even had to schedule his colonoscopy last year. I mean, the man couldn’t arrange for a tube going up his own ass. Useless. Of course, he was probably a good tumble, but that can only go so far.” She smiled sweetly. “Not to worry, dear. You’re much better off without him.”