Better Off Without Him (22 page)

“Thanks,” I said modestly. “It’s Doug’s recipe.”

Patricia leaned forward. “Well, it’s yummy,” she said. “Are you married, Mitch?”

Mitch shook his head. “Nope.”

She looked thoughtful. “Are you gay?”

Mitch smiled. “Nope again.”

“Then what is it? You’re attractive, and well-spoken. You aren’t one of those hopeless types still living with your parents, are you?”

I closed my eyes and groaned inwardly, but Mitch was laughing.

“Actually,” he told her, “my parents live with me. I’ve got a big old Victorian, complete with an old barn and a guest house. A few years ago, my Dad had a pretty bad heart attack. I had the whole guest house done over for them. Everything’s on one level, handicapped accessible, ‘cause my dad has a real problem with steps now. So they live behind me, and I can keep an eye on them. My Mom still bakes me cookies every Sunday. It works out well for all of us.” He shrugged. “I just ended a relationship with a woman who’d been telling me for eight years she didn’t believe in commitment, and she broke off with me to marry her boss. I think I have bad taste in women.”

Patricia looked sympathetic. “Yes, well, I’m sure there’s a twelve-step program for that.” She smiled, then frowned as a shrill voice made it’s way around the corner of the house.

It was Vicki, tottering up the steps and through the screened door on very high heels.

“Mitch, are you here?” She was wearing a float-y sort of sleeveless dress and a huge sunhat. “Did you find Mona?”

Mitch did not look thrilled to see his sister. “No, I’m not here. And I’m still looking for Mona. Any helpful hints?”

She had that ‘Oh, you silly thing’ look on her face. “I just stopped by Scott’s house, and you know what he told me?”

Mitch thought a moment. “’Luke, I’m your father?’”

She was still being patient, and she waved the book that she was holding in her hand. “No, Mitch.”

He frowned. “Luke, I’m your mother?”

“No,” she said flatly, patience apparently gone. Although Patricia looked highly amused. “He said you turned down his invitation to dinner tomorrow night.”

Mitch explained. “I was walking to the beach, and a bleach blond guy in a Speedo comes running out from a forest of pink flamingos and insists I stop by for hand-rolled lobster chimichangas. Of course I turned him down.”

Vicki made a tut-tut noise. “Not very friendly of you,” she scolded. “Especially since I’ve heard he makes killer chimichangas.”

“He does,” I said to Mitch. “The lobster ones are to die for.”

Mitch frowned. “But he didn’t even know who I was. Why would he run out in the middle of the street to invite a total stranger to dinner?”

I thought. “He probably liked your legs. Scott’s like that.”

“Anyway,” Vicki said loudly, “it was rude. You shouldn’t be rude to my neighbors.”

I looked apologetically at Mitch. “She’d right. Rude is bad.”

“Bleach blond guy,” Mitch said very slowly, as though trying to explain physics to a first grader. “In a Speedo.”

Vicky would not be swayed. She scowled at him, then she turned to Patricia and amped up her smile. “I’m Vicki Montrose. Thrilled to meet you.”

“Thrilled? Really?” Patricia chuckled. “I’m Patricia Carmichael. But I can’t imagine why you’d be thrilled to meet me. I’m barely famous.”

Vicki faltered, but just a bit. The she handed me the book in her hand. “I saw this and thought of you. Maybe we could try out a few of the recipes.”

I looked at the title. “Mocktails,” I read slowly. “What are ‘Mocktails’?”

Vicki simpered. “They’re drinks. They have no alcohol in them, but they taste like the real thing.”

Patricia, who was pouring again, whipped around. “No alcohol? Making drinks with no alcohol? Whatever is the point?” Her eyes narrowed at me. “Who is this person?”

Vicki managed to look sincere and condescending at the same time. “Well, it’s just that people around here seem to drink an awful lot, and since I’ve been hanging around with everyone, I’ve been drinking an awful lot too, and I don’t handle drinking as well as some other people, so I thought with a ‘mocktail’ I could look like I’m fitting right in, but not wake up with a splitting hangover.”

Mitch hauled himself up and put down his empty glass. “That’s what club soda is for, Vicki. And I’m sure Mona is thrilled by your suggestion that she’s a raging alcoholic.” He looked at me. “I’ve got to get going, but can I ask you something?”

“Ah, sure.” I said. “I’ll walk you out.” We walked off the porch and around to the front. The heat was brutal. Drops of sweat rolled down my back.

“Look,” Mitch said. “I’ll be back up here from Virginia next week. Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

I squinted at him. “I’m sweaty, cranky, and apparently have a drinking problem. Why would you want to have dinner with me?”

He grinned. “You’re the first woman I’ve met who can sing ‘Faithful, Forever’.”

I grinned back. “Good enough. You want my phone number or anything?”

He pulled out a cell phone and entered my number. Then he waved and walked down the street, where he got into what looked like a gull-winged Mercedes. Silver. Very shiny. I started back to the house when Vicki came whizzing by, waving frantically at Mitch’s disappearing car. I went back onto the porch, sank into a chair, and looked at Patricia.

“I like your hair,” she said.

“Thanks. It usually looks better without all the frizz, but I like it, too.”

“And how are things going with the rich, ugly guy across the street?”

“He had some sort of computer-systems related emergency and left yesterday, along with his sons. The girls are bereft.”

“What about before he left?”

“Things were fine. I mean, he’s good at what he does, and I can appreciate it. That’s the beginning and the end. When I leave at the end of the summer, it will all be over.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe before the end of the summer?”

I sighed. “Maybe. Mitch seems like a very nice guy.”

“He’s forty-two. A good age.”

“How on earth do you know how old he is? You were only with him for two and a half minutes.”

She looked smug. “Darling, if nothing else, I know all the right things to say. And the right questions to ask.” She made a face. “That’s his sister?”

I nodded.

“He might be worth it.”

I nodded again. “Yes. He might”

She sighed. “I finished the rough draft.”

“Did you?” Patricia is one of the few people who read my books as they are being written. She loves the idea of seeing each version change. She also likes reading the manuscript before anyone else. Because I trust her judgment, she gets every draft. MarshaMarsha always waits for my books to be released, but Patricia likes to read them hot off my computer. “What did you think?”

“It’s the best thing you’ve ever written. It’s one of the best things I’ve read this year. Really wonderful, Mona. Sydney is a terrific character, and it’s great story.”

Patricia is not just my best friend, she’s my most honest critic. “Oh, Patricia, thank you.” I took a breath. “I’m really worried about it’s tanking.”

“Why? It’s wonderfully written, funny, real, and it brings tears to the eye. Not my eye, of course, but I can sense the potential. Why on earth would it tank?”

“I’ve had a loyal fan base for years. This is not what they’ll be expecting. What if they’re upset?”

“Mona, give all those people a little credit. They haven’t been reading you all these years because you know how to describe eighteenth-century dresses, or even because you write good sex. They read you because you write characters that they love. And everyone will love Sydney.”

“That’s what Anthony says. He’s been leaking bits and pieces onto Maura’s website, and he insists the feedback has been very positive.”

“See? And I love the character of Stella. She’s very familiar.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes.

“Well. Yes, she’s you. I could never put you in any of my other books, because you’re such a contemporary person. But this time, it seemed right.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, a single parent of an autistic son who throws pots in a small town seemed right for me?”

I laughed. “Perfect for you.”

“Well, whatever. I’m very flattered, of course. But I’m telling you right now, if this book is ever made into a movie, I want Michele Pfeiffer to play my part.”

“Also perfect for you.”

Patricia winked. “Bet your ass, baby.”

Doug came back the same day as my date with Mitch, so I had to decline his offer to get together and fuck like bunnies. I had a manicure, pedicure, and touched up my roots. The girls watched with interest. They made the usual helpful suggestions, which I ignored. Mitch picked me up in his cool silver car. I felt like a Bond Girl.

We drove to the northern tip of the island, just past the lighthouse, to a small, shabby-looking place with fabulous seafood and tables huddled right out on the water. He had made a reservation, and we were seated right away. The breeze was perfect, tiny white lights climbed the pole next to our table, and the waiter was attentive. We ordered, and after the first awkward three minutes, Mitch began to talk.

Mitch had bought everything the guy in Virginia had stashed in his garage, and had arranged for it all to be shipped to a temperature controlled warehouse, which took him several minutes to explain to me. I managed to prop my chin up with my hand to keep my head from crashing to the tabletop from boredom. When he was apparently done, I said “Golly.”

“Shit,” he said. “I probably just cranked the geek meter all the way up to ‘Danger Will Robinson’.”

I had to laugh. “Possibly. But you’re very cute when you get excited, so it was almost worth it.”

“It is exciting. Even if it’s exciting just for me. This is art, really. This guy had a background piece, done all in watercolor, that was breathtaking. You could have framed it and put it in a museum.”

“I believe you. And I’m glad you love what you do. You’ll be a much happier person in the end.”

“Do you love what you do? Vicki says you write. Anything I’d have read?”

“Probably not. I’m a writer of historical romance. At least I was. My latest book is kind of the anti-romance. And yes, I do love it. I’d do it if I never got a thing published, and spent my life shuffling manuscripts to friends and family members.”

“You didn’t order anything to drink, not even wine. Are you sure you don’t want something?”

“No, thanks. I don’t want you to think I’m a closet alcoholic.”

He made a face. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe much of what Vicki says. She’s a great person, really. I mean once you’re her friend, she’ll give you the shirt off her back, but she sees everything through a haze of self-doubt. She grew up having a body men would kill for, and she thinks that’s the best part of her. It’s hard.”

“In that case, I’ll have six shots and a beer.”

He laughed. “Vicki said you were funny.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“Going through a divorce.”

I made a face. “Yeah. Hopefully, things will be final in a couple more months. We, ah, speeded things up, since there was obvious desertion, adultery, etcetera, but I’m still signing things and waiting.”

“That really sucks.” He tilted his head. “So, okay, what did she tell you about me?”

“Hmmm. She said you were an entrepreneur.”

“True.”

“And that you had no game, no self-confidence. And that you lived with your parents.”

“What? God, why didn’t you just shoot me when I came to your house?”

I shrugged. “Because I didn’t know who you were. If you’d have been wearing a nametag, it would have been a different story.”

He laughed. Then he started telling me stories of his childhood, and I started telling him stories about mine, and by the time we were arguing about who had a worse prom date, I was floating. What a nice guy.

We had finished dinner and were sitting in the bar of the restaurants, looking out over the bay and talking about boats – he loved to sail! me too!! – when my cell phone rang. Now, I carry a cell phone at all times, but very few people know the number. Brian knew, of course, but I doubt he’d have anything to say to me at this point. Anthony knew it, but he and Victor were up in Lake George, so I doubted it was him. That left one of my girls. So when it rang at 10:47, I panicked just a little. Caller ID told me it was the house.

“Hello? Who is this? What’s wrong?”

“Mom.” It was Jessica. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency.”

I was reaching for my purse, getting ready for a quick exit. “What? What happened.”

“The printer is out of ink.”

I stopped. Took a breath. Put down my purse. “What did you say?”

“The printer. The ink cartridge is empty and you don’t have another one.”

I looked over at Mitch. He was looking concerned. Ready to help. What a nice guy. “The ink cartridge is empty?” I repeated.

Mitch sat back and grinned.

“Mom, this is serious. I need to print this out.”

“Honey,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “it’s almost eleven at night. What is so important that you need to print it right now?”

Heavy sigh over the phone. “Mom, it’s too complicated to explain. I just really need another cartridge.”

“Okay, honey. Listen. Take the old cartridge out of the printer. Can you do that?”

I heard muffled sounds. “Okay, Mom. Got it.”

“Good girl. Now, set it down on the floor.”

“Really? Okay, hold on. It’s on the floor.”

“Good. Now, walk slowly around the cartridge three times, chanting ‘Ink Fairy, Ink Fairy, bring me more ink.’”

Mitch chuckled. Jessica made a different kind of noise. “Oh, right, Mom. Like a real Ink Fairy is going to drop a cartridge out of the sky.”

“Jessica, there’s just as much a chance of that happening as there is a chance of me leaving my date and driving around Long Beach Island trying to find an all-night office supply store.”