Better Off Without Him (29 page)

Patricia stood up. “It’s not the divorce. Ben is in love with her. We need a drink.”

Anthony clutched at his throat with both hands. “Ben? My Ben?”

“Apparently,” MarshaMarsha said, “Mona’s Ben.”

“He said he loved her?” Anthony gushed. “OhmyGod. Mona. You sly little vixen. Ben? I told you something was going on! Didn’t I tell you?”

“She told him she’d have to think about things,” MarshaMarsha told him.

He stopped and turned deathly white. “But, Mona. This is Ben. Who is a kind, generous man who likes your kids and-“

“I know,” I yelled. “Stop it. All of you.” And I put my head back down on the table and started crying again.

Gradually, I could hear things other than my own sobbing. The heartwarming clink of ice on glass, for one thing. Then, voices.

“Well, I saw his truck parked in front of the house, but I mean, I just thought it was another toilet,” MarshaMarsha was saying.

“And he kissed her?” Anthony asked.

“Yes,” Patricia told him, “and she said it was it was the best kiss ever.”

“Well of course it was. I mean, was there ever any doubt? So, she told him what?” Anthony continued.

“That she’d have to think it over,” MarshaMarsha said.

“I don’t get it,” Anthony said. “Gorgeous man, likes her kids, loads of money. What am I missing here?”

“It’s shock, I bet,” MarshaMarsha offered.

“It’s crazy,” Patricia said.

“She’s crazy,” MarshaMarsha murmured.

“But she’s usually not that crazy,” Anthony murmured back.

“Maybe it’s about Mitch,” Patricia mused.

“Aren’t they over?” Anthony asked.

MarshaMarsha chuckled. “Well, I though so, but maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she asked him to stay here after all.”

“But I thought that was just sex,” Anthony said.

“Maybe there was a little more to it than that,” Patricia said.

“She turned down Ben for Mitch?” MarshaMarsha asked.

“She wouldn’t follow him out to California,” Anthony said. “Would she?”

I lifted my head. “I’m still in the room,” I growled.

Patricia handed me a martini glass. A full martini glass. “Drink this. Now.” she said.

I did as I was told. What a difference. My eyes cleared, my sinuses dried right up, and my brain shifted into focus. “These are amazing,” I told her.

“I know.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Do we need to talk about this? Does this have to do with Mitch?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s Ben. And it’s Brian.”

“What?” MarshaMarsha looked shocked. “What about Brian?”

“He asked to come back. He wanted to stop the divorce.”

“When?” Patricia demanded.

“Yesterday,” I said. “He told me he had made a mistake. He wanted to come back and put the marriage on track.”

“What did you say?” Anthony asked.

“No. I said no. What else could I say? Then he got all angry, like it was my fault. Can you believe it? My fault. I threw him out.”

“Well good for you,” MarshaMarsha said. “Really, Mona. That’s exactly what he deserved.”

Patricia came around and gave me a big hug. “Absolutely.” She tilted her head at me. “But why would you be upset about that?”

“Because he’s such a jerk. I can’t believe he put us all through this, and then he changed his mind. Why did he have to start this whole mess on the first place?”

“Mona.” Patricia gave me a shake. “If he hadn’t started this whole mess, you’d still be married to a complete idiot. You wouldn’t have written a terrific book, you’d still be running around trying to be Mrs. Perfect Berman, instead of doing what you want to do with your life, and the most beautiful man in the world would not have told you he loved you. You shouldn’t be upset.” Her good breeding took over. “You should send him a thank-you note.”

The phone rang. I waved at Anthony, who picked up the receiver, glanced at caller ID, and said. “It’s Oprah.”

“Put her on speaker,” I said. I have cordless phones all over the house, but the kitchen phone is kind of command central, with the answering machine, all sorts of speed dial buttons, and a speakerphone capability that’s the equivalent of the PA system in Madison Square Garden.

“Mona, my God, you won’t believe my morning,” Sylvia blurted before I could even say hello. “It’s been officially Mona Quincy day here.”

“Here too,” I told her. “I got divorced today.”

“Congratulations, but that’s not the only thing you’ve got to celebrate. I was on the phone with Frannie all morning, and your book was the hit of all the December conferences. Huge hit. Everybody loved it. You’re getting a hardcover release, and they’re pushing up the release date to June so you can get a big summer push.”

My mouth dropped open and I looked at Anthony. He was doing his official Happy Dance, his hips going in one direction, his fisted hands in the other direction, his eyes closed and his head bobbing. “Sylvia, that’s amazing,” I gushed. “You’re amazing.”

“Yes, I am, because I sent the manuscript to Los Angeles, to a friend of mine. She stopped pimping book ideas a few years ago, and started pimping movie ideas. She liked the story and started discreetly shopping it around. Drew Barrymore loves it.”

“But Sylvia, Drew Barrymore is too young to be Sydney.”

“She has a production company, Mona. She made all those ‘Charlie’s Angels’ things, which made a bunch of money for her. She wants to start moving in another direction in her choice of films, and thinks your book would be a good start.”

“Wow.” I was impressed.

“And the character of the lady who sells Sydney the house? The one with cancer and the eight-year-old grandson? It looks like Jane Fonda might be interested. They might go straight for a sale. How do you feel about going Hollywood?”

“Sylvia, I’m ready. I’m so ready that I want to write the screenplay myself.”

“What? Do you know anything about screenwriting?”

“No, but there are books. Hell, there’s a software package I can buy where all I have to do is fill in the blanks. When I was writing this book, I visualized whole scenes. I know exactly what kind of movie it should be. I can do this, Sylvia. I know I can. Can you sell it?”

I could hear her thinking. The room was completely quiet. We were all staring at the phone.

“I might be able to if I ask for less money.”

“Then do it,” I said. “I don’t care about the money. Just get me first crack at the screenplay. No promises, just the opportunity. If they don’t like it, fine, but get me the chance.”

“It will be a tricky contract, Mona. You are a total unknown to them. Nobody wants to risk time and money on an unknown."

“I’ll have it to them in three months.”

“Three months? That’s not a lot of time.”

I looked at Anthony. His eyes were blazing. “I can do it. Anthony and I can do it together.”

“Okay, Mona, when they call back, I’ll see what I can do. Later.”

The phone went dead. I took a deep breath.

“Mona, why on earth do you want to write a screenplay?” Patricia asked.

I took a drink. “Because I’ve always wanted to go to the Academy Awards. I can’t act or direct, but if I write a screenplay, and it’s good, then maybe I’ll get nominated for best adaptation and I can go to the Oscars. I’ll finally be in the same room with Robert Redford and Richard Gere.”

Aunt Lily chose that moment to come through the kitchen door, swathed in wool scarves and a long black coat, her purse draped over one arm.

“I’m always coming in late to the party around here,” she groused, divesting herself of her outerwear. “What did I miss this time?”

Patricia poured another martini and handed it to her. “Well, there’s Mona’s divorce.”

“Oh, that’s right. Mona, thank God you’re finally rid of that horrid man.” She took a sip. “Anything else?”

“Ben is in love,” MarshaMarsha told her.

Lily tilted her head. “Ben? With who?”

“Whom, Aunt Lily,” I said. “With me.”

“My. Imagine that.”

I drained my glass. “And they’re going to make a movie out of my book.”

Lily frowned. “A real movie, or one of those silly Lifetime channel things?”

“A real movie. I’m going to write the screenplay, I hope.”

“Well, if you do, don’t put in one of those silly scenes where the heroine dances around in her pajamas and sings to some awful rock song while playing air guitar. Real women don’t do that.”

“Well, I do.” I told her.

“Me too,” said MarshaMarsha.

Patricia just shook her head.

Aunt Lily looked exasperated. “Why do you want to write a screenplay anyway?”

“So she can go to the Academy Awards,” Anthony told Lily. He snuggled up to me. “Can I go with you?”

“No, of course not,” Patricia said. “She has to take Ben. The man will look fabulous in a tux.”

Anthony sighed. “True.” He patted my hand. “We’d better get cracking.”

“Writing?” I asked him.

He waved his hand. “That’s not a problem. What we really have to work on is what you’re going to wear to the Academy Awards.”

I had about three minutes of relative peace between the time that my friends left and the girls came home from school. My daughters were trying to be sensitive to the fact that I was no longer married to their father, but they couldn’t quite get over the excitement of maybe having a mother with a seriously awesome job.

“Will we move to Hollywood?” Miranda asked.

“No.” I told her.

“If we do, then you can get back with Mitch,” she said.

I looked at her. The girls had liked Mitch, although they had not appeared to be particularly distressed at our break-up. I did not think this was the time or place to bring up Ben. After all, I had just divorced their father. I knew that if I mentioned Ben’s name, I’d probably start grinning like the village idiot, which might prompt a barrage of questions and speculation, so I left him out completely.

“Mitch and I are over. If I thought there had been a real chance for us, I would have followed him out there, movie or not.”

“But how can you write a movie here in New Jersey?” Lauren wanted to know.

“The same way I write books. I sit down, write, and press send.”

“If we lived in California, I bet you’d let me have a tattoo,” Jessica growled.

“Wrong.”

“Will we meet movie stars?” asked Miranda.

“I doubt it. Even if they do accept my script, I don’t think writers make the A-list parties. And I really don’t think they encourage the writers’ kids to come along.”

“Will you get a column in Entertainment Weekly?” Jessica asked.

I frowned. “I doubt it. Why?”

Jess shrugged. “Diablo Cody did.”

“I will never be as cool as Diablo Cody”

She sighed. “Probably right.”

After dinner, the girls wandered off, Aunt Lily settled in front of the television, and I sat in the kitchen and stared at Lana. It was a little after seven o’clock. Was it too soon? I waited patiently what I thought was a respectable amount of time, about thirteen minutes. Then I called Ben.

“Hi. I was just wondering. When did you think you wanted to start this dating thing?”

He laughed. “What are you doing right now?”

“Wanting a martini.”

“Would you let me buy you one?”

“I’d love it. Where?”

Half an hour later, we were sitting next to each other on bar stools.

“This is the best drink I’ve ever had,” I said.

Ben nodded. “Hits the spot.” He took a long gulp of beer. “We seem to spend most of our time together eating or drinking.”

“I noticed that. Believe me, we’re going to be spending our future time together doing other things.”

He grinned. His teeth were white and slightly uneven. Thank God he wasn’t too perfect. “Like what?”

I looked thoughtful. “Museums? I love museums. And street fairs.”

He nodded. “Antique shops? And salvage yards. I have a real thing for salvage yards.”

“As long as we can look at doors and windows and things. I don’t want to spend all my time looking at old toilets.”

“Every old toilet has a story,” he intoned.

“Maybe. But I don’t think I want to hear it. Where do you like to go on vacation?”

“Is this more date conversation?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I love to ski.”

“I hate the cold.”

“So if I skied all day, would you wait patiently by the fire, sipping brandy and looking lovely?”

“Actually, I always thought I’d be good at that.”

“Good,” he said. “Another drink?”

“Nope. I just needed one. And to see you” I looked at him. “You have got to be the best surprise of my life,” I said. I leaned over to kiss him. I think the people in the bar stopped to watch us kiss. At one point, I’m sure I heard applause. Someone may have been selling popcorn. I was flying, floating, burning, breathless – Oh. My.God. And this man loved me.

“Well,” he said at last, “what now?”

“Scrabble?”

He smiled. “I was thinking we could work on one of your fantasies.”

He spread his arms wide and bowed gracefully from the waist. ‘Your any wish is my command,’ he said in a soft, teasing voice. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. ‘Very well. You can start with your clothes. Take them off.’ His mouth twitched. ‘All of them, my lady?” She nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Indeed. All of them.’

“Not a bad idea,” I said. “But I’d rather start working on something real.”

Let me tell you – Ben for real?

I couldn’t have written it better myself.

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Author’s Note

When I was a little kid, I started writing stories. I plunked them out on my mother’s old Royal typewriter, and I decided that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. As I got older, things started getting in the way – jobs, kids, paying rent – you know. Life.

Many years later, as a stay-at-home-Mom, I started imaging what I would do with myself when I finally went back to work. One morning, while listening to Joan Hamburg on WOR radio in New York, I heard a woman talking about how women are always reinventing themselves, and she said that if you wanted to know what to do with yourself, think back to what you did when you were ten years old, because whatever it was, it was probably something that you loved. That’s when I decided to start writing again.