Better Off Without Him (6 page)

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.”

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 the 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.”

“Aunt Lily,” I was breathing heavily, “you’re wrong. He was my best friend.”

She shook her head. “No, Mona. You’re very lucky to have two best friends right here in this room with you. But Brian was never your friend. Brian never thought about anyone but Brian. He was always the most important person in the room. A best friend is someone you can call up in the middle of the night because you’re afraid or mad or in jail, and that person will drop everything to help. Brian wouldn’t even get up to answer the phone. He never once put anything or anybody ahead of his own needs. Didn’t you ever notice that? I mean, really Mona, you were married to him, what, twenty years?”

I nodded dumbly.

“And what I really didn’t like was how he never took you seriously,” she went on. “As a writer. We talked about it a few times, you know. He thought it was some little hobby of yours. He never respected all your hard work. He just liked going to all the award parties.”

“Not true!” I yelled.

Aunt Lily set down her glass and looked at me very seriously. “Dear Mona, I’m so sorry. But I bet if you asked him, he couldn’t name one of your books.”

I looked at Patricia and MarshaMarsha, and something in their faces stopped my anger. Aunt Lily was right. Brian had been a lousy husband.

I had never thought about it much, because he was very charming. We were always laughing together about something. He would stretch his legs out in front of him and start waving his hands around, and soon the whole room would be smiling along with him.

He wasn’t big on helping around the house. Or running the girls to various sports events or rehearsals. He never had dinner ready if I came home late from the City, not even take-out. He never called anybody for anything, not the doctor, or our broker, or Ben Cutler. He didn’t walk the dog or feed the cat. He let me hire the cleaning people and the lawn people and the painting people and the snow-plowing people and he never bought me a birthday or anniversary card. There was always something attached to a beautiful bouquet, of course, but nothing was ever signed by him in his own hand, and I knew for a fact that there were standing orders with our local florist to automatically send those beautiful bouquets because I had given those orders myself years ago.

What a bum.

“But I loved him,” I said.

“I’m sure you did, dear,’ Aunt Lily said sadly. “But it doesn’t look like he loved you.”

“I think I need to rest for a few minutes,” I said slowly. Why on earth had I finished that last martini? Was I crazy? I had almost been sober after lunch, and now I was back in that let’s-spin-a-few-times-around-the-world’ mode. I needed somewhere quiet.

I wasn’t going to get it. The back door slammed open, and I heard a familiar clomping. The girls were home already?

“They don’t know yet,” I hissed to Aunt Lily, and I pulled myself upright and forced myself to stand straight as Jessica rushed into the living room.

“Mom, did you really kick Mr. Arnold’s butt?” Jessica asked.

Her face was beaming, her eyes bright, and she looked like she, well, approved of me. I shrugged. “Well, I guess,” I muttered modestly. “Where are your sisters?”

“Late bus. Lauren has yearbook and Miranda’s chasing after some senior in the Spanish club. Did you really threaten to take Bernadette to the Board of Ed?”

Ah, urban myth. “I thought about it.”

“That is so cool.” Jessica dropped her backpack, which landed with enough force to cause a few priceless figurines on the fireplace mantel to jump. “Hi, Aunt Lily. Did Mom tell you what she did?”

Aunt Lily stood and swept Jessica up in a warm hug. “No, dear, we didn’t get around to that yet. Let’s blow this pop stand and head for the den, and you can tell me all about it. Are your nails supposed to be that color?”

Jessica grinned happily and trailed after Aunt Lily, pulling her backpack along behind her. I slumped back down on the couch and closed my eyes.

“She’s right,” I said. “Brian was a shitty husband, and I had a miserable marriage.”

“Well, no,” MarshaMarsha said. I opened my eyes and looked at her.

“Every marriage is different,” she continued. “What you and Brian had worked for a long time. You’ve been very happy with him. What Lily said might have been true, but we all pay a price for what we want. You wanted Brian. If that meant running the show, you obviously never minded because you did it beautifully. You’ve been a great wife, even if he wasn’t such a great husband.”