Once More with Feeling (21 page)

“Only one problem,” said Claire. “You’ve just left out the best part.”

“Remember Estelle, the woman in my support group?” Laura reminded her. ‘The viewer would simply have to follow her advice.”

Claire smirked. ‘Take matters into her own hands, so to speak.”

“Oh, you two!” Julie’s cheeks had turned pink.

“Us?” Claire shot back. “You’re the wild one, the one who’s ‘torn between two lovers,’ as the old song goes.”

“Don’t remind me.” Julie’s expression clouded. “I feel so bad about what I’m doing to George. Not that George
knows
what I’m doing to him. Not that him not knowing makes it any easier—”

“Julie,” Laura interrupted, “what, exactly, is going on between you and Bobby?”

Julie bit her lip nervously. “I’ve seen him a few more times. We had lunch a few times, and then dinner again—”

*’At least he’s keeping you well fed,” Claire observed. “Soon you’ll be able to write a restaurant guide to Long Island.”

Hesitating, Julie confessed, “We’ve been eating at his apartment.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Claire. “You’ve been treating yourselves to dessert in the bedroom.”

“Of course not!”

“You mean ‘Not yet’.” Claire smiled wickedly.

Julie sighed, the long, deep sigh of the ambivalent. “I’m developing strong feelings for him. I can’t help myself. He’s so ... so alive. His eyes light up when he speaks. He’s so animated, so enthusiastic—”

“Sounds like the man’s on uppers,” Claire muttered.

Julie ignored her. “We have so much to say to each other. And when I talk, he really listens. It’s just like Laura’s video date. He understands me, too. We’re so much in sync it’s unbelievable.”

Claire was nodding. “
Unbelievable
sounds like the right word.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hate to burst your little bubble of denial,” Claire explained, “but somebody has to ask the inevitable question. If this Mr. Right of yours is so perfect, why did his ex-wife dump him?”

“He doesn’t talk about his first marriage. The few times I brought it up, he simply said that that’s the past, and right now he’s concentrating on the present ... and the future.”

Laura exchanged a skeptical glance with Claire.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” said Laura, “it’s that for every eligible divorced man out there, there’s a woman who’d be only too happy to give you her side of the story.”

“Well, whatever happened, I’m sure it was mostly her fault,” Julie insisted. She paused, then added, “You know, it’s kind of a funny coincidence, but Bobby’s ex-wife’s name was Claire, too.”

“Oh, no!” Claire groaned. “Another Robert-and-Claire combination. Maybe it’s simply inevitable that people with those two names get along together as well as a pack of matches and a stick of dynamite.”

“Julie,” Laura said gently, “I know you’re head over heels in love with this guy, but it might be helpful if you could find out a little more about what went on in his marriage.”

Claire nodded. “Have you tried going through Bobby’s desk while he’s in the bathroom?”

“Claire!” Julie was shocked. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

With a shrug Claire said, “You’d be surprised what you can learn about a man by pawing through his paper-clip drawer.”

“He was married so long ago, I’m sure he doesn’t have anything around from those days. There is one thing, though....”

“Don’t tell me. A woman’s head in his freezer, sealed up nice and tight in a Ziploc bag.”

Julie gave her a dirty look. “There’s a little box he keeps on the coffee table. It’s hand carved out of a light-colored wood. On the lid there are two birds. Doves, I think. When I asked him about it, he mentioned that his ex-wife had given it to him. It was a birthday present. Or maybe anniversary.”

“Sounds to me like there’s a sentimental side to this man,” Laura observed. “Don’t you think so, Claire?
Claire?”

Claire didn’t respond. She was staring at Julie, a look of horror on her face. “Wait a minute. What did you say this guy’s name was?”

“His name is Bobby—uh, Robert Weiss.”

Claire dropped her coffee cup into its saucer with a loud crash. ‘This sweetie pie of yours is my ex-husband!”

“But ... but ... that’s impossible!” Julie sputtered. “Your last name is Nielsen.”

“Of course it is! I took my own name back when I left that bastard!”

“Wait a minute,” Laura interrupted. “We’re still not sure we’re talking about the same guy.”

“Oh, it’s him, all right. And let me tell you something about that darling little keepsake from his marriage that he still displays on his coffee table. That was never his. It was a wedding present from one of
my
friends. I fought him tooth and nail for it. It became the most symbolic issue in our divorce settlement. Finally he stole it. He
stole
it!”

Julie was so flabbergasted she was having trouble forming words. “I can’t believe ... It’s just not ... But he’s so . . .”

“Believe it, Julie. Believe it, and run as fast as your yellow high-tops can carry you.”

“Before you do,” Laura suggested dryly, “why don’t you grab that box off the coffee table?”

“Wait a minute!” Julie protested. “I’m not running anywhere. Bobby Weiss is the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m not going to break up with him because of some silly box.”

“In that case,” Claire said bitterly, “I can give you an entire encyclopedia filled with despicable things the man did during the eight years we were married.”

“Julie,” said Laura, “do you really want to date this man now that you know he’s Claire’s ex-husband?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I was in love with him before, and I knew perfectly well he was somebody’s ex-husband. What difference does it make that he’s turned out to be Claire’s?”

Claire was pacing around the room, her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t believe this. Don’t you care that when he used to come in late, he’d come into the bedroom and turn on the light, even though I was asleep? Or that he had this annoying habit of walking into the bathroom and trimming his nose hairs while I was in the bathtub? Or that he hung on to the rattiest sport jacket in the entire universe just so he could make me mad by insisting on wearing it every time we went out?”

“I’m a big girl,” Julie said crisply, “capable of making my own decisions. I don’t need—”

“Julie, listen to me,” Claire interrupted. Her gaze was steely, but her voice faltered. “Don’t you care that we’re talking about a man who was unfaithful to his wife?”

“I don’t care,” Julie insisted. Her expression was equally hard, her tone much more confident. “With me, he’s different.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Get on with your life,”
muttered Laura.

She paused outside the Y’s meeting room, where the Wednesday-night Divorce and Separation Support Group’s coffee hour had taken on the atmosphere of a happy hour. Despite the fact that January was long gone and even February was beginning to turn into old news, she hadn’t forgotten her resolutions.

In the spirit of living up to the promises she’d made to herself on New Year’s Eve, she’d decided it was finally time to move out of Group One and into Group Two. While she wasn’t quite ready for life in the fast lane, she was at least willing to move off the entrance ramp and onto the highway.

Heading toward the library and a collection of folks noticeably more animated than those left behind in Merry’s care, Laura felt a pang of nervousness. A different setting, a roomful of strangers ... the feeling that too many challenges were being thrown her way, made it a difficult step.

She told herself it was good for her to push herself. That with each new experience, she became a little stronger. A little more independent. A little less the passenger on the roller coaster, holding on for dear life.

She relaxed when she saw how upbeat the mood in the library was. Instead of what she’d grown accustomed to in Group One—dour expressions, heavy movements like a scene filmed in slow motion—here people talked and even laughed as they arranged chairs in a circle. Group Two was much larger as well. Making a quick count, Laura came up with thirty-three.

“Let’s get started.” A woman’s voice, deep and tough with a thick New York accent, broke through the din. The effect was startling, like the
bleep-bleep-bleep
of a truck backing up. “Hello, evvybody. My name is Phyllis, and this is Group Two of the Divorce and Separation Support Group. If you’re looking for AA or NA or any other kind of A, you’re in the wrong place.”

She paused as the group laughed. This woman’s working the room like a comedian in Vegas, Laura thought. In fact, she has some of the same glitziness.

Phyllis’s makeup was theatrical, her fluffy hair a golden apricot color that picked up the fluorescent light like a reflector. Her fashion choices leaned toward loud colors and stretchy fabrics. Her long fingernails were lacquered blood-red, and her numerous pieces of jewelry seemed big enough to be considered lethal weapons.

“Okay, so who wants to start tonight?” Phyllis looked around the circle, frowning when she got no response. “What, all of a sudden everybody’s shy? Nobody’s allowed to be shy in my group. Tell you what: I’ll start by telling a joke. What’s the difference between a penis that’s medium and one that’s rare?”

Nervous chuckling followed, along with a few titters, but there was no response.

“This is one that’s medium.” Phyllis held her hands a few inches apart. Then she moved them much farther apart.
“This
is one that’s rare.”

Good move, coming here, Laura thought, joining the others in their laughter. Much more therapeutic than Group One’s gloom.

“Now that the ice has been broken,” Phyllis went on, “who wants to tell us what they’ve been up to? Anybody here dating? Elaine, how about you?”

She’d zeroed in on a plump woman a few seats away. Glancing up, Elaine grimaced.

“Are you kidding?” she snorted. “All men are pigs. Last week a friend of mine gives my number to some guy she knows from work, right? She tells me he’s going through a divorce, he’s really hot to meet women. . . . Anyway, he calls me up, what, last Thursday night. We end up talking on the phone for, like, two hours.

“So I’m really startin’ to think we have somethin’ going, you know? And then he says why don’t we have dinner Saturday night, and I say fine....”

“So what happened?” Phyllis asked calmly.

“So he asks me where I live and I tell him Deer Park. Well, all of a sudden you’d think I’d told him I had leprosy. I can tell something’s wrong, but he won’t tell me what. Finally I get it outta him. Turns out he lives in Mineola, like fifteen miles away, and he doesn’t wanna drive so far.” She shook her head disgustedly. “I’m tellin’
ya, they’re all slime.”

Carolyn, another émigré from Group One, raised her hand. “I had a bad dating experience this week, too.” Nervously she smoothed the skirt of her tweed business suit. “Saturday night I went out with a guy I’d met at a singles bar a couple of weeks ago. He seemed okay at first—”

“They always do,” Elaine muttered.

“We went out for dinner. That part went pretty smoothly. Then we went back to his apartment. He said he’d gotten one of those new coffeemakers for Christmas, and he wanted to make cappuccino.

“Everything was fine—until I was ready to leave. That was when he asked me to spend the night. I said no. So
he
said, “Then do you mind if I masturbate in front of you?’ “

Laura was considering checking into a convent when Elaine broke in. “Like I said. Men are pigs.”

“Maybe we need to hear from some of the men in the group,” Phyllis suggested. “Let’s get another point of view.”

“So both of you happened to meet up with a couple of creeps,” volunteered a man who identified himself as Ken, sitting directly across from Laura. He was tall and lanky, with a mustache and a thick head of hair. “But I’ll tell ya, there’s a lot of crazy women running around out there, too.”

“That’s for sure,” a second man, shorter and considerably less hairy, chimed in. “And if they’re not crazy, all they’re interested in is the size of a man’s wallet. They don’t care diddly about what kind of person he really is.”

“Sounds like something bad happened to you, Jake,” Phyllis prompted.

“You could say that. A couple of weeks ago I went to a party. There were a few women there. But I felt like they were all giving me the third degree. They wanted to know what kind of job I have, what kind of car I drive—”

“Ever get the question about whether or not you own your own home?” Ken was shaking his head. “Half the time, when 1 take a woman out to dinner, I feel like I’m on a job interview.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Jake. “Except no potential employer would dare ask these questions.”

“Sounds like there’s a lot of mistrust between the sexes,” Phyllis observed. “Getting a divorce can do that. It causes people a lot of pain, feelings of betrayal.... It makes them reluctant to put themselves on the line again.”

My sentiments exactly, Laura was thinking.

“I don’t think all men are slime.” A lone voice, soft and tentative, broke through the anger in the room. “As a matter of fact, I’ve started seeing somebody really nice.”

A woman who hadn’t spoken before had raised her hand.

“I think Dolores has something to share,” said Phyllis.

“I met him in the supermarket, of all places. We were both in line at the deli counter. We were waiting for the longest tune, and, well, we got to talking. Right from the start he seemed really nice. He was funny, easy to get along with.... Anyway, he finally said, ‘I don’t usually pick up women in the supermarket, but would you like to have coffee?’

“That was about a month ago. Since then, we’ve been seeing each other every chance we get.” Dolores sighed, twirling a strand of long brown hair around one finger. Her eyes were shining. “I feel sixteen again. It’s so wonderful, falling in love all over again. I—I never thought it would happen. Not a second time. And it’s even better than when I met my husband. I’m older, more sure of myself ... more certain of what I’m looking for.