Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (24 page)

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Get over it, Mitchell.”

I looked at him in profile. Scary. No sense of humor. As we

got to the intersection of King Street and George Street, I

watched his fat, sweaty little hand travel like a tarantula across the

upholstered bench seat toward my left knee. I crossed my legs.

“If you touch me, Mitchell Fremont, I’m gonna knock your

teeth out.”

The hand retreated.“Susan, you couldn’t possibly believe . . .

I was looking for my wallet. I thought I left it under the armrest.”

“Mitchell? Let’s lay our cards on the table.You have me at a

total disadvantage. I work for you.”

“I thought you liked your job.”

“I do.That’s not the point.You’re always staring at me dur-

ing meetings and following me around the halls.”

“I think you’re interesting. Is that a crime?”

“No. Look, you’re a nice man, I’m sure you are. But even if you

were Cary Grant and single, I’m not ready for anything.You know?

I’ve got my hands plenty full right now. I’m a single parent with an

ex-husband who’s trying to drive me insane. I can’t take one more

person coming into my life grabbing at me for something.”

“I didn’t grab you, Susan.”

“Right, Mitchell.”

I watched the windshield wipers go back and forth and

tried to calm down. Had I imagined his hand? I knew I should

tell him to kiss my righteous pink behind and quit. But I also

realized that I should quit when it suits me, not him. “You’re

right, Mitchell, you didn’t. Listen, I really appreciate the ride

home in this weather.”

“You’re welcome.” He sniffed with indignance.

My patience was running on dust balls and it was a blessing

for my many creditors that we arrived at my home quickly. If I’d

had to drive any farther with this head-tripping little weasel, I

might have had to pop him one to the right jaw. I made one last

attempt to be pleasant.

“Okay. Take care then.” He didn’t answer me; he just

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looked over at me with this face of his that strangely resembled

strawberry yogurt. Puffy. Puffy and sagging with no distin-

guishing lines of character. It was a great personal struggle to

wave good-bye politely, but I did it, gritting my teeth, figuring,

why make an enemy out of him now? I had bills to pay. The

door of his car slammed in the wind and I ran around the back

bumper and up my walk. I needed a glass of wine and a new

career.

I opened the front door and stood dripping water all over

my floor as I double locked and bolted it against the Mitchell

Fremonts of the world. A familiar voice greeted me.

“Hi!”

I turned around to see Tom standing there with Beth

behind him, smiling widely.

“What’s up?” I asked him and gave Beth a kiss on the cheek.

“Nothing. I just came by to see if you needed anything.

They say the eye is supposed to pass over around seven-thirty

tonight, so I thought maybe I’d come by, you know, bring din-

ner . . . I brought some steaks and a bottle of a pretty decent red

wine, you know. . . .” He smiled charmingly, crinkling his blue

eyes, showing off his dimples. His dimples were a weapon all on

their own—never mind his perfect pearly whites.

“Yeah, I know.” Any port in a storm, I thought, taking a

deep breath. “Beth? Don’t you have something to do upstairs?

Like homework?”

“I’ll go set the table.”

Beth disappeared into the kitchen—to be accurate, she

floated down the hall. I could feel her mind overflowing with

dreams of her mom and dad getting back together. Great, just

great, I thought. Nobody except me knew that there was a

tentative separation agreement on Michelle Stoney’s desk,

waiting for Tom’s review.

I faced him. Now he had this boyish, mournful puppy look

on his face. Not as bad as that skank Mitchell Fremont, but one

mournful face per day is my quota.

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“So what happened?” I asked. “Did your little girlfriend fly

off to Sedona to sit on the vortex and meditate?”

“God, I love your caustic side, Susan.Truth is, I haven’t been

with her for two weeks. I had some time, so I thought I’d check

the third-floor windows for you. They always leaked. I taped

them with masking tape all around the edges.”

“Masking tape? Now there’s a thrifty alternative.” I burst

out laughing.“God, I’ll bet that’s attractive! So you’re not living

with her?”

“No, I took a carriage house on Tradd Street last month. I

just moved in actually. It had to be painted.”

“And while it was being painted, you had a spat and then

rushed over here as soon as you could?”

“Something like that.”

The smile again. God, he was a beautiful man.

“To tape my windows.”

“Well, obviously they need to be caulked, but you need dry

weather for that. I could come back another time and do it if

you’d like.”

“Tom, bump the third-floor windows.You never expressed

any particular concern about them before.”

“I’m concerned about you, Susan.”

“Right.What are you doing here? What really happened to

Miss Close Encounter?”

I could smell my weakness. This man had broken my heart

into zillions of pieces and it was lethal for me to stand in the

room with him. It was just chemistry, I reminded myself.A sim-

ple matter of pheromones.

“She dumped me,” he said. “She went to a New Age con-

vention in Charlotte last month and met someone. She says he’s

her true soul mate.”

“Good grief.”

“He’s twenty-one years old.”

“Ouch.” My face muscles were convulsing and I chewed the

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insides of my cheeks so I wouldn’t laugh. I decided to surrender

the battle and be cautiously friendly.“Want a beer?”

“Sure. Anyway, I knew a long time ago it wouldn’t last for-

ever.We’re too different, Karen and I. I’ve done a lot of thinking.

She’s not half the woman you are, Susan.”

“What is it today? The low-pressure system?” First Mitchell,

now Tom? All of a sudden I go from being this rejected, over-

weight, angry woman to an object of desire? I guessed I was on

a roll. Hold the mayonnaise, I’m on a diet, I thought. My mind

was spinning.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“Never mind. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

I sashayed down the hall to the kitchen, Tom behind me. I

could sense his eyes honing in on my newly sculpted backside

like a Scud missile. Let him beg for it, I thought, and the answer

will still be no.

“You look incredible, Susan. Been working out?”

He adjusted himself on a bar stool like it was the seventies

and he was a young phallus. I reached into the refrigerator and

took out two Bud Lights, twisting off the caps.

“Yeah, got a personal trainer, thanks to your generosity.”

This could be fun. I hadn’t sparred with him in weeks.

“Very funny. Look, things have been tight lately, but I want

to take good care of you and Beth, you know that.”

I poured his beer in a glass and handed it to him. I would

have liked to believe him, I thought, I really would.

“We’re doing okay,” I said nonchalantly.

I began to search the drawer under the counter for some

pretzels.

Beth came sailing back through, taking out my grandmother’s

sterling flatware and horn-handled steak knives. They were tar-

nished to a deep blue from months of neglect. She raised her eyes

to me, not breaking what appeared to be a self-imposed vow of

silence.

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“The polish is under the sink,” I muttered to her.

Wonder of the world, she laid the silver out on a towel and

actually dug around in the bottom cabinet.

“Tom, why don’t we go to the living room. Maybe we can

catch the news. I just want to run up and change my clothes.”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll see what’s on the tube.”

I made it up to my bedroom and tore off my clothes, all the

way to my bra and panties.They were soaked too. I put on the

navy lace bra I was saving in case I had to go to the hospital or

in case Harrison Ford’s car broke down in front of my house. I

put on the matching navy lace panties.Then I slipped on a pair

of my old jeans, size ten, thank you very much, and battled the

zipper into submission. Seeing my flesh swell, ever so slightly,

over the top of the waistband, I decided to put on a big top and

was glad that I had ironed my favorite blue chambray shirt yes-

terday. I unbuttoned it as far down as decorum would permit,

hoping he’d stew in his juices over my cleavage.

“Gonna have to be a helluva storm to let him touch this

again,” I said with resolve to the bathroom mirror, admiring my

svelte and youngish reflection. This was such classic stuff. Hus-

band runs off with young twit, young twit dumps him for

young stud, husband crawls back to wife in repentance because

all men think they married their mother, or wish they’d married

their mother, because Mother always forgives and loves you.

Not this mother. Oh, no. I didn’t have a revolving door on

my house. No, sir.

I was formulating an evil plan of revenge. Here was the plot.

I’d let him get plastered with wine and beer. I’d let him beg to

sleep with me, as I knew he would, and while the storm raged all

around, I’d kick him out into the night. Don’t tell me “Revenge is

mine, sayeth the Lord!” Livvie Singleton would have said that the

Lord’s a little busy and if I took the revenge for Him, it would be

okay.Well, maybe not. But in any case, I was going to have at it.

Maybe, maybe, I’d let him sleep on the couch, but only if

the storm was really bad. If he didn’t want to sleep with me, he

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wouldn’t have shown up with a side of beef. I knew this man.

Steak was always our “dinner of seduction” menu and some

things were pretty darn predictable.

I took my time washing my face and reapplied my makeup

with precision and care. Not too much blush, just enough to hol-

low my cheeks. Not too much mascara, just enough to offset my

eyes, which now, a curious side benefit of losing weight, no

longer needed to be lifted. I splashed a moderate amount of his

favorite perfume on my throat and wrists and glossed my lips.

The thin gold chain around my neck rested on my now slightly

pronounced collarbones. If the light was right, I might be able to

pass for late thirties. Okay, if it was very dark. I brushed my teeth

twice and gargled silently. I was prepared to face the enemy.

As naturally as possible, I descended the stairs. I could hear

the television in the living room.

“What’s the word?” I said casually as I stood in front of the

big gilt-framed mirror that had once hung in my mother’s living

room.

“Storm’s coming. Look’s like it’s gonna make landfall just

above Pawley’s Island.”

“Do you think they’re right? Shoot, these guys are wrong all

the time.”

“Yeah, but now they’ve got that Doppler radar, and they can

pinpoint the storm’s eye down to which street corner and what

front yard.”

“Big Brother.Weird, isn’t it?”

I crossed my arms and we stood together in front of the old

armoire that had been refitted to hold the television and stereo,

listening to the report and watching the radar arm revolve around

the swelling blue mass that was Hurricane Maybelline.

Suddenly there was a loud banging noise coming from the

outside wall. Something was knocking against the house.We ran

to the window to look out and through the rain and the bleak

light we could see a shutter dangling and slapping the house in

the wind.

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“I’ll go fix it,”Tom said.“Where’s the hammer?”

“Right where you left it last spring.”

It was a borderline hardball thing to have said, but it just

came out. Actually, I was glad at that moment he was there. I

couldn’t see myself taking a ladder outside in this weather and

fixing a shutter. He just looked at me.

“I’m sorry, Tom. That wasn’t necessary. Listen, thanks a lot.

I’ll help you if you need me.”

“I do need you, Susan, but not for this. I’ll be right back.”

His face was as sincere as any face I’d ever seen on that man.

All the clever phrases I’d practiced in my mirror in recent

months were suctioned from my memory like so much smoke

in a honky-tonk bar when you open a window.

I watched him leave the room. He was looking very good

from the back.Yes, indeedy, that tight little backside of his was

begging for a grab. It seemed like his shoulders were broader.

Couldn’t be, but his waist was definitely thinner. I wondered for

a moment if he’d feel different in bed than he used to.

I started to rationalize. Maybe I was being too hard on him.

Maybe we would just sit on the couch and try to sort things