The Husband Diet, page 23
‘You there – the tall girl,’ the instructor called.
I turned. ‘Yes?’
‘Don’t stand like you’re terrified of touching him. Your hips have to touch; it’s a love dance, not a soldier’s march. Meld the hips, communicate through your bodies! Tango is sex,’ he continued, and above me, I could literally feel Julian smile.
‘Just pretend you’re alone with him in your bedroom’—as if I hadn’t done that a gazillion times—‘and let yourself go.’
‘OK,’ I whispered with a determined huff and a nod.
‘And you – husband…’
Julian turned, grinning, enjoying every moment of my discomfort, the cad.
‘Yes?’
‘Hold her a little closer. She won’t break, you know?’
Which was true. I’d passed the dummy crash test against his headboard several times before, he-he.
‘That’s more like it. Now, ladies. Point your toes and push your right leg out, rubbing it against the outside of his thigh. This is when being the same height comes in handy.’
I was nowhere near his height, but I can guarantee you, my legs found his thigh like it was second nature.
‘Good… now, gentlemen, when she does that, you tilt her back over your arm and bury your head into her breasts.’
What?
‘Like this…’
And with that, he grabbed his own partner, who was wearing a red dress like mine, only so much smaller that it looked like a mere splinter off mine. The girl threw her head back joyously as he lowered his head to her inexistent breasts.
‘Bend back, Erica,’ Julian whispered as I grabbed his forearms instinctively.
‘No – wait.’
He caught me, eyes searching mine. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m… too heavy for you,’ I said meekly.
‘You must be joking,’ he chuckled, trying to lean me over again, but I resisted, my arms now around his neck.
‘Please.’ It was so humiliating, I wanted to cry.
‘Sweetie, I’m not going to let you fall. Promise.’
I bit my lip. Could this man really catch me if I fell?
In response, he tilted his head to look into my eyes. ‘Let me show you something.’
‘What?’
‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes.’ Truly, I did.
‘Put your hands on my shoulders now, OK?’ he said, placing his hands on my waist, and I cringed inwardly, more than aware of the flab.
I nodded, cursing last night’s cannoli.
‘Look into my eyes,’ he whispered, and I obeyed as he slowly and delicately lifted me off the floor – at least three feet – until I was looking down at him, clutching at his shoulders for something solid to hold onto. ‘See? Easy as pie. I could hold you like this forever.’
‘Oh, Julian…’ I moaned and reached down to kiss him as I slid back down his body. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and…
‘Hey, Dirty Dancers,’ came the instructor’s voice behind us. ‘You follow my moves. Improvisation classes are down the hall!’
Julian put me down with a wink and I could feel my face boiling. He’d lifted me. Just like that. And he wasn’t even hyperventilating or anything.
‘Trust me to hold you now?’ he asked, and I nodded instinctively.
‘OK now, ladies and gents, we’re doing this again on three!’ the instructor hollered.
Soon we were learning more steps to string together and he was dipping me backward, his soft black hair tickling my collarbone as he bent forward, his hand strong and firm as I curved my back. When I came up, I giggled, and he smiled at me and lifted me again.
‘That’s not part of the steps,’ I said, and he grinned.
‘I just like holding you,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You feel good.’
‘You mean I feel abundant.’
‘I don’t like bony women. I want to touch as much woman as I can. And you’re the most feminine I’ve ever met.’
‘Of course. I’m two at the price of one.’
‘Silly.’
‘It’s true. Ira always said he should have traded me in for two size tens.’ Way to go, dummy. Now he knows you were once a size twenty.
He ducked until our foreheads were touching. ‘I wouldn’t change you for ten size twos.’
And with that, he brought me close and kissed the top of my head before letting me slide safely back to my feet, savoring every inch of the way down his body. I was so excited I saw spots. His hand lingered on my back.
‘Are you OK?’ he whispered.
It turned out Julian knew how to tango. Why else would he have agreed if he was going to make a fool out of himself? After our instructor gave us some final pointers and the music began, Julian put one hand at the back of my waist, pulling me up against him but not in a blatant, rude way, and held my hand in position. And I was in his arms, with no place to go and no place to look, except for his shoulder.
My brain, or what was left of it, registered the familiar masculine scent of his lean body, the feel of his chest underneath his shirt, the whiteness of his teeth and all the stuff we’d done in his bed. A slow flame of panic began to rise inside me. Yes, I was a free woman now, but what could happen from his moment on was a mystery.
Julian had a raw, primitive sexual pull on me. Forget tango, forget our manners. I wanted him here and now. Who cared if my classmates and instructor gasped at the sight of our writhing, naked and sweaty bodies on the wooden parquet, and at the sound of our pleasure-howls echoing in the dance studio, draining out the loud music… So much for keeping my distance.
But that was my alter ego talking and not me, because as Julian’s hips gyrated expertly and neared mine, grinning a sexy grin, I feared I wouldn’t be able to cope, but then he whispered, ‘So far, so good? I just hope I don’t step on your dainty little toes with my size twelve hind paws here,’ and I giggled. ‘You’ve got such a beautiful smile, Erica,’ he said. Yep. I was toast – no doubt about it.
And later, under the sheets, or rather, on top of them, I proved it to him.
‘Man,’ he gritted his teeth, eyes flashing. ‘You’ve got me totally wrapped around your finger.’
‘Have I now,’ I drawled as my lips traveled down his chest to deeper, darker seas.
‘Absolutely. I’d do anything for you, Erica…’
I stopped. Was now the time to mention Tuscany? Hell no! Why ruin a perfectly good evening?
To compensate my hesitance to speak, I once again passed the dummy crash test against his headboard that night – several times.
*
‘I have to show you something.’ He pulled out a sheaf of papers as we were lounging around in bed an hour later.
‘What’s this? A lawsuit?’
He laughed. ‘Are you ever serious?’
‘I’m always serious.’
‘It’s my new book.’
I jumped up. ‘You’re kidding me!’
‘It’s just a rough draft, of course. I pounded it out over the Christmas holidays. I figured time without you shouldn’t be a total loss, so—’
‘But that’s fantastic! Oh my God, Julian!’
He let me hug him tight and plant kisses all over him.
‘Wait until you read it,’ he laughed.
‘It’s amazing, I’m positive. Give me that. I’m not stopping until I finish it.’
I slid out of bed and he caught me around the waist.
‘You’re not planning any breaks?’ he murmured into my ear.
‘Are you kidding? But if it’s as good as I know it is’—I wrapped my arms around his neck—‘you get an extra bonus.’
It didn’t take all night, but man was it good. The book, you dirty mind! And it was beautiful. Poignant, funny, honest, sharp, insightful. Just like Julian. Where the hell had I found this man? What had made him what he is today? All I had was the end product, but why did he turn out to be so much better than the average man who burped and farted proudly and always left the toilet seat up? What made him so special?
We discussed his book, made love again, discussed it some more over a midnight snack of leftover lasagne (which he’d made while I was reading, constantly asking me, ‘What part are you at? Did you get to the darkest moment yet?’) and finally fell asleep around 3 a.m. At least he did.
I was on a mission to satisfy my morbid curiosity, so while Julian slept, I logged onto Google and typed in Red Sox and Foxham. And there he was. Julian Nigel Foxham, alias The Red Fox, former baseball champion for the Red Sox. He’d been defined ‘The Diamond of the Diamond’.
But what had been a promising career had been brutally interrupted due to an arm injury received during a game. After a total refusal of sports, he’d thrown himself into dating practically every girl in a label – and especially out of it – from actresses to models to sports stars.
The list was endless. And it never lasted more than a week. I wonder how many notches he had on his bed post… I’d have to make a point of counting them. I read on:
After having suffered a major injury to his batting arm, Julian Foxham retired from the sports scene. He’s currently writing his second book on his experience with the Red Sox, entitled, The Woman in Red Sox.
Woman in red socks? Who was she? A former lover? His first title had been My Love Affair with the Red Sox.
He had been a few years younger. Always those kind but sexy eyes.
Things between Julian and me were going great. The sexual tension gave no sign of dying out and we’d done it oodles of times – in his bed, in my bed, on his chaise longue (that was a favorite of ours), on my sofa, on his sofa, in my shower (another favorite), in his shower. On my kitchen counter (Paul had the kids), among flour and chocolate (which I strongly recommend, as Julian’s got a shamefully sweet tooth).
The only place we hadn’t done it was our cars or our offices, but we’d pretty much covered the geography of our lives.
32
The Return of Ira?
One February evening as I was waiting for Julian to take me out on another dinner date, I got a little visit from Ira. He was standing on the doorway, pale and unshaved. He looked horrible.
‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded as that old feeling of resentment rose in me as if on cue.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m on my way out. You should call.’
‘Where are the kids?’
‘With my sister Judy and Steve.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
And just then, Julian pulled up in his jeep and got out, carrying a box of pastries and a bottle of wine. His smile disappeared like an elastic band that had been stretched and flung far away.
‘Julian, you remember my soon-to-be ex-husband, Ira,’ I said, baring my teeth. And then I added, ‘Ira, you know my boyfriend, Julian.’
‘Uh, hello, Ira,’ Julian managed.
‘Go on in, Julian. Ira was just leaving.’
Ira stared at him, then at me, as if he still couldn’t fathom how the hell someone like Julian Foxham was with someone like me when I wasn’t even good enough for my own husband.
‘Tell the kids I’ll come by tomorrow evening,’ he snapped and left, driving off with a screech as Julian watched him go, then turned to me again, his eyes still huge.
‘I’m sorry about the boyfriend, Julian – it just came out. I wanted to hurt him.’
‘Is that the only reason why?’ he asked softly, placing my gifts just inside the entrance, under the mirror, leaving me a moment to think that one over without him breathing down my back. ‘Or does it feel good to say it out loud?’
He was so sweet, it scared me. I turned to look at him. Was he asking me for himself or for me? I could no longer keep him hanging. It wasn’t fair on him.
‘Ah… well,’ was all I could say, not being one for words when talking about private stuff.
And then there was an awkward silence, which I knew he was waiting for me to fill. But then he took my hand, guiding me to his jeep, where he opened the door, helped me in, closed it and grinned at me.
I swallowed. I wasn’t used to having someone looking at me so intensely. Then he leaned in and took my chin in his hand. I closed my eyes and he dropped a smackingly delicious kiss on my mouth. I moaned and wrapped my arms around his neck, almost pulling him in through the window.
‘I think you know how I feel about you,’ I murmured into his ear.
He shivered, squeezing my upper arm. ‘Do I…?’
*
As I was putting away some groceries the next day, the doorbell rang. It was Ira again, his face drawn and his eyes sunken, as if suffering from a severe illness.
‘I’ll call the kids down,’ I managed, grinding my teeth. ‘Be nice.’
‘I-I need to talk to you first, Erica.’
I opened the door wider to let him in against my better judgment. ‘What is it?’
He nodded his thanks and sat down on the sofa, fidgeting with his tie like a rookie at his first job interview. I sat opposite him, my heart racing. What could he possibly want still?
Then he took a deep breath and said it. ‘I want to come back home, Erica.’
I shot to my feet and instinctively headed for the kitchen. Why, I don’t know. It was the place I felt safest in the house. The place where I excelled. It hadn’t certainly been the bedroom, according to him.
He followed me into the kitchen – another first – where I continued to pull the groceries out of the bags. It had always been obvious to me from day one that Maxine wouldn’t last long, but come on. It wasn’t even Easter yet.
And now he realized that he was alone with a twenty-something year-old who was completely clueless about the sacrifices of being in a relationship. Now he knew what he’d lost, leaving us – a strong, sturdy presence – behind him. A family.
‘Listen, I already told you that you can see the kids anytime you want,’ I said, but Ira shook his head, taking the milk carton out of my hands and stilling me so I was looking straight into his eyes.
The eyes that I had once loved so passionately. So hopelessly. Now, they just made me sick.
‘I know, but… can’t we work it out?’
I pushed him away. ‘No, we can’t, and for the record, don’t even dream of applying for full custody.’ Years and years of dreaming murder would come in handy if he went down that road.
‘No, Erica – I don’t want full custody. Listen to me, please. I’m so, so sorry. I miss you – not just the kids. I miss you, my wife.’
I stared at him stupidly as he said the words I’d waited to hear for twelve years. Ira still loved me. Ira wanted me back. What a bunch of bull.
I buried myself in the fridge, stacking my dairy products. Milk, cheese, butter, yogh…
‘Erica, honey…’
That honey could have been useful while I was trying to win his heart, once upon a billion years ago.
I faced him again, the blood flooding into my cheeks, and let it all out in one breath. ‘What happened? Was Pristine Maxine too high-maintenance for you? Doesn’t she want the kids around? Good, because guess what? They’re not interested in hanging around her, either, or any of your poor victims.’
‘Please, Erica. Forgive me,’ he said softly, his hand on my shoulder. ‘I made a big mistake. I need you. You give my life a meaning. You’re my rock. I love you.’
I flung his arm off me and moved away. ‘No, you don’t, Ira. You don’t treat people you love like you’ve treated me and your children all these years.’
He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around my wrist. ‘No – you don’t understand. I need your support.’
‘I do understand. You think you made a mistake, but you haven’t. You left because you didn’t love me. Or the kids.’
There was a long, heavy silence, as if he was considering my words, wondering how true they were.
I sighed. ‘You can go now. I’m busy. I have a guest for dinner.’
At that, Ira’s chest puffed out. ‘A guest? Of course – Julian Foxham. The two of you were already sleeping together, weren’t you?’
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. ‘Are you pretending to be jealous? Didn’t you once tell me there was no way a man could ever be interested in someone like me? Aren’t I too fat to attract a man, let alone a champion like Julian Foxham?’
But Ira ignored my words, struck by a bright light bulb in his deviant little mind. ‘You were sleeping with him way before I started seeing Maxine. And you even brought him here, in my own home! You should be paying me alimony!’
At that, he turned and headed for the stairs. I followed him.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded as he strode into our – my – bedroom.
He yanked the bed away from the wall and retrieved his baseball bat, sweating and red-faced, his eyes flashing.
33
Ira and the IRS
I blinked, frozen to my spot as Warren and Maddy skidded to a halt on the landing, Warren’s face ashen.
‘Ira, put that down! You’re scaring the children!’ I hissed.
‘I just want you to listen to me, goddammit!’ he yelled. ‘I’m over a hundred thousand dollars in debt and I don’t know what to do!’
Maddy began to cry and I swiftly moved downstairs so Ira would move away from them. But to my horror, they followed, as well.
‘Get out of here, now!’ I yelled.
‘You’re paying me alimony!’ he repeated. ‘Give me the money or I swear—’
‘Dad!’ Warren said, puffing his chest out bravely, but his lips were quivering. ‘Put that bat down. Please.’
‘Warren,’ I managed. ‘Daddy isn’t going to hurt anyone, I promise.’
Ira whirled around to stare at me. ‘Of course I’m not – what do you think I am, Erica? A psycho or something?’
Looking at him wielding a baseball bat, insanity did come to mind. I stared into Ira’s eyes as I spoke to Warren. Calm but firm.
‘Warren. I need you to take your sister upstairs again. Now. Can you do that for me? Daddy and I need to talk. Please, sweetheart.’
