An Ex to Grind (27 page)

"It's that loss of focus that gave Jed the feeling that you weren't a hundred percent on the case," Bernie went on.

"But I promised you it was only temporary—"

"Let me finish," he said. "You're distracted. You're not coming to work prepared. You're not putting in the hours. You're not giving Jed the attention he needs."

"I'm not letting him grope me, you mean? Because if that's it, you can have him as a client," I said hotly.

"It isn't that and you know it. He just wants the full-time executive he thought he was getting."

"Did you tell him about the divorce? How it's complicated my life?" I said, feeling myself sink into the chair.

"I did. But he asked—and I have to confess that the possibility had occurred to me too, given how edgy and scattered you've been—whether it's drugs."

"What?"

"Are we looking, for example, at a cocaine issue?"

A dope fiend. That's what they suspected me of being. Well, what goes around comes around, I thought. My tall tale about Leah had come back to bite me.

"I don't do drugs, Bernie," I said, making myself sound incredibly sober, even though I already was.

"Normally, I would have sent you packing," he said, not committing to whether he believed me about the drugs or not. "But you've been an important member of our team, Mel. So I'm giving you another chance. I'll take Jed's account and you keep the smaller fish."

Yeah, great. How would I ever get a promotion and a raise with smaller fish? How would I escape the Heartbreak Hotel now?

There was only one way, and that was by
not
turning over half of my salary to my ex. I had to keep up the fight.

"It isn't drugs," I said again. "It's the divorce, and I'm getting a handle on it. In another couple of months, you won't even remember this conversation. I'll be my old self, Bernie. You'll put me back on the big fish, reeling them in the way I always have. You'll see."

He nodded. "Whatever the problem is, I'm rooting for you to get it under control."

Get
them
under control was more like it. And I was close. So close.

When Dan came to drop off Buster the following
Monday morning, he was not only right on time but also dressed for success. He was wearing an older suit that he'd been too heavy to squeeze into, but now there it was, fitting his trimmer body perfectly. He looked very handsome, but what was even more striking was how alert he was, how alive. It was as if his On switch had been activated. Each time I saw him I noticed subtle changes in him—in his expression, in his walk, in his attitude—and I wasn't sure how to react to them. Or to him. After all my bitching and moaning about how checked out he'd been, he was emerging from his fog and beginning to resemble a human being.

"I haven't heard yet about the L.I.U. job, but the interview went so well I figured I'd go on another one," he said, explaining the clothes.

"Another coaching job?" I said, amazed.

"Rutgers," he said. "And I've got Columbia lined up for later in the week. Their team is bad enough that they might even take a chance on me."

He laughed his self-effacing laugh, and I was suddenly transported back to the night we'd met at the restaurant when we were in college. He'd laughed that laugh then, when he'd told me it was his first time in the Big Apple, and I'd found him charming. But was I finding him charming now or was I merely grateful that he was no longer parading his extravagances in front of me? There was no question that he'd put a stop to the baiting, and as a result, I didn't go into every encounter with him prepared to do battle.

But the battle over the alimony was still raging. This was not the time for me to feel anything but an impending sense of victory as the ninety-day deadline approached. And yet, there I was, standing in my living room, smiling at him, and there he was, standing in my living room, smiling at me, and it was as if we were two people who actually liked each other.

"I'm impressed that you're putting yourself out there," I said, truly bewildered by these new/old feelings toward him.

"I appreciate that," he said.

"Well, you're making an effort, Dan. That's huge."

I looked at him, his golden hair gleaming under the light of the window, and was suddenly flooded with what-ifs. What if he'd made the effort sooner? What if he'd realized that all I ever wanted was for him to pursue a coaching job, instead of hiding in a bottle or a poker game or a night on the town? What if he'd understood that the reason I left him was because he wouldn't take the kind of risks he was willing to take now? Would we still be together? Would the divorce never have happened? Would I be the one sharing his bed, not Leah?

Leah. I'd actually forgotten about her for a second. Was it her sweet nature and kindergarten-level pep talks that were motivating Dan to improve himself? Or would he have changed on his own, given enough time and self-loathing?

I blinked, trying to cleanse myself of all the questions, because they were entirely inappropriate, given our current circumstances. But when Dan spoke next, it was as if he'd read my mind.

"Just thought you should know," he said. "I finally get what you wanted from me—and what I should have wanted from myself."

"You do?" I said, stunned that we were so in sync.

"Yeah. See, I don't blame you for walking out. Not anymore. I wasn't pulling my weight in the marriage. But more than that, I wasn't living my life. You tried to tell me that, but I was too terrified to listen."

So he
was
afraid of me, just as Mrs. Thornberg and Desiree had said he was, and the realization brought on another what-if. What if I'd been as sweet and uncritical as Leah? Would he have flourished back then? Was there a piece of our breakup that was
my
fault? "Are you ready to live your life now?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'm still a work in progress, but I'm gonna be okay." He nodded again. "I bet even you will be proud of me."

"Oh, Dan." I was completely flummoxed by his new self-awareness, his introspection. Finding myself tolerating him, much less being impressed by him, wasn't part of my plan, wasn't the point of "the project." He was supposed to fall into my trap, forfeit the alimony, and go his merry way. He wasn't supposed to remind me of the man I used to love.

"Why don't we have this conversation over a cup of coffee?" I suggested, because I didn't know what else to say. "Or do you have to run off to your interview?" Never mind that I had to run off to my job, for which I was already late. But since Jed Ornbacher wasn't my responsibility anymore, nobody seemed to care when I came and went.

"I've got a few minutes," he said. "Does your coffee still taste like water or have you graduated from instant?"

I poked him in the ribs, on the spot where he was ticklish, and he started poking me back. The poking was utterly spontaneous and the first remotely physical exchange we'd had in ages, but it felt right somehow. Familiar.

Dan stayed for coffee, played with Buster, and helped me replace a lightbulb that had gone out. And he talked to me, not like a man who was ducking my scrutiny, but like a man who was inviting it. He told me more about his interview at L.I.U. He told me he'd become a volunteer in an athletic program directed at inner-city kids. And he told me that he and Leah were repainting the apartment themselves, at night, both to save money and to give them an activity that they could do together.

"So you two are still going strong?" I asked, knowing the answer, of course. Isa had told me only the day before that she'd snapped a photograph of Leah's panties in their bed.

"Very," he said. "I never expected to get close to another woman again, but she and I have the kind of chemistry that—" He paused shyly. "Maybe I shouldn't."

"Go ahead. What were you about to say?"

"Just that she and I have the kind of chemistry that you and I had in the beginning."

Yet again, the comparison irked me. I resented the notion that the woman I'd schemed and plotted to bring into his life for only a brief stint was inspiring the same kind of devotion in him that I had. He'd married
me
. I'd been his
wife
. How could he even put her and me in the same category, let alone the same sentence?

"Remember when you came out to Minco for the first time?" he said.

"How could I forget?" I said. "You proposed to me during that trip."

"I sure did. But remember how we couldn't be apart for a second? We were like a couple of magnets."

"I remember," I said softly.

"And it wasn't just sexual. We each 'represented the other's missing half,' was how you put it. Once we got together the puzzle just fit, didn't it?"

I nodded, feeling a twinge of pain at the memory. I'd missed having a man to round me out, fill in my missing parts. I missed the way Dan and I used to be, plain and simple.

"Well, now Leah is my missing half," he said. "She completes the puzzle. Amazing, huh? I never thought it would happen again."

Okay. I'd heard enough about Leah and her many gifts. I'd much preferred the conversation about
my
gifts.

I looked at my watch, then Dan looked at his, and we realized we'd both better get moving. We said hasty goodbyes.

"This was nice," he said, stopping in the doorway.

"My watery coffee?" I teased.

"Being with you and Buster without the tension." He smiled. "Feels a little like old times, doesn't it?"

"A little," I agreed. A lot, I thought.

"Go get 'em today, darlin'."

"You too. I hope the interviews go well."

He nodded and closed the door, and as soon as he was gone I turned to Buster and said, "What the hell was that?"

Buster, being a very clever dog, remained silent, so that I'd have to answer my own question.

"Alimony aside, Daddy's doing a very good imitation of a solid citizen."

In response, Buster stuck his head under the sofa.

"I know," I said. "Mommy doesn't know what to make of it either."

I spent the rest of the week in a state of confusion. Who was this ex-husband of mine with his job interviews, his volunteer work, and his steady girlfriend? And how was I supposed to relate to him? I was committed to terminating his support payments, committed to building back my assets, but as I sat at my desk, writing him his monthly check, filling in his name and the dollar amount and completing the deed with my signature, I've got to tell you: I felt ambivalent. Why? Because the guy was behaving like a mensch instead of a jerk. I didn't understand the turnaround in him or in me, except to say that he'd changed and I'd noticed, and the pleasure of pulling the rug out from under him wasn't quite there anymore. There was no pleasure in hearing him sing Leah's praises either, and certainly no pleasure in listening to him give her the credit for shaping him up.

When the next Monday morning came around, I took extra care with my appearance before bringing Buster over to Dan's. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I wanted to be more attractive to him than she was. Stupid, I know. Childish, I know. Competitive, I know that too. Nevertheless, I showered with the vanilla-scented body wash somebody at work swore by, and I tweezed my eyebrows so they'd be as ultrathin and stylish as hers. Unfortunately, I went overboard in the eyebrows department; they ended up with this dramatic arc in the middle of them, giving me the appearance of someone who's perpetually astonished. Which is sort of what I was, actually.