Monarch Beach (12 page)

Max went inside to finish the game he had saved on his Wii, and my mother retreated to her bedroom to watch
The Young and the Restless,
which she had TiVo’ed. I sat on the balcony watching the party on the Grand Lawn move into full swing. A band played eighties surf tunes on a specially constructed stage. Stations of food lined each side of the lawn. Guests wearing Hawaiian shirts and Bahama shorts wafted from station to station: filling their plates with steak and shrimp and caviar. I could hear the clink of glasses, clapping, and drunken laughter.

In the morning the stage and the tables would be gone, whisked away by the hotel crew who worked all night like Santa’s elves. I wasn’t ready to join the mixers or the sunset cocktail hours. I couldn’t imagine strapping on sandals and spraying my wrists with Obsession to go mingle and flirt. But at least I could enjoy the fun from my balcony.

*   *   *

There was an excited buzz in the lobby when I took the elevator downstairs the next day. Little girls in party dresses ran in circles, and boys wearing collared shirts stood awkwardly, sipping lemonade. Gloved waiters dispensed flutes of champagne and rounds of hors d’oeuvres.

“Mom, over here.” Max waved to me. He wore a St. Regis Kids’ Club T-shirt and green boardshorts.

“The other boys are dressed up,” I admonished him.

“They’re just here for the butterfly release. We’re here all summer.”

“You could at least brush your hair.” I ran my fingers through his hair, which had grains of sand stuck in it and was sticking straight up from his head.

“Overrated,” Max scoffed and headed out to the balcony.

I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, trying not to feel that even my son didn’t need me anymore.

“Always have a bit of food when you drink champagne during the day.”

I turned around, thinking it was a waiter with a plate of sandwiches, but it was a man wearing Bahama shorts and a navy ribbed sweater. He had steel-gray hair, blue eyes, and a thick jaw. His nose had a serious bump in the middle but somehow the overall effect was attractive.

“Then I would have to spend the rest of the day in the gym,” I replied.

“The secret is protein. You can eat as much protein as you want and never gain an ounce.” He took a steak tartar on toast from a silver tray. He had big, suntanned hands and no wedding ring.

“Eat this.” He swallowed the steak in one bite. “You never gain a pound. Go with the cucumber sandwiches, it’s off to the stationary bike.”

“Cucumber is good for you,” I said. This man was at least ten, maybe fifteen years older than me, and his body was stocky, unlike Andre, who was all long legs and slim chest. But over my flute of champagne he looked sexy in a prizefighter kind of a way.

“Cucumber is fine, it’s the slab of butter they put under it that’s not. Also the white bread, nutritional value of cardboard.”

“You sound like a diet book.”

“I own a restaurant. I know a little about food.”

“Oh, God.” I choked on a strip of steak.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“You own a restaurant.”

“It’s not a crime. We sell seafood, not heroin.” He smiled, which made his nose look more crooked.

“My husband, well, soon to be ex-husband, owns a restaurant.” I wanted to bite my tongue as the words slipped out. Couldn’t I have my first conversation with an attractive man without mentioning Andre?

“Is it a breakfast place that serves greasy bacon? Did you leave him because of too much fat in the diet?” We were standing in the lounge beside the twelve-foot doors that opened onto the balcony. I glanced at Max stuffing his mouth with popcorn.

“No, it was the too many women in his diet.”

“Ah, sorry. Edward Jonas.” He held out his hand.

“Amanda Blick.” We shook hands. I remember the first night I met Andre and he kissed me on the cheek. I felt so special and sexy. I’m sure these days his first-nighters get a wet kiss on the lips. Followed by an invitation to lie down and open their legs.

“Here for the weekend?”

“For the summer.”

“You picked a nice place to lick your wounds. I went through my own divorce five years ago. It seems like a rite of passage these days, like getting your first bout of acne. No one escapes it.”

I relaxed and took another sip of champagne. “It hurts,” I said honestly.

“It turns your life upside down and rips your heart out. I was an entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles with a home in Pasadena, a swimming pool, two great kids, and a Porsche 911.”

“And?”

“All gone. The wife got the house. The kids wanted to stay with her, and who can blame them? Their first dog is buried in the garden. Their Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries are in the attic. They’re both in college now but they spend their summers at home. A swimming pool is a big draw for parties.”

“I take it you got the Porsche.” Maybe he was another Andre in a different shape. Maybe his wife found lace panties in the passenger seat of the Porsche and kicked him out.

“I sold the Porsche to pay their tuition. Divorce destroys your wallet faster than a tsunami. Twenty years of financial planning decimated by a year of unplanned extramarital fucking.” He stopped. “Sorry, not very polite of me.”

“I’d love to hear someone else’s war story.”

“Julie and I took a trip with another partner in the firm and his wife. German guy named Jorge. Had the best manners you ever met. It was always: ‘You choose the wine. Please have my seat, it has a better view.’ He wore perfectly tailored suits and shirts with stiff collars. How could my wife screw someone who wore stiff collars? He was the opposite of me. Foreign, polite, and well dressed. What does that say about our whole marriage?” He stopped and swallowed a caviar ball. His face broke into a wide smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I haven’t let loose like this in years. You must want to run through those doors.” He nodded toward the balcony.

“No, I’m just watching my son, Max. He’s waiting for a butterfly. Keep going.”

“We took one of those package tours. ‘Explore Down Under in Fourteen Days. See Ayer’s Rock,’ etc. The four of us were on a train in the middle of Australia, miles of nothing out there. I was sitting in the observation lounge reading a Dick Francis paperback when I realized I hadn’t seen Julie in hours. I went back to our cabin and she wasn’t there. It was a really skinny train. You were either in your cabin, the dining car, the observation lounge, or … it finally dawned on me, someone else’s cabin. I knocked on the door of Jorge’s cabin and I heard giggling, then moaning. I thought it was Jorge and his wife, Emma, but I realized I had passed her in the dining car. I knocked again, dead silence. Did they think they could jump out the window? The windows didn’t even open on that train.” Edward stopped and sipped a glass of water. I liked that he wasn’t embarrassed.

“I waited until finally they came out of the cabin. They had all sorts of excuses. But I’d heard them.”

“I saw my husband wrapped around another woman and he tried to make up a story.” For the first time the image of Andre and Ursula didn’t make me crumple inside.

“Adulterers live in their own fantasy world. The minute we touched ground at LAX, I filed for divorce. Apparently Jorge had been doing Julie for almost a year. I was like an emu. That’s an Australian bird, like an ostrich, head in the sand.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” I said.

“I just wonder if marriage is an outdated idea. It seems someone is always looking for a new sex partner. Sorry, I should shut up. You’re young and beautiful. You’ll meet a stand-up guy and get married again.” He smiled.

I felt a flicker of disappointment. If I was beautiful why wasn’t he interested in me? Did I have a big “damaged goods” sign on my forehead? I took a deep breath and decided to take a leap.

“I haven’t even been on a date. What’s the name of your restaurant? Maybe I’ll take my son there.”

“It’s called Laguna Beach Tackle. Kind of corny, my partner used to be in advertising, he likes the glib stuff. Come as my guest. I’ll have the chef make octopus. That will give your son something to talk about.”

“We’d love to.”

“Mom!” Max raced inside and thrust his hand under my nose. “Look, I’ve got a butterfly. What shall I name him?”

“Did you make a wish?” Edward asked him.

“How did you know about wishes?” Max asked.

“The monarch butterflies are pretty famous around here for their magical capabilities. Because of the monarchs, I just met your beautiful mother.”

“Um, this is Mr. Jonas. He owns a restaurant like Dad. I thought we could eat there.”

“It can’t be as good.” Max looked squarely at Edward, reminding me too much of Andre. “My dad makes the best fondue anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t want to compete. But you could try eel and octopus. When my son was your age he loved eel soaked in butter.”

Max was a sucker for disgusting-sounding foods. “Okay. When will we go, Mom?”

“Tonight?” I looked at Edward. I had never set up a date in front of my son, who thought his parents were still happily married before.

“Tonight sounds great. Here’s the address.” Edward handed me a card. “I’m going to leave you two with your butterflies. Why don’t you come around eight?”

Max dragged me onto the balcony to release his butterfly. “He flew away, Mom. So cool! I’m going to get another one.”

I sat on one of the sand-colored sofas and pulled out my cell phone. “What do you wear on an almost date at a seafood restaurant?”

“What is an almost date?” Stephanie asked. Thank god Stephanie always answered her phone.

I explained about Edward.

“I can’t believe your first date is with a guy who owns a restaurant.”

“It’s not a date. I’m going with Max, and Edward’s going to be there. Though he sort of invited us. He said the chef would prepare us something special.” I realized I wanted it to be a date.

“Couldn’t you meet a banker or a doctor or a horse wrangler? Don’t you think you’ve played the restaurant card?”

“He is completely different from Andre. He was married for almost twenty years and his wife cheated on him.”

“Great, you can be pity partners. You need some romance. Find a Venezuelan polo player who seduces you in Spanish and leaves rose petals on your pillow.”

“You haven’t even seen him. He’s pretty hunky,” I protested. It felt nice to be interested in someone.

“Okay, go on your almost date. Wear your Stella McCartney print dress. Is he tall?”

“No, he’s stocky, and for some reason I find it really sexy.”

“It’s probably reaction-attraction.”

“What?”

“You’re attracted to him because he’s the opposite of Andre. It won’t last.”

“Since when did you become Dr. Phil? I just want to know what shoes to wear.”

“Flats, obviously.”

“Thanks, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have fun, but keep your eyes open for a polo player. Or a professional volleyball player. I bet you could find one of those on the beach.”

“Bye, Stephanie.” I hung up.

“Mom, I caught a butterfly for you.” Max placed a butterfly on my hand. I stroked its wings. They were black and gold and smooth as velvet.

“Make a wish,” Max insisted.

I held the butterfly up high and closed my eyes. I blinked and looked down at the golf course that spilled into the Pacific Ocean. The greens and blues blended together like a Monet painting. I didn’t know what to wish for.

*   *   *

“Mom, Max and I are going out for dinner tonight.” We were sitting on the deck of the suite sipping cocktails. One of my mother’s biggest thrills was when the butler tapped on our door every evening at six p.m. to mix us drinks.

“How can I say no? I don’t want to offend him,” she demanded when I commented nightly cocktails were not going to improve her health.

“He’s not going to be hurt, it’s his job,” I countered. The glasses he set on the sideboard—tall, frosty mimosas—accompanied by cut pineapple pieces and cantaloupe wedges, looked delicious.

“Of course he’ll be offended. Rosemary has worked for me for thirty-five years and I have never sent back anything she made. You have to know how to treat staff.” My mother sipped her mimosa. “Perfect. I will compliment him tomorrow.”

I stopped arguing. It was lovely sitting together, watching the sun turn pink and melt into the horizon. Sinatra sang “Fly Me to the Moon” on the outdoor speakers. Max built a Lego scene of a surfer being bitten by a shark.

“Where are you going?” my mother asked.

“I met a man who owns a restaurant.”

“It won’t be as good as Dad’s,” Max piped in. “But I get to eat eel and octopus.”

“You met a man who owns a restaurant?”

“Don’t sound like Stephanie. Max, go put on some decent clothes and brush your hair.”

“I’m building the part where the shark bites the guy’s leg.”

“Max, now, please.”

“You met a man who owns a restaurant?” my mother repeated when Max sulked off to get dressed.

“He was very nice, he invited Max and me to come for dinner. He was an attorney for twenty years. He’s only had the restaurant since his divorce.”

“Sounds complicated.” My mother shook her head.

“I’m not marrying him, it’s not even a date. Max and I are just going out for dinner, like you want me to do.”

My mother finished her drink. “I guess dating at your age isn’t easy.”

“Thanks. I can’t win with you or Stephanie.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m glad you’re going out. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken again.”

“It’s not written into the creed of restaurant owners, ‘Break a Woman’s Heart.’ He was kind of funny and sweet. I think you’d like him.”

“Children?” my mother asked.

“Two in college.”

“Sounds a little old for you,” she said.

“It’s not even a date!” I jumped up. “I have to get ready.”

“I’m being nosy. Maybe run down to the salon and get a blow-dry?”

“It’s not a date,” I repeated, slamming the door to my room.

I kept saying it over and over as I slipped into a Stella McCartney dress and brushed my hair with a St. Regis wood hairbrush. If I didn’t consider it a date I wouldn’t be hurt if Edward ignored me, or worse, didn’t even remember inviting us.