Monarch Beach (13 page)

I looked in the mirror. The dress was deep brown, like an overripe plum. It was some weird fabric you would only find on a Stella McCartney dress, a mix of linen, silk, and a touch of spandex, so it fit snugly against my hips. I hadn’t dressed to impress a man in ten years, and though I kept telling myself I was dressing for me, I wanted Edward to think I looked attractive.

I slid three gold bangles on my wrist and slipped into my favorite Coach sandals. I rubbed Bobbi Brown lip gloss on my lips and gave my hair a final brush. If I let it grow below my shoulders it became a nest of frizz, but tonight it sat smoothly on the nape of my neck.

“I can do this.” I picked up the Burberry clutch, which was the closest thing I had to an evening bag, and called Max before I chickened out.

“Wow, you look nice, Mom.” Max was wearing khaki pants and a white polo shirt. He had on loafers and no socks.

“You’re pretty fancy yourself.”

“Grandma made me wear this stuff.” He shrugged. “She said I had to make a good impression.”

“Anytime my beautiful daughter and her son go out to dinner they should look their best. That’s just good etiquette.” My mother fixed Max’s collar.

“We’re not going to the symphony opening.”

“Max isn’t even wearing socks, strictly casual. You look lovely,” my mother appraised.

“Thanks, Mom. Let’s go.” I pushed Max out the door, feeling like I was on a prom date. Riding in the elevator, sitting in the house car that drove us to Laguna, I tried to put myself in Mother Mode: “How was Kids’ Club? Are you really going to eat octopus? Get your hair out of your eyes.” But I wasn’t seeing Max sitting next to me in the Bentley. I wasn’t even remembering the way Andre drove with one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on my thigh. I could only see the shy, nerdy twenty-two-year-old I was before I met Andre. Is that what Edward would see? Could I be someone interesting besides Andre’s wife and Max’s mother?

“Let us off here, please. We’ll walk the rest of the way,” I said to the driver when we reached the village. I didn’t want to pull up in front of the restaurant in a gleaming white Bentley.

“Certainly, Mrs. Blick. I’ll wait with the car. Call me when you are ready to return to the hotel.” He hopped out and opened our doors. Tourists wearing souvenir T-shirts and Crocs stopped to see if we were celebrities.

“I feel like Jay-Z.” Max grinned.

“I don’t look like Beyoncé,” I replied. The driver handed me my clutch, and I heard a woman mumble, “Who drives around in a white Bentley?” I smiled. Maybe I was a little interesting after all.

*   *   *

Laguna Beach Tackle was on a street across from Main Beach, wedged between an art gallery and a cigar shop. It was a narrow space with fishing nets hanging from the ceiling. A large fish tank sat at the entrance, and a few children pressed their faces against the glass, waiting to be seated.

“Look at the fish, Mom. Do you think they scoop them out of the tank and serve them for dinner?”

I didn’t answer. I nervously scanned the room for Edward. It was after eight, so he should be here. I kicked myself for not calling to confirm. What if he was in the kitchen? What if he had forgotten and was home taking a bath? I told myself to slow down. I would not be able to handle the next forty years of my single life if I could not handle one dinner out with my son.

“Party of two?” the hostess asked me. She was a pretty, blond twenty-something wearing a low-cut white blouse and a black miniskirt.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I mumbled.

“Okay, let me know when you’re ready.” She had a sweet Southern California drawl. I resisted the urge to hate her for having perfect cheekbones and working in a restaurant.

I saw Edward leaning over a booth near the back of the restaurant. He wore a striped red polo shirt and tan pants. He said something to the guests and walked toward the front of the room. He seemed to look straight through me. I grabbed Max and turned to the door, but then I felt his hand on my back.

“Amanda, I’m glad you came.” He smiled.

“You have some cool fish.” Max’s nose was pressed against the tank. “Do you eat these, because if you do I want the neon purple one.”

“These are just for looking, but I’ve asked the chef to cook you our biggest eel, extra slimy.”

I exhaled. He had remembered we were coming. I tried to relax as he led us to a booth.

“I can sit with you for a few minutes, but then I’ll have to work the room for a bit.” Edward slid in next me. He smelled liked garlic and butter.

“Want to arm wrestle?” Max asked.

I laughed. “Max, we’re at dinner.”

“I arm wrestle at Dad’s restaurant. Zoe and I sit in the back, I take her every time.”

“You arm wrestle a girl?” Edward asked.

“She’s pretty good. She does tae kwon do, too. She’s an orange belt.”

I exhaled again. Should I let Max keep talking? Should I try to say something funny and intelligent? No one had told me the rules of postdivorce dating because no one in Ross was divorced. I started to panic.

“I wrestled in college, so you don’t want to arm wrestle me,” Edward was saying to Max.

“Cool!” Edward now had two points in his favor. He knew how to cook octopus and he could wrestle. I started feeling uninteresting again.

“That’s how I broke my nose.” He pointed to the bump in the middle of his nose.

“Did the other guy kick you in the face?” Max asked.

“Actually he did. I didn’t let my son wrestle in college. He’s playing cricket.”

“What college plays cricket?” I managed to get my first words into the conversation.

“He’s at Wake Forest on a cricket scholarship. It’s a growing sport. And the bats are made of wood, safer than baseball.” He grinned.

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked.

“Edward, and I have a daughter named Jessica. She’s a freshman at Tulane.”

“But your name is Edward,” Max piped in.

“I know, pretty boring, huh. It’s a family name.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I was named Andre, Mom? That’s my dad’s name.”

“I think one Andre is enough,” I mumbled, picking up the menu.

“You are a credit to your mom.” Edward got up. “Let me get your special order in with the chef, and if you like your eel you can go thank him yourself.”

“Do you have live lobster in the kitchen? Can I throw it in a pot?”

I shook my head but Edward was laughing. He touched my arm before he walked to the front of the room to greet new diners. I practiced inhaling and exhaling. I was glad he and Max hit it off. Maybe I didn’t have to be a twenty-something supermodel. Maybe I was fine just being a mom.

I was usually terrified of ordering fish, having been poked by too many tiny bones. I scanned the menu, momentarily wishing for the menu at La Petite Maison with its familiar fondues and delicious fresh breads. But then I remembered that the fondues had proven more dangerous than any fish bone, and I said firmly to the waitress: “I’ll have the halibut, please, grilled with lemon and butter.”

“And you, sir?” The waitress turned to Max.

“I’m having the eel,” Max said proudly, like he was an explorer discovering the New World.

“That’s right, Mr. Jonas already put your order in. Oh, and he wanted to give you this, compliments of the house.” She placed a bottle of champagne on the table.

“For both of us?” Max asked.

“That’s up to your mom.” The waitress smiled.

“It’s for you.” Edward appeared at the table with a champagne flute. “I thought we could continue where we left off at lunchtime.”

“Where was that?” Max was suddenly suspicious. No man other than Andre had ever paid me much attention.

“While you were catching butterflies I was giving your mom some nutrition tips.”

“As long as she doesn’t use them on me. I don’t want to eat celery all day.”

“That was once. I was on a celery and cabbage diet,” I explained to Edward.

“Moms eat weird things.” Max shook his head.

“Tell your mother she looks perfect,” Edward said, pouring me a glass of champagne.

*   *   *

Edward didn’t come back to our table, but I watched him greet other guests. I realized, sipping my champagne, that Andre’s work mode at La Petite Maison had always been flirtatious, briefly touching a woman’s hand, smiling at her a minute too long, seeming too interested in what she was saying. Edward’s approach was neutral, businesslike. He didn’t linger at any table; he spoke to the husbands in the party as much as the wives.

The waitress served Max and me our entrées and we ate them companionably. After Max ordered and polished off a bowl of vanilla ice cream, I wondered if this was the end of our evening. Edward hadn’t returned to drink a glass of champagne with me or even to ask how Max liked the eel. I felt deflated. My beautiful Stella McCartney dress had not even been admired in the dim light of the restaurant. I would have to save it for another night, and probably another man.

“Would you like to meet the chef? Tell him what you think of the eel?” Edward appeared as I was paying the check.

“Sure, it was a bit lemony.” Max wiped chocolate sauce from his mouth.

“Straight back through those doors.” Edward touched my arm as he directed Max to the kitchen. “I wanted to get a few moments alone together to thank you for coming.” He turned to me, and his face broke into the crinkly smile I remembered.

“It was delicious,” I said.

“You have a great son. He’s smart, and he says what he thinks.” He picked up my hand, held it for a second, and then placed it back on the table.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said. “Maybe we could go for a walk on the beach?”

I felt like I had passed some giant first-almost-date test. “Sure.”

“Do you have your phone?”

I handed him my cell phone, an old flip phone in a purple plastic case. He punched in a phone number and pressed save. He pulled out his phone and entered my number into his contacts.

“You have an iPhone!” Max picked that moment to climb back in the booth. “Can I check out your apps?”

“Max, Edward has to work.” I put my phone back in my clutch, feeling it now held special, secret information.

“I wish Mom had an iPhone, they’re so cool.”

“I’m an old-fashioned mom with a boring phone.” I shrugged.

“I’ll show you the apps next time. I have one that sounds like a dog barking. And one that shows you how to build a robot.” Edward slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Told you, Mom; you should get one,” Max persisted.

“You have enough gadgets, and I use my phone for talking.” I got up, tugging at my dress so it didn’t show my upper thighs.

“Thank you for inviting us.” Max stuck out his hand.

“Thank you for coming. Next time you’ll have to try the octopus.” Edward shook his hand.

Edward held my arm as we maneuvered through the room. When we reached the front door he moved his hand to the small of my back.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Edward opened the door. The outside air smelled like sand and suntan lotion.

“It’s okay, we got a driver waiting in a Bentley,” Max piped in.

“A Bentley.” Edward laughed. “I can’t compete with that.”

*   *   *

We walked around the corner and I called the driver.

“Thanking Edward was very polite. I’m proud of you,” I complimented Max, as we waited for the Bentley.

“Grandma said she’d pay me five dollars if I used good manners,” Max replied.

“That’s a good way to get rich.” I shook my head.

“I think you should get an iPhone. Erin at Kids’ Club has one. I can play ‘Chopsticks’ on it.” Max climbed into the leather seat of the Bentley.

“Erin should be taking you to the beach to look at tide pools,” I said, but I sounded stodgy even to myself. I would put “get an iPhone” on my list. I had already accomplished the first thing on my list—notice attractive men—so who knew what I could do next?

*   *   *

After Max had gone to bed and my mother had grilled me about our evening, I went into my room and put on a fluffy white St. Regis robe. I stood at the mirror and coated my face with age-defying night cream. The maids had turned down the bed and there was a tray on the comforter with a jug of springwater and a wrapped chocolate shaped like a butterfly. I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. I didn’t call Stephanie to discuss the nuances of Edward placing his hand on my back but not kissing me on the cheek good night. For the first time since Black Tuesday, I just wanted to savor the feeling of being alone but not lonely.

*   *   *

The next morning I did Beach Boot Camp. I ran a mile alongside a small army of Botoxed women and did extra lunges to compensate for last night’s champagne. I tried to keep alive the feeling of well-being I had gone to bed with. But Andre intruded on my thoughts. I remembered how he would stroke my naked breasts when I climbed into bed and purr, “I am so lucky,
ma belle cherie
.” Had he used the same line on Ursula and Bella? I made myself do one hundred sit-ups and fifty crunches. I figured eventually physical pain would blur the images that filled my brain.

After class I sat at the counter in the Beach Club and read the menu. Max was out surfing and I contemplated ordering eggs Benedict or Belgian waffles. It was Sunday. I deserved one day off from grapefruit and granola. My phone buzzed. I had two unread texts. The first was from Stephanie, demanding to know all the details of my date with “the old divorced guy who owns a restaurant.” I pressed delete. She would think it was a “nonevent.” “A guy his age makes a move on the first date, at least a kiss on the cheek. He just asked for your number to be polite. Forget him, find some young hunk.” I could hear her voice in my head. The second text was from an unfamiliar number. I read, “Beach walk tonight? Don’t have Bentley but can pick you up in Mini. E.”

I looked at the phone. When I dated Andre, texting didn’t exist. Shouldn’t Edward call to ask me out? I took a breath and texted him back. “No Bentley needed. Would love beach walk. What time?”

The phone beeped in my hand. “Six pm so we can see sunset. Meet you in lobby.”

“Lobby great. See you then.” I hit send and picked up the menu. I ordered an egg-white omelet and waited for Max.