The Boyfriend of the Month Club (12 page)

“
Cheating
Peter Pan,” Grace clarified.

At the confused looks on the new members’ faces, Ellen went on to explain the classification system.

Several of the women mumbled their appreciation.

“That’s so clever!” Janine said.

“I thought of that,” Grace said, feeling quite proud of herself. “Although we’re pretty sure Peter Pan isn’t a true literary comparison for Felix Barberi. We’re still working out the kinks in the system.”

“I won’t go over everything we said last week, because you can read the reviews for yourselves, but I can tell you it isn’t pretty,” Ellen said. “Who would like to begin tonight’s discussion?”

Stacey, the woman with the curly red hair, raised her hand. “I’d like to talk about my ex—Chris Sullivan.” She paused. “Does anyone know him?”

Penny shifted in her seat. “It’s not the Chris Sullivan who works at Bob’s Automotive Parts, is it?” At the questioning look on Grace’s face, Penny said, “He’s friends with Butch.”

“That’s him,” Stacey said. “I dated him for almost two months. Then I found out he was married.”

Everyone moaned.

“Maybe he’s more of a work acquaintance than a friend, really,” Penny rushed to add.

“It all started back in June when I took my Volvo in for an overhaul,” Stacey explained. “She’s fifteen years old and very delicate. Volvos are solid cars but they need an expert touch. Chris was the only mechanic who knew how to work on her. He understood her. He was . . . well, he was wonderful. He had her engine running so smoothly she almost purred.”

Ellen began scribbling like a fiend.

Grace checked out the expressions on the other women’s faces. No one seemed to read anything strange in Stacey’s comments.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Grace!

Stacey’s voice began to quiver. “He was so handsome that I nearly swooned every time I looked at him. At first, I resisted the attraction. But he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and I thought maybe it was time to take the initiative in my love life, so I did something very unlike me. I asked him out.”

“He was going Hando Commando,” Ellen said, shaking her head in disgust.

“Married men who don’t wear their wedding rings are despicable! How is a girl supposed to know who’s been caught and tagged?” Janine said.

“Maybe he has an allergy. Or maybe he doesn’t wear it because he’s a mechanic and he gets grease all over his hands?” Penny suggested, but no one paid her any attention.

“After that first date, I sensed something mysterious about him, and after a couple of weeks, I was convinced he was definitely hiding something. But by then it was too late. I was already head over heels in love. Then one day, out of the blue, he told me he was married and going back to his wife.”

“I think Chris and his wife were legally separated for a while,” Penny said. One of the women turned to glare at her. “Not that it’s an excuse for not telling Stacey the whole truth!” she added defensively.

“That was six months ago, and now I have major trust issues.” Stacey reached inside her purse to get a Kleenex to wipe at her sniffles.

“Have you tried therapy?” Sarah asked.

“Why should I go to therapy? He’s the one who needs therapy!”

“ ‘I had not intended to love him,’ ”
Ellen recited dramatically.

“What?” Stacey asked, looking confused.

“It’s a quote. From Charlotte Brontë’s classic,
Jane Eyre
. Don’t you see, Stacey? You were duped, just like poor Jane. This is a classic case of a Mr. Rochester if ever I saw one,” Ellen said.

Stacey nodded. “Exactly!”

“I love that book,” one of the women said.

“Yes, it’s a wonderful story, to be sure.” Ellen pushed her reading glasses up her nose. “Although not as brilliant as her sister Emily’s
Wuthering Heights
. Nothing can compare to that.”

Penny leaned over and whispered to Grace, “I hope she doesn’t start in on Heathcliff. We’ll never make it to Coco’s before it closes if Ellen starts expounding on the most romantic hero of all time.”

But blessedly, Ellen kept to the program. She went on to describe other similarities between Stacey and Chris’s doomed relationship and that of Jane and Mr. Rochester. Occasionally, other members would make a comment, but since no one knew the book as well as Ellen, no one could really add much of value. Grace had wanted to point out that, in the end, Mr. Rochester and Jane
did
eventually get together, but since Grace hadn’t read the book and was strictly going off the cable movie adaption, she was afraid maybe the Hollywood version had fudged the literary ending and she didn’t want to incur Ellen’s wrath. By the time Ellen was through dissecting
Jane Eyre
, it was almost eleven.

“I think that about wraps it up for tonight,” Grace said, bringing the meeting to a close. “How about we set up a standard date for the first Saturday of each month?”

The group unanimously approved. Grace and Penny locked up the store, and the ten of them headed to Coco’s, an upscale bar located on the beach. The place was crowded so it was standing-room only, but one of the servers was a student of Ellen’s and she managed to get them a table. They’d just ordered their drinks, when another server came over with two chilled bottles of Dom Perignon.

Sarah stared at the bottles wistfully. “You have the wrong table.”

The server pointed to the bar area. “Compliments of the gentleman.”

They all craned their heads to get a look. Grace nearly fell out of her seat when she recognized who the “gentleman” was. Brandon Farrell stood with his back to her, talking to another man. To Grace’s relief, his friend Doug didn’t appear to be with him.

“We don’t want it,” Grace said. “Take it back.”

“The hell we don’t!” Ellen reached for a bottle. “We’ll need ten glasses, please.”

“We’re
not
accepting the champagne,” Grace repeated.

“But I’ve never had Dom Perignon,” Penny said.

The server looked torn. “The guy said if you take the bottles, he’ll give me a fifty dollar tip.”

“That settles it. We don’t want him to lose his tip, do we, Grace?” Ellen said.

The rest of the table looked at the bottles with lust in their eyes. There was no way she could send back the champagne without seeming like a huge party pooper.

“We’ll take the bottles. But I’m not going to have any,” Grace declared.

He uncorked the champagne and poured them each a glass. Grace wished she had the willpower to resist, but like Penny, she’d never tasted Dom Perignon.

“Maybe I’ll try a tiny sip. But I’m not going to like it.”

The champagne was delicious. All bubbly and smooth as it trickled down her throat. She drained her glass. All right, so maybe she liked it a little.

“How much do you think this cost?” Penny asked.

“Too much.”

“Isn’t someone going to go over and thank him?” Stacey asked.

“Nope.”

“He must really like you,” Sarah said. “First the roses from Benson’s, now this. Maybe you should give him another chance, Grace.”

Some expensive roses and overpriced champagne and he had her friends eating out of the palm of his hand. Grace should have added “diabolical” to the list of qualities on his boyfriend review. She should get Ellen to add it to his file on the Yahoo! site.

After they finished the champagne, the waiter brought them their original drink orders. The lime in the rum and coke mixture of Grace’s Cuba Libre tasted too tart after the smooth Dom. Grace tried to hold it in as long as possible, but her bladder felt ready to burst. Unfortunately the only way to the restroom was to walk by the bar.

She stood and smoothed out her skirt.

“I’ll go with you,” Sarah said, sensing Grace’s discomfort. “There’s safety in numbers.”

Grace managed to elude Brandon on her way to the bathroom, but he was waiting for her the second she stepped back out of the door.

“Hello, Grace,” he said, sounding nervous. Well, good. He should be nervous! He smiled at Sarah and she smiled back at him.

“Did you follow me here?” Grace asked.

“Of course I did. I was hoping we could talk.”

“I know you followed me to the bathroom; I meant did you follow me here to Coco’s?”

He looked amused. “If you mean, am I stalking you? The answer is no. It was just luck that you walked in the door.”

“I think I’ll let you two talk in private,” Sarah said, making quick tracks back to their table. Grace reached out to stop her but Sarah was too quick.

“So who are your friends?” he asked. “Did they like the champagne?”

“It’s my . . . book club. And of course they liked it. They friggin’ loved it. I’m sure they’d like to canonize you about now.”

He looked pleased with himself. “Did you get the flowers?”

“You shouldn’t have done that either.”

He didn’t look so pleased anymore. “Damn it, Grace, what do I have to do to make it up to you? Would you feel better if I let you pour a bottle of the Dom over my head?”

“The beer was an accident. But I wouldn’t mind draining a bottle of Dom over your head.”

“Wait right here.” Brandon went over to the bar and said something to the bartender.

Did he think she was an idiot? No way was he coming back with a bottle of hundred-dollar-plus champagne just so she could waste it by pouring it over his skull.

But that’s exactly what he did.

“Here you go,” he said handing her an opened bottle of the champagne. “Not to be a snob or anything, but if a woman is going to dump alcohol on me, I’d prefer it be something I actually like to drink. The beer at the Duck leaves a lot to be desired.”

She playfully raised the bottle above his head. “I’m going to do it,” she said, which of course she wasn’t. But it was interesting to see how far he’d let this little charade go on.

“Go for it,” he shot back. He stood there, grinning at her.

“Is this a trick to get me arrested?”

“Why would I want to get you arrested?”

“I don’t know. Payback for the Wobbly Duck?”

“I’m trying to get you to go out with me again, not get you thrown in the slammer.”

She couldn’t help herself. She smiled.

Hopelessly attracted to hopelessly attractive men . . .

Wait a minute
.

What was wrong with her? He’d stood her up. He’d let his friends make fun of her parents’ store and then basically gone Neanderthal. She lowered the bottle. The old Grace might have given in. The old Grace might have swooned at the flowers and the champagne and his pretty face. But this was the new Grace. The empowered Grace! And she wasn’t going to fall for any of it.

“Okay, you’re sorry. I get it and I accept your apology. But I thought I made myself clear. I’m never going out with you again.”

“Never is a long time, Grace.”

“Well, at least you know my name now.”

A pained expression crossed his face but he didn’t apologize again. He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card. “If you change your mind, call me. I’d really like a second chance. But I’m not going to beg.”

She took the card, even though she never intended to use it, because not to would have seemed childish and grudgelike, and walked past him back to her table.

“Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold,” she said to Sarah.

“I thought you could use a moment alone,” Sarah said. “He was always so nice in Zumba class. And he seems sorry enough.”

“You’re tipsy on his overpriced champagne. You keep saying how nice and how sweet he is, but we’re not in Zumba class anymore, Dorothy. You weren’t there to witness the horror that was our date. Honestly, Sarah, whose side are you on?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

Grace lost her frown. Ever since the first day of first grade, Sarah had always been on Grace’s side. She’d been there through every single one of the Richard Kasamatis in her life. Could Grace say the same thing back? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Is that more Dom?” Ellen asked, pointing to the bottle in Grace’s hands. “Because if it is, hand it over.”

Grace had forgotten she was still clutching the champagne. She handed the bottle to Ellen, who divided the contents into ten glasses. Grace raised her flute. “Ladies, join me in a toast. No matter how contrite or rich or good-looking Brandon Farrell might be, trust me on this: I’m never, and I repeat,
never
going out with him again.”

Maybe if she said it enough times, she’d actually start believing it.

8

Lettuce Is a Simple Vegetable

The next day was Sunday and the weather turned warm again. Grace went to Mass with the family as usual, then later, they all met back at the house for supper. The only difference from last week was that this time there was no Phoebe. Abuela seemed resigned, Mami disappointed, and Pop distracted. Around seven, Grace kissed the folks good-bye, then drove back to her place. Charlie followed in his car.

Grace lived in a twenty-year-old two-story stucco Spanish-style town house. She’d bought the place a year ago, and in that time she’d torn up the original carpet and replaced it with wooden floors, painted the downstairs a creamy sage that Sarah had suggested since green was Grace’s favorite color, and retiled the kitchen. She loved everything about this little house.

They settled themselves on her living room couch. Charlie pulled his Mac out of the computer bag and began punching buttons. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this done.” He angled the screen so Grace could follow along with him. “I’ve gone through all the financials from the store, as well as the personal stuff. Mami and Pop are okay. They’ve paid off the house and have done a good job saving. No worries there.” She waited for the dreaded
but
she could sense in Charlie’s tone. “And actually, the store itself isn’t in bad shape.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“It’s just . . . business has seemed so slow lately. Revenues aren’t what they used to be.” In the two years since Grace had taken over as manager she’d seen sales slowly decline.

“Sales are down, you’re right about that. But that’s not the problem. The store has still managed to squeak by in the black every month. But Pop has had to dip into the business reserves for unexpected expenses, which means there’s not a lot left for an emergency.”