Mid Life Love (32 page)

“They don’t...But
when you tell them your date is
Jonathan Statham
they’ll make whatever
you want.”

“Is that so?” He
smiled even wider.

I felt my phone
vibrating on my lap and looked at the screen: Ashley.

“Would you two
please excuse me for a minute?” I looked back and forth between the two of
them. “I need to take this call.”

“Of course.”
Jonathan helped me out of my chair and kissed my cheek before I headed to the
bathroom. 

“Yes, Ashley?” I
shut the door. “Is something
wrong
?”

“Caroline has
the car tonight. She’s going to be out until ten with the junior varsity
squad...”

“
And
?”

“I want to get
some pizza.”

“Have it
delivered.”

“With my friends!
Can I
please
use your car tonight? I promise I won’t wreck it or do
anything—”

“No, Ashley.
We’ve been through this
over and over
. It’s up to you two to work out
how to share that car. Mine is off limits. Forever.”

“Ugh! Fine!” She
hung up.

My phone rang
again and I knew it was Ashley. She always hung up in my face and called right
back to apologize—and beg to use my car again.

“I accept your
apology, Ashley.” I held the phone up to my ear. “The answer is still
no
.
And just in case you’re wondering, I did give Jonathan that card that you and
Caroline—”

“Oh, that’s
right.” Denise’s raspy voice made me stop talking. “You have
daughters
...”

“What do you
want, Mrs. Statham?”

“I’ve told you
about formalities. They’re not necessary. Is there a reason why you didn’t
invite
me
to my son’s birthday dinner tonight?”

Because you’re a
bitch...
“No, but he doesn’t seem to be missing your presence.”

“Let me speak to
him.”

“Call him
yourself.” I hung up.

My phone rang
again and I saw her number on my screen. I knew that I shouldn’t answer it,
that I should send her straight to voicemail like I’d been doing for the past
few days, but I picked up anyway.

“Yes?” I
answered.

“It’s rude to
hang up on your boyfriend’s mother. Someone your age should know that. Did you
get my package yesterday? I never received a ‘thank you’ note.”

I didn’t answer.
I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from saying the filthiest words my mouth
could manage.

I’d received her
“package” at my house yesterday afternoon. It was a beautiful silky red box
with pink and purple hearts sewn onto the fabric, with my name etched in
glittery black cursive on all four sides. 

I’d sat down on
my couch with it, smiling at how detailed it was—thinking that it was another
well-thought gift from Jonathan. But as soon as I opened it, I realized that
wasn’t the case.

Inside was a
sheet of paper: a record of a canceled consultation appointment from a Dr. Tate
Robinson I’d made four years ago. He specialized in vaginal rejuvenation
surgery, and at the time, I thought that was what I needed to feel young again,
but I canceled it once I started going to Sandra’s practice for therapy.

Underneath that
paper were more papers—more canceled consultations from a Botox specialist, a
face lift specialist, and a skin toning specialist. They were all things I
thought I needed when I first moved to San Fran to start over, things I thought
I needed because my self-esteem was at an all-time low.

“You definitely
made the right choice in canceling those appointments.” She laughed. “You don’t
need any of that stuff—not
now
anyway. But a few years down the
line...Well, it’ll be a different story, and I have a doctor that I can
recommend. He does it
all
—he’s even managed to come up with a process
that will delay gray hair from coming in for another ten years. Would you like
me to—”

“I would like
for you to stop playing these childish ass games with me,
Denise
.
They’re not working.”

“They’re not?
Should I start focusing on your past then? Should I mention your twin sister
Caroline? How she might’ve made it if you hadn’t been so stupid, like you’re
being right now.”

“What did you
just say?” My blood began to boil.

“I never
stutter, Claire. It was very smart of your family to cover up the fact that you
switched your flight at the last minute. I can’t imagine what type of sob story
the media would have concocted out of that one. I almost missed it when I was
looking over all those old articles. It’s like the airline practically buried
everything about that crash. I guess it’s a good thing that newspapers weren’t
digital in 1991. It makes it harder to find certain things...Of course, the
private investigator found it anyway and put everything together for me.”

She’s
investigating me?

“Mrs. Statham,
I’m going to say this one time as politely as I can: Leave me the fuck alone. I
haven’t done anything to—”

“I won’t stop
until
you
stop—until you realize that what you’re doing is
wrong
—taking
advantage of someone younger than you to boost what shredded sense of self you
have. You got married at what? Twenty one? Right after you graduated college?
And unfortunately your marriage failed.
Miserably
. So now you want to
suck up someone else’s youth knowing damn well that you don’t expect to be
there for the long run, that as soon as someone your age or older comes along
and seems more
secure
, you’ll be leaving my son in the cold with wasted
time and a scheme to take his money. How fair is that?”

“Don’t call my
phone anymore. I’m not going to—”

“How would you
feel if your sixteen year old daughters were dating someone
eleven years
older
than them? Would you stand by and say nothing? Let them continue
doing it because they’re too fucking gullible to realize a pedophile when they
see one? Or would you be telling the pitiful excuse for a man to move the fuck
on like I’m telling you to right now?”

“That’s not the
same and I’d appreciate it if you just—”

“Ha! Yes it is!”
She snorted. “Tell me something. Do you use that mail-ordered anti-wrinkle
cream every day? It’s called Age-Away, right? Is it working well for you?”

I hung up and
powered my phone off.

I sat down on
the vanity’s stool and took several deep breaths. I hadn’t told Jonathan about
my sister Caroline—hadn’t even planned to, but hearing her name come out of
Denise’s mouth made me sick to my stomach.

I knew that I
shouldn’t mention this latest conversation to Jonathan since it was his
birthday, but as soon as the right time came, we were going to have to talk.
Regardless of what she had on me, I knew he was way more powerful than she was;
he’d definitely put an immediate stop to it, especially since their last few
therapy sessions hadn’t ended well.

I took another
deep breath and exhaled, standing up to glance at myself. I forced myself to
smile and silently repeated my mantra.

You don’t look
your age...You don’t look your age...

I stepped
outside the bathroom and saw Jonathan heading my way, looking as if he knew
something was wrong.

I looked over at
the table and realized his sister wasn’t there. “Where’s Hayley?”

“She was sick of
us staring at each other apparently. Are you okay?”

“Yeah...It’s
just...”
It’s his birthday...Lie, Claire. Lie...
“Ashley and Caroline are
driving me crazy about their shared car again...They called me on three-way to
ask about letting them drive my car tonight.”

“You said no?”

“Of course I
said no. They need to
stick together
and share what they have.”

“Okay... Are you
ready to go?”

“After you open
your presents. Let’s do that first and then—”

“I want to open
them at home.” He signaled to the waiter that we were leaving and picked up his
gifts. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded and
placed my hand in his as we walked to the town car. I slipped inside and saw
Hayley sitting on the side seats.

“I thought you
left!” I leaned over the seat and hugged her. “He said we ran you away.”

“Without telling
you goodbye? How rude would that be?” She laughed. “I just needed to have a few
minutes
away
from you two. Your lovebird gazes are quite sickening.
Could you
please
hold off on the PDA until Greg drops me off? I want to
keep my food down.”

I blushed. “I’m
sorry...”

“Sure you are. I
had a great time, but don’t invite me to anything else unless I have someone to
talk to.”

“She’ll invite
our mother next time.” Jonathan slid in and shut the door.

“Please don’t.”
Hayley snarled. “I want to
enjoy
dinner.”

Jonathan kissed
my cheek and pulled me into his lap. “I think she really is crazy...She made need
some one-on-one professional help. I’ve been seeing a different side of her in
our latest therapy sessions. It’s like something’s really bothering her.”

If only you
knew...

––––––––

Four
weeks ago

I
looked over Denise’s latest email and rolled my
eyes.

She’d created another fake account to send me news
articles about cougars. This most recent article was about a Hollywood couple
who was going through a tumultuous divorce: The actress was fifty and the actor
was thirty five. All the critics were saying “Of course it wouldn’t last,” “It
was destined to fail,” and “That’s what she gets for trying to land a younger
man.”

In the subject line, she’d typed, “If she was
famous, rich, and beautiful and couldn’t make it work, what makes you think
it’ll work for
you
?”

“Rita, could you please have IT block another email
address for me?” I buzzed her. “I’m forwarding it to you now.”

“Yes ma’am. Oh, and there was another delivery for
you today. Would you like me to bring it in now?”

“Is it a box?”

“No, it’s wine and two more vases of flowers from
your over the top secret admirer.” She laughed. “Do you know if he has any
friends?”

“I’ll ask him. You can bring it in.”

As soon as I hung up the phone, she walked in with a
large bottle of wine and two beautiful vases of pink flowers. The wine was one
of my favorite reds—a vintage merlot that was over thirty years old. And like
always, my name was etched onto the flowers’ crystal container with the words
“Someone very special to me” right underneath.

I pulled the small white envelope from the stems and
opened it:

Claire,

I’m looking forward to spending time
with you, Caroline, and Ashley this afternoon. Make sure you tell them that
there’s a pool onboard.

Jonathan

PS—Come to my office after your next
meeting.

PSS—Leave your panties.

I laughed and opened the other envelope that was
attached to the wine bottle:

Claire,

Wine is one of few things in life that
age well over time. Some would even argue that the longer they age, the better
they taste. Some of the best wines can last for decades if they’re stored
properly and kept in a chill, dark place. However, even the best aged wines
don’t last longer than a day once they’re uncorked and exposed to the air. It’s
their Kryptonite; it’s what makes them realize how old they really are.

This Merlot was bottled in your birth
year—forty years ago.

I uncorked it for you yesterday, so it
doesn’t have much time left. 

Enjoy!

Of course she didn’t sign it...

I ripped the notecard into pieces and tossed them
into the trash. I completely regretted encouraging Jonathan to give her a
second chance now; she was clearly replacing her normal “relapse drug time”
with ways to hurt me. And to be honest, with each passing day it was working
more and more.

No matter how many times Jonathan told me I was
beautiful, no matter how many times he made love to me and told me I was
perfect, one mean text, nasty voicemail, or email from Denise made me succumb
to my stubborn insecurities.

––––––––

Two
weeks ago

T
he waves of the
ocean slapped up against the windows of his bedroom, and the yacht slowly
rocked back and forth.

He’d just made
love to me for the second time that morning, and I was trying to pull myself
back down to reality, trying to put the images of our amazing sex in the back
of my mind and tell him about his mother; her antics were getting out of hand. 

“What are you
thinking about now?” He pulled me into his arms so we were face to face.

“Nothing...”

He traced my
lips with his fingertips and smiled.  “Your eyes give you away all the time.
That’s how I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I can talk to
you about anything, right?”

“Of course you
can.” He kissed me. “I don’t want any boundaries between us.”

How do I say,
“Your mother is a bitch and I want you to keep her the hell away from me?” Do I
say it outright? Is there a lead in sentence—What can I—

“That wasn’t a
question that led into another question?” He raised his eyebrow.

“Not really...I
just wanted to know.” I closed the small gap between us and ran my fingers
through his thick hair, smiling at him as he smiled back at me.

From the look in
his eyes I could tell that he wasn’t buying my “I just wanted to know” excuse;
he knew something was off.

I sighed.
It’s
now or never, Claire. Just tell him...One...Two...Thr—

“Would you mind
going to dinner with me and my mom next weekend?” he asked.