My Favorite Mistake (3 page)

I jumped up and whirled into action. After a shower, I dialed the cel phone of my friend Kenzie Mansfield Long, who was the most stylish person I knew; although I wasn’t sure if she’d have service in the rural area of the state where she lived on weekends.

“Hel o?” she sang into the receiver.

“Hi, it’s Denise. I was taking a chance on reaching you—you have service now?”

“A tower just went up on the next ridge. Jar Hol ow official y has cel ular service.”

“Did Sam arrange that just for you?” I asked with a laugh. Her doting veterinarian husband was doing everything in his power to make country living more bearable for his city-

bred wife, à la Lisa in
Green Acres.

“The service isn’t just for me,” Kenzie protested. “It’s for the entire town. And it helps me and Sam to stay in touch when we’re apart during the week.”

At the mischievous note in my friend’s voice, I had the feeling that phone sex supplemented the couple’s seemingly insatiable lust for each other. Kenzie’s—or should I say

Sam’s
—homemade dildo cast from the real, um,
thing
was infamous among our circle of friends. After seeing it, I could barely make eye contact with the man. In fact, it was that darn dildo that had resurrected my fantasies of Redford. He had been an amazing specimen of virility and, um…dimension.

Okay, the man was hung like a stal ion…not that I’d ever seen a stal ion’s penis, but word on the street was that the equine species was gifted in that department. The fact that Redford’s family in Kentucky was in the horse business had burned the association even deeper into my depraved brain.

No, I wasn’t jealous of Kenzie’s relationship with Sam…most of the time. I had known great, mind-blowing lust with Redford, but our relationship had burned out as quickly as a cheap candle. Barry, on the other hand, was no dynamo in bed, but he had staying power in other areas.

His IRA account was a whopper.

“How was the ‘running of the brides’?” Kenzie asked, breaking into my strange musings. “Did Cindy find a gown?”

“Yes,” I said, then decided to ’fess up before Cindy told on me. “And I, um, bought a gown, too.”

There was silence on the other end, then, “Barry
proposed?
”

“No,” I said quickly, feeling like an idiot. “But I thought, you know, if ever….wel …the dress was dirt cheap,” I finished lamely.

“Ah,” Kenzie said. “A bargain—now I understand. Wel , one of these days, Barry is bound to come around. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, you know.”

“Subject change. I cal ed because I have a style emergency.” I explained about the honors dinner and my desire to wow El en Brant and her pocketbook with my stunning sense

of fashion. “Any suggestions?”

“You could wear your wedding gown,” Kenzie said, then cracked up laughing.

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m
kidding.
Gee, lighten up.” Then she snapped her fingers. “I saw the cutest striped dress in the window of Benderlee’s, and I remember thinking it would look smashing on you.”

“Wil it smash the credit line on my VISA card?”

“Probably, but think of it as an investment.” She laughed. “Knowing you, you’l think of a way to write the dress off on your taxes as a business expense.”

“Ha, ha.”

“I’m not kidding—I can’t believe how much Sam and I are getting back on our taxes this year, thanks to you. If you ever decide to go into tax preparation, I want to invest.”

I laughed. “Thanks.”

“And go to Nordstrom’s for shoes. Ask for Lito, tel him I sent you.”

My shoulders fel . “Okay.”

“And tel me you’re not going to wear your hair in a ponytail.”

I squinted. “I’m not going to wear my hair in a ponytail?”

“For goodness’ sake, Denise, loosen up. Your ponytail is so tight, it’s a wonder you don’t have an aneurysm.”

My friends were good at reminding me that I was a tight ass. And a tight
wad
. “I’m loose,” I argued, rol ing my shoulders in my best imitation of a “groove”—until my neck popped painful y. I grimaced—was it possible to break your own neck?

“Wear your hair down and buy a pair of chandelier earrings.”

“You think?”

“I was under the impression that you cal ed for my advice.”

“I did.”

“You want this woman’s business, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you gotta do what you gotta do.”

I sighed. “You’re right.”

“So…Barry set you up to do business with his boss,” she said in a singsongy tone. “Maybe it’s a good thing you bought that wedding gown. It sounds like he’s thinking long-

term.”

I glanced at the dress I had so foolishly purchased and gave a nervous little laugh. “Or maybe he’s trying to suck up to his boss.”

“Hmm. Sounds like someone needs to take a lesson from Cindy in positive thinking.”

I thanked Kenzie for her help, then hung up with a cleansing exhale. Kenzie was right—I should be grateful for the opportunity that Barry had made for me, instead of questioning his motives. I was letting my frustration with our lackluster sex life color other aspects of our relationship. It was embarrassing, real y—I was an intel igent woman. I had proof that elements other than sex were more important to a successful long-term, um…association. Financial compatibility, for instance. Sex waned over time. But dividend reinvestment stock plans were forever.

A sudden thought prompted me to pick up the phone and order two plane tickets to Las Vegas for a long weekend as a Valentine’s Day surprise for Barry. When I hung up, I

heaved a sigh, feeling much better. Then I slanted a frown toward my bedroom.

I was suffering from a bad case of the al -overs, and the culprit was taking up too much room in my closet. I was already letting that ridiculous wedding gown interfere with our relationship, and for no good reason. Barry needn’t ever know what I’d done. Tomorrow I’d put that sucker on eBay and be rid of it for good.

Er—the dress, not Barry.

3

KENZIE WAS RIGHT
—the dress in Benderlee’s window looked better on me than the average frock, so I bought it despite the breathtaking price. And Lito at Nordstrom’s had hooked me up with a pair of shoes with an equal y stunning price tag. If I wore them every day for the rest of my life, I might get my money’s worth out of them. Throwing caution to the wind, I had also bought a chic gray wool coat. I left my hair long and loose, which made me feel a little unkempt, but I have to admit I was feeling rather spiffy when Barry arrived. I opened the door with a coy smile.

He looked polished and professional in a navy suit, striped tie, not a pale blond hair out of place. “Ready to go?” he asked, then pointed to his watch. “Traffic is a nightmare.”

My smile slipped. “I…yes.”

“Good, because I’d hate to be late.”

Barry wasn’t the most attentive man I’d ever known, but tonight he seemed unusual y preoccupied. Then I realized he was probably more anxious about the award for which he’d

been nominated than he wanted to let on. Indeed, on the drive to the hotel, he checked his watch at least a hundred times, his expression pinched. And he seemed to be coming down with a cold since he sneezed several times. To see my normal y calm, col ected boyfriend so fidgety moved me. I reached over to squeeze his hand. “Relax. I hope you have a thank-you speech prepared.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I made a few notes…just in case.”

I instantly forgave him for not noticing how fabulous I looked. Besides, I reminded myself, I had dressed for El en Brant, and as luck would have it, we were seated at her table for the awards ceremony. In fact, by some bizarre shuffling of bodies and chairs, she wound up sitting between us. The woman was so cosmopolitan, even in my new clothes I felt gauche. I raised my finger for a nervous nibble on my nail, and tasted the bitter tang of fresh nail polish…a do-it-myself manicure was the best I could manage under the circumstances.

“Denise, your dress is divine,” she murmured over her martini glass.

“Thank you,” I said, taking my finger out of my mouth and sitting up straighter.

“She’s smart
and
fashionable,” El en said to Barry for my benefit. “I like this girl.”

“She’s dependable, too,” Barry said. “And loyal.”

I managed to conceal my surprise at his bizarre statement. Until I realized that to El en, recently betrayed by her husband, loyalty was essential. So on cue, I nodded like a

puppy dog.

El en pursed her col agen-plumped lips. “Denise, why don’t you cal me next week and we’l go over the paperwork for that investment account.”

“Okay,” I said in a voice that belied my excitement. If El en opened an account at Trayser Brothers, I’d be able to pay off my outfit
and
buy my apartment. Plus a new bed that didn’t reek of woodsmoke. A closet organization system. Cal er ID.

I could scarcely eat I was so wound up. I tried to contribute to the conversation, but El en and Barry were soon absorbed in television-speak, and I thought it best not to intrude.

Barry was, after al , hoping for a promotion, and El en would drive that decision. Instead, I chatted with other people seated at the table, spurred to a higher degree of socialization than usual by the open bar. Happily, the evening was topped off by a slightly tipsy El en presenting Barry with the award for excel ence in producing that was acknowledged in the industry as a precursor to the Emmy.

For his part, Barry was the most excited I’d ever seen him—which was no compliment to me, I realized suddenly. But I postponed an untimely (and uncomfortable) analysis of

our love life by clapping wildly. I told myself it was okay that he didn’t name me personal y in his thank-you speech, a fact that he seemed truly distressed over later when we were in the car.

“I forgot my notes and I went completely blank,” he said in the semi-darkness, his hands on the steering wheel at the ten and two positions—he was a fastidious driver. “I’m

sorry, Denise. You’re the one who’s had to put up with my long hours and my traveling.”

“It’s fine,” I murmured. “I’m just so proud of you. And I know El en is impressed.”

He made a dismissive noise, but was clearly pleased. Then he winced. “Oh, by the way, El en asked me tonight to be in L.A. Monday morning.”

My good mood wedged in my throat. His travel to the West Coast had become more frequent in the past couple of months—in the wee hours of the morning, I wondered if

something other than work drew him there. After al , if I wasn’t thril ed with our sex life, he probably wasn’t, either. “How long wil you be gone?”

“Two weeks, maybe three.”

“That’s almost a month,” I said, hating the way I sounded—horny.

“No, it isn’t,” he said with a practicality that did not put me at ease.

“You’l miss Valentine’s Day.”

He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Denise. Right now I have to focus on this promotion. I’l make it up to you, I promise.”

“Want to spend the night?” I asked, not caring that I was being transparent.

He looked over at me and laughed. “Sure.”

I smiled al the way home, determined that tonight Barry and I would have great, boisterous sex. I might even pul out some of the tricks that Redford had taught me that I’d never shared with anyone else. I had shaved my legs to get ready for the dinner, so nothing was holding me back.

Unfortunately, we drove straight into a traffic jam in midtown that left us in gridlock. After thirty minutes had passed with no movement, I began to dwel on Barry’s comment that I was dependable…and loyal. He made me sound like a cocker spaniel.

I studied his profile, noting how preoccupied he was, and realized abruptly that we had fal en into a serious rut. No wonder we’d never talked about marriage—we rarely saw

each other and we rarely had sex.

For al intents and purposes, we were
already
married.

Feeling rebel ious, I ran my fingers through my loose hair and whispered, “We could have sex right here.”

Barry looked over at me with a shocked expression, then laughed nervously and gestured to the cars around his silver Lexus. “Are you crazy? We’d be arrested for indecent

exposure. A stunt like that would mean my job, Denise.”

I pul ed back, humiliated at my own behavior. He was right, of course. The network’s top female anchor had gone out drinking one night and performed a topless dance at a bar

where at least one handheld video camera had been rol ing, and everyone had been put on notice. Barry couldn’t jeopardize his job just because I was feeling neglected. So we listened to National Public Radio and chatted about the evening.

“You seemed to be having a good time talking to everyone,” Barry said. “Everyone thought you were great. Everyone loves you, Denise.”

Something in his voice made me turn my head to look at him in the semi-darkness. He’d spoken with a sort of wistfulness when he’d said “everyone loves you,” as if everyone

else saw something he didn’t. I waited for clarification, but Barry simply scanned the traffic, tapping his finger on the steering wheel to a jazzy song floating from the speakers.

I was imagining things. Barry loved me. He hadn’t changed—I had. More specifical y, that stupid wedding dress had made me paranoid.

And reflective.

Because the wedding dress had made me confront the possibility of marrying Barry…was it something I wanted? And if not, then what was the purpose of our being together?

Companionship? An occasional sexual release? Were we merely a pit stop for each other on the way to…something else? I was suddenly seized by the feeling that I was looking at

someone I’d known for years. Yet…did I real y know him?

In hindsight, I’d known little about Redford when I’d married him—beyond his sexual prowess. A sudden stab of desire struck my midsection, but I closed my eyes against it.

During those few days with Redford in Las Vegas, I had been a different person, wanton and hedonistic…a bona fide nymphomaniac. I don’t know what had come over me…

okay, admittedly,
Redford
had come over me a few times, but I digress. My parents—especial y my mother—would be appal ed if they knew how I had behaved during that time, and my girlfriends would be shocked. I could scarcely think of it myself without being overcome with shame—nice girls didn’t do the things I’d done with Redford. Especial y after knowing the man for mere hours.