The Good Life (22 page)

“What time is it?” asked Ann as Mike pulled back the duvet for her.

Mike looked at his watch. “It’s time for bed.”

 

Ann awoke early the next morning with a hazy, hot, throbbing head that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. With her eyes still shut, she lifted it off the pillow, making it pulsate. She slowly put it back down. “Oh God.”

Mike rolled over to face her.

“I think I’m going to die,” she whispered.

“I would imagine you do,” said Mike, getting out of bed and walking into the bathroom. “How many do you need?”

“Four.”

Mike returned with a glass of water and four Advil. He handed them to Ann, who put them in her mouth and swallowed them. She then drank the water.

“Thank God for hangovers,” said Mike.

“That’s mean.”

“No, Ann, that’s justice. You’ve got to learn when to stop,” he said. “And it’s not my job, it’s yours.”

“But I’ve been so good.”

“You have been okay. Since your parents arrived, you’ve been a bit better about watching your intake.”

“I just let loose last night, Mike,” said Ann. “You have to give me a longer leash when I’m away from home.”

“Your leash is as long as you make it,” he said. “I cannot be your babysitter.”

“You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Ann. I am simply frustrated by your lack of control. Because you decided to let loose last night, I will have breakfast without you, and our final vacation day will be spent with your hangover concerns.”

Ann rolled over, away from Mike. “Are we done?”

“For now,” said Mike. “But we aren’t really done until you’re done.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll never drink again.”

Mike smiled. “You’ll have a glass of wine in your hand by five o’clock today.”

Ann rolled over and looked at him out of one eye. “You don’t think I can go one day?”

“No, I don’t.”

Ann’s gut tightened. “What’s riding on it?” she asked.

“A blow job,” said Mike. “The blow job you promised to give me this morning.”

Ann searched her disconnected brain for the section that controlled memory. Had she said that? She licked her dry lips. “And what do I get if I win?”

“New shoes,” said Mike, “from Paris. And you can fly there to find the perfect pair.”

“You’re on,” said Ann, picturing the strappy gold sandals she had seen on a Hollywood actress at a gala. She then told Mike she desperately needed a bubble bath and room service. There was no bad hangover a white cheddar cheese, egg white omelette and a toasted English muffin with sugar-free strawberry jam couldn’t cure, even though the idea of eating that much fat came close to making Ann sick again. Since she’d lost her dinner the night before, however, Ann figured she could eat whatever she wanted this morning and not gain more than eight ounces. And that she could easily shed tomorrow at the gym if she did a double session.

Mike called room service, then started Ann’s bath, squirting in the organic bubble bath she’d bought at the spa the day before. He looked at his watch and debated going to breakfast with the group. There was some talk the night before about meeting at 9:30, which would give Mike thirty minutes to shower. Maybe it was best to just leave it alone. The only one he was really interested in seeing was Paul Rosenberg’s wife, Sharon, and Mike knew better than to pursue that idea. He grabbed his bathrobe and walked back into the bedroom, where Ann was sitting up.

“Your tub’s ready,” he said, “and your eggs are on the way. I’m going to get a Coke.”

“Don’t we have some in the fridge?”

“I drank them.”

“You could call room service.”

“Yes, but I want it now,” said Mike, “not forty-five minutes from now. There’s a Coke machine down the hall.”

“You’re going like that?”

“There are only four rooms on this floor,” said Mike, opening the door. “What are the chances I’ll see anyone?” Mike walked around the corner and down the hall. He took six quarters out of his pocket and put them into the Coke machine. He bent down to get the can, and then turned around to find Sharon Rosenberg standing in front of him. “Hello,” he said, smiling.

“Aren’t we two peas in a pod,” said Sharon, wearing the same hotel-supplied bathrobe.

“Yes, we seem to be,” said Mike.

“I had fun last night,” she said, running her fingers through her long red hair. “You’re a fabulous dancer.”

“You’re kind,” said Mike.

“Are you going to breakfast?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mike. “Ann isn’t feeling well this morning.”

Sharon laughed. “I imagine not.”

“Can I buy you a Coke?” asked Mike.

“Sure,” said Sharon.

Mike took more quarters from his own pocket and put them into the machine. “Regular or diet?” he asked.

“Do I look like I need diet?” asked Sharon playfully.

“Absolutely not,” said Mike, pushing the button and sending a can of regular crashing into the receptacle. He turned to give the can to Sharon and immediately noticed the tie to her bathrobe was undone. The sides of her robe, moments ago cinched tightly around her small waist, were now slightly parted, allowing Mike an inch glimpse of her tanned tummy. She smiled at him and reached for the can, parting her robe even farther. Mike knew he should turn from her and walk away, but he didn’t.

“Paul’s at a tennis lesson,” offered Sharon.

“That’s an early lesson,” said Mike, using every bit of strength he had to look at her face and not her visible breasts.

“No one’s in the room,” said Sharon, fingers on her chest. “It’s just down the hall. Would you like to see it?”

“Very much,” said Mike, before he could stop himself. “But I’ve got to get back to Ann.”

Sharon took a step closer to him, fingers now on his chest, and said, “Are you sure?”

Mike looked down at her and swallowed hard. He had been in this position before, but not for some time. It was a business trip, about a year ago. Ann was shopping in New York and had not been able to accompany him, but many of the other wives had tagged along with their husbands. They were all staying at a gorgeous, secluded resort in the Florida Keys, where they spent their warm days on the golf course and cool evenings eating and drinking in a private outdoor dining area. It was the youngest and most attractive wife who approached him after dinner one night. He had gone back to his room and was undoing the tie to his tuxedo when he heard a soft knock on his door. He opened it to find her standing before him in her clingy gold dress, looking like a piece of chocolate waiting to be unwrapped. She’d claimed she’d lost her way, but when Mike pointed her in the right direction, she didn’t move. Instead, she suggested they have a nightcap in his room. Mike had opened his mouth to speak, having no idea what he was going to say—he still didn’t know what he would have said to her, to Rachel—when she caught sight of her husband at the far end of the corridor and scurried away. And while Mike knew then as he knew now that women approached him because of his position in the company, he occasionally got caught up in the notion that he was, indeed, magnetically attractive and they couldn’t stop themselves from falling for his charms. “No,” said Mike, smiling. “I’m not sure, but I’ve got to get back.”

Sharon pressed her body into his and then slowly pulled away. “Perhaps another time,” she whispered.

Mike awkwardly thanked her, then turned before she could see the result of her suggestions. He walked quickly back to the room, where Ann was still in the tub. “You must have gone to the front desk for that Coke,” Ann called from the bathroom.

“Something like that,” said Mike, taking a sip from the can and adjusting his hard-on in his boxers.

“Are my eggs here yet?”

Mike looked around the room. “No,” he said. “I’ll call and check on them.”

“Good,” said Ann. “Then come in here and tell me all about last night. I can’t seem to remember a thing.”

Mike sat down on the bed and dialed the phone. While he waited for an answer, he thought about living in a hut in Greenland. By the time he was put on hold and then was assured the eggs would arrive within fifteen minutes, he was physiologically able to face his wife. He got off the bed and walked into the bathroom and found her—pink cream covering her face—lying up to her shoulders in bubbles.

 

It was always hard for Ann to leave. She loved the luxurious, pampered life expensive spas and hotels provided, preferring it to the routine of everyday life at home. She pouted as she packed her bags. “Honey,” said Mike from across the bed, where he was packing his suitcase, “we can do this again.”

“You say that,” said Ann, “but it will be months before I can get you out of the office again.”

“That’s not true,” said Mike gently. “We’ve been home so much because your parents are living with us.”

Ann stopped what she was doing and looked at her husband. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said,” said Mike.

“Well, I think that’s a rotten thing to say,” said Ann.

“There’s nothing rotten about it,” said Mike, returning to his task. “It’s factual.”

Ann refolded a sweater she hadn’t worn and put it into her large bag. “You don’t want them there, do you?” she asked, her eyes on the pink sweater.

“I said nothing of the kind,” said Mike. “Their presence doesn’t affect my life one way or the other.”

“Of course they affect our lives,” said Ann. “You’ve got your head in the sand if you don’t think so.” Mike walked into the closet and grabbed his bagged tuxedo. He brought it back to the bed and set it down beside his suitcase. “Did you hear me?” said Ann, throwing her shoes into another suitcase. “I said you have your head in the sand!”

Mike walked around the bed to his wife, who was glaring at him, and put his hand on her shoulder. He knew better than to hug her, at this point. “We don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “We’ve had a lovely weekend.”

Ann’s eyes began to water. “Let’s stay another day,” she said, suddenly smiling. “We could be recklessly spontaneous and stay another day.”

Mike now leaned forward and gathered her into his arms. “We’ll come again,” he said. “On the way out, we’ll book another weekend.”

“When?” asked Ann, pushing against his chest and looking at him.

“Soon,” said Mike.

One of Ann’s tears spilled over the rim of her eye and down her cheek.

“I hate that word,” she said. “It means nothing. ‘Let’s get together soon!’ people say when they rarely mean it. ‘I’ll call you soon!’ promise people who’ve got no intention of calling at all. ‘Soon, it will be just the two of us,’ say married men to their mistresses, knowing they will never leave their wives. It’s a hateful, deceitful, overused word that makes me crazy.”

Mike took his BlackBerry off the bedside table. He looked at his calendar, then looked at Ann. “How does the weekend of March twentieth sound?”

Ann immediately brightened. “Really? Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“I think the Gallagher Gala is that weekend,” said Ann, “but I don’t care. What shall we do?”

“Whatever you want to do,” said Mike. “I have only three or four days, so don’t book us too far away.”

“Do you want to come here again?”

“I’ll do anything you want to do,” said Mike, kissing his wife on the forehead.

“I’ll ask around,” said Ann. “You can leave that with me, and I’ll take care of everything.”

Mike kissed her on the lips. “You always do,” he said.

 

At the airport, Ann bought a stack of teen magazines for Lauren and a Stephen King book for Nate. She always brought them a souvenir from wherever she and Mike stayed, but she had forgotten about it over the weekend. In fact, she and Mike hadn’t talked about the children at all. Ann decided that was healthy, a sign that she and Mike had really needed the time away to focus on each other. She also bought a large, skim milk latte, with a half shot of sugar-free chocolate syrup and a half shot of sugar-free caramel syrup and a black coffee for Mike. “I don’t know how you can drink that,” said Ann, holding out the foam cup to her husband, “when you could be drinking this.”

“Because I’m a boy,” said Mike, folding the
Wall Street Journal
in half and setting it down on the vacant seat next to him to accept the coffee, “and you’re a girl.”

“That I am,” said Ann, sitting down beside him.

Mike looked at his watch. “Well, in five hours we’ll be home.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I like going home,” said Mike. “I like unpacking my bags and sitting in my study. I’m at ease there.”

“Of course you like sitting in your study,” said Ann, cupping her hands around the latte. “That’s where your computer is.”

“I’ll grant you that,” said Mike. “It’s nice to work at home.”

“Not after you’ve put in twelve hours at the office,” said Ann. “That’s not nice, that’s obsessed.”

“And who would you rather have running the company?”

Ann put her hand on Mike’s knee. “No one,” she said. “You’re the best big boss there is. It’s just hard on me sometimes.”

Mike laughed. “You poor millionairess.”

Ann smiled at him. “It’s not always about money.”

“Really?” asked Mike, arching his eyebrows. “What then?”

Ann thought a moment and took a long drink from her cup. “Never mind,” she said. “It is about money.”

Mike kissed her forehead and then returned to the newspaper.

 

The reality of going home hit Ann again as they sat in their lounge chairs on the jet. She didn’t feel in control of the decision to go home, even though she’d booked the flight with Mike’s secretary for that very day. Nothing but a stack of unread newspapers and unpaid bills awaited them at home, so what was the big rush? After that came the phone calls mandated by the messages left in her absence, and the gargantuan grocery list for Emma. Lauren had probably polished off her bottled water and 100-calorie pack stash. Ann knew that before long, she would be so successfully reimmersed into her home life that she would barely remember the soft hands of the massage therapist or the state-of-the-art fitness room with a view of the San Francisco Bay. “Where’s Jenna?” Ann asked Mike.