The Last Original Wife (30 page)

Instead I said, “Well, first of all, I have plans and as I told you the other day, there's really nothing to talk about, Wes. I've said all I have to say.”

Harlan stuck his arm into the living room and gave me a thumbs-up gesture. Then he came in the room and whispered, “Is everything okay?” I shushed him away.

“But
I
haven't,” Wesley said.

“You can tell me right here and now, Wesley.”

“Well, it's just that . . . I don't know, Les. Things aren't the same without you.”

“This is how it is now, Wes. I'm sorry, but this is how it is.”

“Yeah, I know, but the difference is that I really miss you, Les. I do. In fact, it's become sort of stunning, this hole you left in my life when you walked out. I don't like it. I'm not happy.”

“Well? I don't know what to say to you except I think for the sake of our old friends, we should attend this wedding as two civilized adults who love
them
. This weekend is not about us. It's about Danette and Harold and Molly. And I hate that this may sound so cold, but I think you need to write me a check or hire a lawyer. Sorry, Wes.”

“I see. So, there's no, um, changing your mind? I mean, Les, have a heart.”

“That's the whole problem, Wes. I do have one and you broke it.”

“And there's nothing that can put it back together again?”

“Not that I know of, Wes. I'm sorry, but I'm really all done.”

He didn't say anything.

“Wes? Wes?”

I heard silence. Wes had disconnected me.

“That son of a bitch,” I said.

“I heard your every word,” Harlan said rushing in. “You sounded very nice, given the stress of the situation. But what did
he
say?”

“It's not what he said but what was unsaid. He never apologized or said that he loved me. Not once.” I felt so disgusted and abused.

“He's really a dope,” Harlan said.

“Not exactly revelatory, Harlan. But why do you say that now?”

“Because for a woman like you who devoted her entire life to him and your children, that's about all he
would
have to say and there's a fair chance he might have won you back. That he doesn't
know
it makes him a huge dope.”

I hated to admit it. Harlan was right. I might have gone home if Wes had only said he was sorry in the sober light of day and that he loved me. How pathetic was I?

“You don't understand, Harlan. Wes is never,
ever
wrong.”

“Well, he sure is now,” Harlan said.

“Yep,” I said and burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry! What did I say?”

“It's just sad, Harlan. It's not your fault. What you said is probably
true
. And it's going to cost him an awful lot not to love me.”

“It can't cost him
enough,
if you ask me.”

I smiled then. I smiled and thought how lucky I was to have Harlan and how lucky I was to have another chance to be happy.

“I'm going to take a shower,” I said, “and then let's go out and paint the town.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

While I showered, washing away the remnants of my conversation with Wes, I wondered how many married people were out there who hated each other but couldn't afford to get a divorce. They simply couldn't pay for two households. I'd bet there were more than a few. And would I really go back to Wes if he had said he was sorry and that he adored me? I decided it didn't matter anymore. If I ever went back, all the same problems I had with our marriage that made it unbearable would still be there waiting. Wes would still be so cheap he squeaked, there would be no romance, and he would never look me in the face and really like what he saw. He'd never value my intellect, humor, or resourcefulness. No, I had made the right decision. I was completely certain of it.

Over cocktails Harlan said, “Are you feeling better now?”

I said, “Harlan, the reason I got upset this afternoon was not because I'm sorry I left Wes or because I'm still in love with him or anything like that. It was because it's painful and embarrassing to realize how little affection I was willing to live with for all those years. I talk to him and it's more than a little startling that he thinks that tossing
me
a crumb will be a life-changing event for
him
.”

“Well, he's going to regret losing you for the rest of his life.”

“But he'll never know why it happened, Harlan. That's what bothers me about him. The crumbs bother me about myself.”

“God, sister, you would've made the best psychoanalyst in the world.”

“Thank you, brother, but I prefer to plan a trip to Italy.”

“You know, Leslie? I have great admiration for you.”

“Why's that?”

“Because you're smart, you're beautiful, and we know this but lately, I guess ever since you've made this momentous decision to redesign your life? Well, you seem like my kid sister again. And I've missed my kid sister something fierce. The one with the guts.”

“Ha-ha,” I said. “Y'all better look out, world! She's back.”

“Good news for me! So tell me about tomorrow night.”

“Danette is hosting the rehearsal party for Shawn's family. I imagine Harold will be there, definitely without Cornelia, and I think Danette said that her friend Nader is coming. That should be very interesting. But it's mostly out-of-town guests like us and the wedding party. So Charlotte will be there with Holly and I imagine Bertie too. I can only hope that Bertie will have washed.”

“Hmmm. I never thought about it, but now I'm wondering how does one shampoo his dreadlocks?”

“I have no earthly idea. He must've cleaned up his act somewhat because he had a job interview this week.”

“Well, let's hope it went all right.”

We ate dinner at the hotel. I didn't feel like getting the car out and dealing with any more traffic, and Harlan didn't care where we ate. So we picked some appetizers from the bar menu and shared a bottle of wine.

“What's the dress code for tomorrow night?” Harlan asked.

“I spoke to Danette earlier just to let her know we're here. She's pretty excited. Sport coats for the boys and something nice for the ladies.”

“And for the wedding?”

“Black tie. You brought your tuxedo, didn't you?”

“Of course. I hope you're not wearing that black dress again,” he said.

“Why not? It cost a fortune!”

“Hello? So what? You're rich, remember? Let's go to Neiman's first thing tomorrow and buy you an outfit that will make Wes lose his mind!”

“Really? Oh, Harlan, who cares what he thinks?”

“I haven't given two hoots what Wes thought in a thousand years, but the part of you that wants to make him see the difference in you wants a new dress. And that's that.”

“You know what? You're right!” I smiled, thinking I completely agreed.

By ten thirty the next morning I was standing in front of a mirror in a dressing room at Neiman Marcus trying on every even remotely appropriate dress in the store. By noon we had narrowed it down to three. A flesh-colored dress with bronze metallic trim that made me look naked, or so I thought. An aqua silk dress with silver beading that made me look like a mermaid. And a red crepe dress with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neck that I thought showed too much cleavage but made me feel like a movie star. It had a tight waist and a full skirt and reminded me of a Doris Day movie from the sixties.

“Les? I love the flesh-colored dress. It's
dazzling
! Dazzling is good.”

“I think it's immoral,” I said.

“Okay, then, how about the blue one? That color reminds me of the water around Bermuda. It's beautiful with your hair.”

“It makes me feel old, like a great-grandmother.”

“But you don't feel like a vamp in the red one?”

“Yes, I do, and I think vamp is good.” I looked at the price tag and nearly gagged. “I need shoes too.”

“Black suede?” said the salesperson. “What size?”

“Eight medium,” I said.

While we waited for the shoes, Harlan began to hum “Hard Hearted Hannah (the Vamp of Savannah).”

“Put that red dress on again. I want to see it with the shoes.”

“Okay. Shoo!”

Harlan left the dressing room and I put it on. Was this going to turn heads? When was the last time I wore a red dress? When I was a girl? It was time. Time for red. I wondered if I could get someone to put my hair up in a French twist after the brunch tomorrow. Or maybe I'd just do it myself.

The saleslady returned with several pairs of shoes and I chose the plainest ones, thinking I could always use a great pair of black suede pumps. And she had a large circular brooch for the shoulder of the dress that appeared to be made of rubies and diamonds. We pinned it on.

“Okay, so what do you think?” I said. “I think it looks very real.”

Harlan was sitting on a chair in the waiting area. He inhaled and when he exhaled, he whistled long and low. Then I twisted my hair up and held it.

“The new you. It's absolutely perfect. Wes is going to go into convulsions.”

“Let's hope.”

Danette's party was gorgeous and the weather was fine, although they were predicting rain. Impending storms brought the temperature down, which was a good thing, because the day had been a scorcher. Harlan and I got there a little late because of traffic and had to park way down the street. There was a small steel drum band playing and we heard the music long before we saw the first guest. The air was suffused with the smells of flowers and roasting meat, and there was laughter. Lots of it. Danette had outdone herself. Her back porch and garden were filled with young people laughing and talking and eating different foods all served on little bamboo skewers.

“She's going to be picking skewers out of the bushes for the next two years,” I said.

“I think this looks like a really fun party,” Harlan said. “Wait! Is that Danette with the short hair?”

“Yep, that's her!”

“She looks amazing! I'm going to say hello. Can I bring you a drink?”

“No, I'm fine,” I said and scanned the crowd.

I spotted Charlotte first and noticed that she was in fact with Dr. Chen. There seemed to be more than a passing familiarity between them and I wondered if she was sleeping with him. Then I told myself she was a grown woman and that was her own business, not mine. And Wes was standing by the bar with Harold and Paolo. They were drinking some amber-colored drink, which I assumed was alcoholic. They looked very somber. Well, I thought, they sure had plenty to commiserate about.

And there, by the roasting pig turning on a spit and a long buffet spread of every kind of island food, was my Bertie, talking and laughing with Suzanne and Alicia. He had them charmed. They held their plates and ate like little birds. His dreadlocks were tied back with a leather string, but other than his weird hair, he looked rather nice in his chambray shirt and khakis. I praised all things holy that he was wearing shoes and not sandals. He must've taken a series of showers and soaks. Even my wild child still had some regard for decorum. And, as it turned out, one of the groomsmen had taken a nasty spill and broken his arm, so my Bertie, dreadlocks and all, was filling in for him. Danette said that Molly was delighted to have his hair in her wedding pictures, and I told Danette that this was yet another bloodcurdling indication that I was definitely getting extremely old.

Molly and Shawn moved through the crowd, thanking everyone for coming. Molly looked radiant, which was a relief, because I couldn't look Shawn in the face without thinking of Cornelia. It appeared that the Cornelia disaster was behind them and that they had decided to forgive, forget, and move on.

Young love, I thought and sighed heavily.

I spotted Holly at the end of the crowd, in the deepest recesses of Danette's yard, wearing a beautiful dress with a bow in the back, running, playing some kind of a game with a little redheaded boy around her age. I assumed he was the ring bearer. They were so darling, a snapshot of childhood. I couldn't wait for Harlan to get to know her.

The lanterns overhead moved with the breeze, and it was a beautiful sight.

“You look lost,” a male voice said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh!” I was so involved in taking the scene all in that I was surprised.

“Oh, I'm sorry! I startled you!”

I'd never seen him before. He was younger than most of us but older than our children. He was very handsome, with a deep olive complexion and the most beautiful smile. And, let me tell you, he was spraying the yard with testosterone through every single pore in his body. I knew at once who he had to be.

“Nader?”

“Yes, I'm Nader Tavakoli, Danette's friend. How did you know?”

“I'm Leslie Carter. I'm so happy to meet you! It had to be you because Danette's told me all about you.”

“I hope all good?”

“Only good,” I said and giggled like a fool. “But you are even more handsome than she described!” What was I saying? It sounded like I was flirting! “Not that she didn't say you were . . . handsome, that is.”

He laughed too. I liked him immediately.

“Come, let's get a drink,” he said and took my elbow.

We walked toward the bar. Danette grabbed my arm and introduced me to Shawn's parents and his sister and his old-maid aunts from Tennessee.

“Why don't I just bring you something?” Nader said.

“Any kind of sparkling water would be great,” I said. “Thanks.”

Shawn's aunts were lovely. In typical Southern fashion, we chatted away about Shawn, stories from when he was a mere lad. And I threw in a few stories about Molly and how my children had grown up with her and the bridesmaids. Forgoing wine, I sipped my glass of sparkling water, in deference to the dress I had struggled to zip, and I ate only protein tidbits. They moved away to talk to someone else and there I stood. A target for Wes.