The Night I Got Lucky (10 page)

“What are you doing up?”

“Why don’t you come and see?”

Chris took my hand and led me away from the fridge. I heard it fal closed behind me with a muted thump. Meanwhile, my heart thumped faster inside my chest. Was he waiting up for me because he sensed what I’d almost done with Evan?

Chris led me into our living room. “What do you think?” he asked, his hand outstretched.

On the hardwood floor, he’d set up a picnic. A green flannel blanket was laid flat, and on top sat his grandmother’s silver candelabra with six lit candles. They were burned halfway down, and I wondered how long Chris had been waiting. Two cushions, taken from the couch, had been placed on the blanket along with a champagne bucket and plates of food.

“Oh, Chris,” I said. I felt a rush of awe. When we’d been dating, we used to have picnics frequently, both inside the house, as wel as out. Tim and Tess made fun of us, cal ing us insufferable romantics, but it had become a tradition of sorts. A tradition that had fal en by the wayside since we were married.

“We haven’t had one in a while,” Chris said, “and I knew you’d be hungry.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because whenever you see Hel o Dave with Evan, you’re always starving.”

I nodded, unable to say anything, unable to admit I was usual y trying to fil myself with food to cover up the desire in my body.

“C’mon,” Chris said, pul ing me down onto the blanket. He took the bottle of champagne from the bucket and poured me a foaming glass.

“I had a bit to drink at the show. I don’t know if I should have any more.”

“Who cares?” Chris said, his voice sounding more lighthearted than I’d heard in years.

I gave a little laugh and accepted the glass. “Right. Who cares?” I took a sip, the bubbles tickling my mouth.

Chris lifted a plate with toast squares, something dark on them. “Would you like caviar?”

“You got me caviar?” My guilt was replaced with gratitude and adoration. “Chris, you are so good to me.”

“You deserve it. And I got you this amazing cheese.” He picked up a smal white piece and put it in my mouth. The texture was firm, but it had a creamy taste. “It’s Campo de Montalban,”

he said.

“Delicious. You went to Pastoral?”

He nodded.

“After working al day?”

“I wanted to treat you.”

Chris took the champagne glass from my hand and placed it to the side. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I want to treat you with more than just the caviar.”

The feel of his words in my ear gave me a flash of Evan. “Chris…” I said, not sure what else I wanted to say.
I almost kissed another man. I wanted to kiss another man. I am a horrible
person, but I’d still like some more of that cheese.

“Don’t talk,” Chris said, and he began to kiss my neck.

“But…”

“Later.” His mouth moved down to my col arbone.

I sighed and let my thoughts swim away. I raised my arms and put them around my husband.

Late on Sunday morning, I curled up on my favorite chair, the one that had been at Chris’s apartment when I first met him. It was large enough to fit two people and made of a soft suedelike fabric with big, flat arms. One of those arms now held my morning Diet Coke, the other the Sunday papers.

Some people feel depressed on Sunday, with the work-week looming, but Sunday has always been my favorite day. The phone rarely rings, the streets outside our condo are quiet, and on this particular Sunday, a nearly-white May sun had pushed its way through the windows, streaking across the hardwood floor, making me feel like a fat, contented cat. Chris’s midnight picnic and the hour we’d spent rol ing on the flannel blanket had satisfied me, made me languid.

Chris was stil asleep, so I had the place to myself. I took another sip of my Diet Coke and began reading the papers. I came to an article about a British psychoanalyst who asserted that human beings had to learn to enjoy the things they normal y disliked. I sipped my drink and thought about that a moment. I wondered if Blinda would agree. After al , it was she who told me to
look inside
for happiness, while I’d argued that the issue wasn’t being happy with what I had, but getting what I deserved. Somehow, some way, this last week I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, and I wasn’t about to pretend that I wasn’t glad for it. I wouldn’t pretend that I’d rather have tugged my reluctant psyche to a point where I was happy with the old me.

I liked the new life. It was just the
way
it had happened that was so startling, so, wel …mystical. My thoughts streaked to the green frog, who was, right now, sitting precociously on my nightstand.

The phone rang, surprisingly, taking me away from my musings. It was Tess.

“Shouldn’t you be at church?” I said. Tess wasn’t very religious herself, but she took her two kids to mass every Sunday.
Puts the fear of God in them,
she always said.
And they need it,
because they certainly aren’t scared of me.

“I made Tim take them,” she said. “I couldn’t handle it.”

“What’s up?”

She groaned. “I need a girl’s night. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Sure. Want me to come out there?” Tess lived in Wilmette, and it was usual y me who made the drive when we got together.

“No, I need a night downtown. Tim wil watch the kids.”

At seven o’clock, I kissed Chris and left him in front of the computer. I walked through Lincoln Park toward Mon Ami Gabi, the French café where Tess and I planned to meet. The sun was staying later now, the sky a soft, deepening powder blue. The May air was warm, with a fresh, thick breeze coming off the lake, promising summer, soon.

Tess was already at the restaurant, seated at a cozy table by the windows. She was a wil owy blonde who wore little makeup and tucked her simple bob behind her ears. I pointed at the large bottle of San Pel egrino in front of her. Normal y, a bottle of wine would have held that place on the table. “You’re not!” I said.

She nodded, her expression chagrined. “I am.”

“Oh, my God, another baby? Congrats!”

Tess stood and hugged me weakly.

“Are you feeling okay?” I said as we took our seats.

“No, I’m not! This wasn’t supposed to happen, and now it’s no wine, no Advil, no brie, no hot baths. Pregnancy takes away everything that makes me happy.”

“It was the Advil that real y pushed you over the edge, right?”

She scowled. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s kind of funny.”

Her scowl deepened.

“Okay, Tess, it’s not funny, but it’s great! You love being a mom, and you’re awesome at it. You and Tim wil be great with this one, too.”

She smiled a little. “I suppose you’re right. But Tim is getting snipped after this one.” She made a sadistic scissoring motion with her hand.

I sipped a white Bordeaux while we talked about her kids, Joy and Sammy, and the fact that Tess was depressed at the thought of getting “as big as a house.” Tess stared at my wine with undisguised greed. When our salads were delivered, Tess said, “Enough about me. Tel me what’s up with you.”

“I got the vice presidency.”

“What? And you let me sit here for twenty minutes talking about Sammy’s poops and my water weight? Congrats! When did it happen?”

“That’s the strange thing.” I told her about Blinda and the frog and about how, on Tuesday morning, I’d woken up to Chris’s affections and gone to work to find out I was a VP.

“It’s just a coincidence,” Tess said. “Your husband wanted some sex, good for you. And there just wasn’t an official announcement. That happens sometimes.”

“It was more than that. It was like everyone just assumed I’d been VP for a while, and I would always be a VP, even if I screwed up.”

“That’s just how you perceived it.”

“I don’t think so. And there’s more.” I told her about my mom’s postcard from Milan and how I seemed to have inexplicably gotten over my father’s abandonment.

“Wel , thank God,” Tess said. “I mean real y. You’ve been carrying that baggage around way, way too long, and let me tel you it wasn’t a pretty Hermès bag. It was a nasty nylon backpack that didn’t suit you. This is al good news, so why don’t you seem pleased?”

“No, I am, I am.” I took another bite of my salad greens. “There’s one more thing that’s happened.” I swal owed. “Evan.”

“Meow.” Tess had met Evan on numerous occasions and had found him as delicious as I did. “How is the Everlasting Crush?”

“He’s been flirting with me,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah. You see what I mean? Everything happened in the span of twenty-four hours. I got everything I wanted.”

“I stil think it’s a coincidence, but either way, you’ve got to tel me what’s been going on with Evan.”

“Wel , last night…”

“What? What happened last night?”

I looked around the restaurant, at the soft light from the wal sconces and the patrons tucked into banquette tables. I turned back to Tess. “I almost kissed him.”

“Holy shit. Waiter!” She gestured frantical y with one arm. When he reached us, she said, “I’l need a glass of wine. Whatever she’s having.” She looked back at me. “I can have
one
glass, and my God, this story sounds like I’m going to need it.”

I laughed. “You won’t get flack from me.”

I’d always thought the pregnancy ban on even a drop of alcohol a tad too strict. My mother, for instance, didn’t realize she was pregnant with Dustin until she was almost four months along, having spent those months smoking and drinking Campari with my father in jazz clubs around Chicago. She drank while carrying Hadley, too. It wasn’t until she was carrying me that doctors cautioned pregnant women against alcohol. Her abstinence during the pregnancy with me was a problem, as I saw it. Dustin and Hadley were clearly smarter than I was, more ambitious and accomplished. Would I have been the same if my mother had stopped teetotaling and kept boozing?

Tess made me wait until her wine arrived before I could tel her about the Hel o Dave show. I left nothing out, giving the tiniest of details, just like we used to when we were in high school and didn’t have jobs or husbands or kids to take our time away.

“And so that’s it,” I said. “I took off like the place was on fire. I had to walk five blocks to find a cab, and when I got home…Oh, you won’t believe it.”

“What?” Tess took the last sip of her wine. She glared at the glass, as if angered at it for holding such a smal amount.

“Chris was waiting up for me. With champagne.”

“No.”

“And caviar.”

“No!” she said again. “God, Bil y, did you tel him about Evan?”

I shook my head. “I started to, but I couldn’t. The picnic was so sweet of Chris. So
seductive.
I don’t think I’ve ever been turned on by two men within the same hour. And there real y wasn’t anything to tel .”

She raised her eyebrows as if to say,
maybe, maybe not.
“You know me. I usual y don’t give advice, but I’ve got to say something.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, or why al these things have happened, but I do know something. You’ve got to be careful here, Bil y.
Real
careful.”

I quickly switched topics, and Tess and I talked for another hour about this and that, everything and nothing. But in the back of my head, I couldn’t seem to shake her words.
Be careful
here, Billy. Real careful.

T
he next day, at exactly eleven o’clock, my office phone rang.

“Hi, baby dol ,” my mother said.

My heart bounced like a tennis bal . My mother was back from Milan and cal ing me at eleven on a Monday, just as she always did. It was like normal! “Mom, I miss you.”

“You too, sweetie.” But she sounded distracted. There was static behind her words, as if she was in a windy tunnel. “I’m on the plane coming home. We land in an hour or two.”

“Do you want me to pick you up? I could get out early.” The airport pickup was something my mother always desired, something I rarely did, but I wanted to see her badly.

“Oh, no. You keep working.”

“Wel , I could come out tonight, and we could make dinner.” There was nothing that made my mother happier than the thought of having one of her girls home with a pot simmering on the stove. The sad fact was this dream rarely became a reality.

“How about tomorrow night, sweetie? We can go out.”

“Out?” I said.

“I’l meet you at Milrose. That way it’l be right off the highway for you.”

I was shocked into momentary silence. Milrose was a restaurant and brewery in Barrington, and it was, just as my mother had said, right off the highway I would take from Chicago. I had suggested dinner there numerous times before, but my mother said the bar was too crowded and the food too pricey, so we always got together at her house.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” I said.

“No, no. I’l see you there tomorrow. 7:00?”

“Okay. I won’t bring Chris, so we can have some girl time.”

The static grew louder, and then she was gone.

Later that morning, Evan stuck his head in my office. “How’d you feel yesterday?” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

“I assume you’re referring to the vodka, but I can hold my own.” I said this in a pompous voice, while I fiddled with a few pens, sticking them in the mug on my desktop.

“Since when?”

“You haven’t gone out with me for a while. You’re real y too much of an amateur, so I had to move onto different pastures.”

“Oh, different pastures, huh?” He stepped into the office and leaned against the wal , one leg crossed, toe on the ground. He wore gray pants and a light blue shirt. “I thought your other pasture was at home in front of the TV with your husband.”

“Nope, that’s not the case.” And it wasn’t. Although he was right about the TV, he wasn’t right about Chris. Until the last week, we hadn’t spent much time together at al .

Evan made another joke about my “pastures,” and we bantered, just like we’d done many times before, but I noticed his words were more flirty than usual, his jaunty lean against the wal more practiced. And Evan was giving me “the eyes”—a pointed stare I’d seen him give other women when the conversation was light but he was imagining something much heavier.