Dying for a Date (8 page)

"How much is that black dress in the window, the floaty one?” I asked.

"The uh, floaty one? I believe it's either twenty-two ninety-five or twenty-three ninety-five. What size are you?” Her aquamarine eyes sized me up, down and sideways.

"I'm a ten or twelve. I can't believe that dress is less than twenty-five dollars. This is better than Ross."

The saleswoman and Stan gawked at me and managed to synchronize the rolling of their eyes. She turned the price tag over and read out loud, enunciating every patronizing syllable. “This Roberto Cavalli is twenty-three hundred ninety-five dollars. Let me see if I have your size available.” She stared down her perfectly shaped nose at me. “If you still wish to try it on."

My cheeks blushed hot pink. What was Stan thinking bringing me here? I was on a Payless budget, not a Prada budget.

"Of course I want to try it on. I'm sure it will be the perfect dress for me,” I muttered.

The minute she walked into the back room to look for my size, I grabbed the sleeve of Stan's retro bowling shirt and dragged him over to the front door. “Are you nuts? I can't afford that dress. Twenty-four hundred dollars is the equivalent of three months of house payments. Or eight hundred mochas."

"You said you needed the perfect dress,” he said with a sheepish look. “Sorry. Sometimes my champagne taste collides with my common sense. But who knows, it may be exquisite on you.” Luckily the exquisitely overpriced dress was unavailable in my size. We browsed through several other stores but couldn't find anything in my price range that made either of us rave.

"Don't get discouraged,” Stan said as I slumped in the leather seat of the Beemer. “We still have lots of boutiques to check out in mid-town and East Sac."

We found a parking space on H Street in front of a store called Serendipity. Twinkling white miniature lights lent a festive look to the fall fashions in their window. Stuffed pumpkins strewn throughout the display reminded me it was less than a week to Halloween. Ben and I hadn't even discussed his costume yet. This mother had her priorities all screwed up.

"I'm getting some good vibes here.” Stan's head swiveled as his eyes scanned the racks of clothes. “You take the racks on the left and I'll head over to the ones on the right."

I had forgotten how tiring shopping could be since I rarely indulged in what used to be my favorite pre-divorce hobby. I was ready to call it a night when Stan cried out, “Hoochy Mama."

Hoochy Mama?

Hoochy Mama was a sapphire blue dress with sheer sleeves, ending in beaded cuffs at the wrist. The empire style dress with its low rounded neckline would flatter my curves. I snagged the dress from Stan's clutches, walked into the dressing room and closed the louvered door. I held my breath when the zipper came to an abrupt halt, but a little jiggle and it made it to the top. I slipped on my heels and peeked in the mirror.

A young saleswoman tapped on the door. “We have a three-way mirror out front. I'm sure your boyfriend wants to see how you look."

I snickered as I opened the door. “Stan's not my boyfriend. He's just the best personal shopper a girl could have. We'll let him make the final decision."

I model walked through the store ending my performance in front of Stan's chair. The look on his face was pure delight. “Babe. You've been hiding yourself under those Betsy Banker clothes. You look good enough to make a gay man go straight."

"Ok.a.a.y...I'll take that as a compliment. Guess I'm buying the dress."

I changed back into my slacks and sweater, hung the dress back on its hanger, and walked back into the store straight into—her. Nadine Wells. The golden goddess who for some strange reason clung to the arm of—another man? Not my ex?

"Um, Nadine, um...hello.” I turned to Stan. My expression must have screamed help. My buddy jumped in to rescue me.

"Hello. I'm Stan. Laurel and I were just leaving. In fact we were just getting into my new Beemer, the silver six-sixty parked over there..."

I recovered in time to save Stan from receiving the “gay dork” award of the week. “Where's Hank?"

Nadine tittered as she tottered on four-inch gold stilettos. Every time I encountered the woman I expected her to topple over, her super-sized manmade breasts at odds with her size double zero body. At least I had a decent sized frame to haul my excess soft tissue around.

"Honey, I kicked him out a few weeks ago. This is Dr. Hugo Black. Plastic surgeon extraordinaire, aren't you sweetie?” Her breasts tilted up in homage to the man who must have been responsible for their design and construction.

A plastic surgeon far surpassed Hank financially. Hank could barely keep up with my child support payments since the bottom fell out of the construction industry. Had Nadine grown tired of supporting him?

The plastic couple sauntered to the back of the store as I paid for my dress. Stan and I were both quiet as we drove up Highway 50 toward Placerville. Nadine's revelation had stunned me. Were Hank's recent overtures due to a realization that our children had suffered when he'd moved out of the house? Or were there financial considerations involved?

Stan dropped me off at the bank parking lot. I thanked him for his help, climbed in my car and headed home to a house ablaze with lights. I couldn't wait for the day when my kids received their very first utility bill.

I parked in the garage and removed my dress from the back seat. Despite the high wattage emanating from every room, neither of the children was downstairs. I walked into the kitchen, the dress in its navy plastic Serendipity bag, draped over my arm.

A note lay on the table. Jenna had scrawled the words a mother never wants to read.

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I read the note a second time. DON'T FORGET—SNACK FOR SCHOOL.

The two most dreaded words in a mother's vocabulary. Snack Mom.

Ben's teacher had decided that every Friday one student should bring a treat for the entire class. It would give the kids something to look forward to at the end of the week. An excellent concept assuming the mother of the designated student remembered her snack mom detail.

I'd totally spaced out and forgotten it was Ben's week. A quick check on the kids then I'd head out to the supermarket. I climbed the stairs and entered Ben's room. He was sound asleep with a contented smile on his face. Probably dreaming of a soccer goal. I tucked his covers in then crossed the hall to Jenna's room. I knocked on her door and she gave me permission to enter.

She glanced at my garment bag. “Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Uh huh. I bought this amazing dress. I was going to try it on for you but then I saw Ben's note. I have to drive to the store and buy a snack for his class."

"Nah, you're good. We made brownies and they're stacked in the Tupperware carrier. I wrote the note so he wouldn't forget to take them in the morning. We figured you had enough on your mind and could use a little help. We didn't want you to screw up this date, too."

In my opinion, I
wasn't
the one who screwed up my last date, but I was thrilled by Jenna's helpful attitude. I plunked down on her apricot embroidered bedspread. “Guess who I ran into tonight?"

She gave me the look that only a sixteen-year old daughter can give. Okay, maybe she is too old for guessing games. “Nadine. According to her, she and your dad split up."

Jenna's eyes lit up and her smile was the widest I'd seen since our divorce. “Now you and Dad can get together again.” She catapulted from her chair and twirled around the room. Her mattress whooshed as she landed in a happy sprawl on the bed.

My heart plummeted. Why hadn't I realized what her reaction would be? With Nadine out of the picture, Jenna assumed Hank and I would reconcile. My garment bag dropped to the floor as I embraced my daughter. She might be four inches taller, but I was still her mother.

"Honey, your dad and I aren't getting back together. It just means he's no longer living with Nadine.” I frowned when I realized her father had neglected to inform me he was residing elsewhere. “Did you know he had moved?"

She gave me a sheepish look reminiscent of the man in question. “He told me he and Nadine were having problems so he moved in with his friend Bill. I thought...I thought maybe we could all be a family again...” Her voice trailed off as she slumped against me.

All the anger I felt when Hank left two years ago erupted in full force. How dare he let Jenna get her hopes up for a reconciliation? It was a good thing he wasn't standing in front of me because I definitely had murder on my mind.

I kissed the top of her tangled auburn hair. “We'll discuss it tomorrow.” The shopping expedition had worn me out and I didn't have the emotional stamina to think about my ex-husband's deceit right now. It could wait until the next day.

Unfortunately Hank didn't give me the opportunity. He left a voicemail Friday morning informing me he would pick up the kids from school. I would have to wait until he brought them home on Sunday before I could berate him. Although our divorce decree granted joint custody, it ended up more like an eighty/twenty split. I hoped their lack of quality time with their father wouldn't make them any more dysfunctional than most children. Considering the amount of time they spent with me, that was probably a given.

Despite Jeremy's courteous demeanor during our previous meeting, I was somewhat apprehensive about having him come to our house. Not to mention he probably wasn't used to tripping over the GI Joes and Matchbox cars that normally decorate our family room.

After a restless night, I woke up early, determined my house would be so clean I could invite the first lady to dinner. I swept, vacuumed, scrubbed and polished. Once the house was immaculate it was my turn to be scrubbed and polished. I skipped lunch and by six o'clock, I was ready. Thanks to Liz, my face was aglow with sunny sheen foundation, an organic product that guaranteed I'd look ten years younger. Too bad it couldn't guarantee I'd look ten pounds lighter.

With extra time on my hands, I paced through the house. I was half looking forward to the date and half dreading it. My pacing eventually brought me into the kitchen. A little wine wouldn't hurt and it might relax me. I uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay just as the doorbell rang. I took a sip of liquid fortification about the size of a Big Gulp, set the glass on the counter and walked to the front door to greet my suitor.

Jeremy stepped into the entry, tall and slim in a gray suit, blue shirt, and darker blue tie. He smiled as his eyes appraised me. “Laurel, you look terrific. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. I didn't know what time the reservations were. Would you like some wine before we leave? There's a bottle of Chardonnay open."

"Sure. Sounds good.” He followed me into the kitchen and perched on one of the oak barstools.

I poured a glass for Jeremy and topped off my own. Our glasses clinked as he toasted, “to a beautiful woman and a beautiful evening."

Aww. What a lovely sentiment. Both his words and the wine made me feel all warm and toasty inside. Jeremy was definitely a step, or an entire staircase up from my last date. I beamed at him. He smiled back then took a sip of wine and grimaced. Evidently the doctor wasn't a connoisseur of the McKay house brand, the infamous Two Buck Chuck. He set the glass on the counter then swiveled around, surveying my kitschy yellow kitchen.

"Nice house. Very cozy."

"Thanks. My ex built it. Lots of flaws just like him."

Jeremy looked taken aback. Complaining about your ex is a no-no on your first date. Love Club rules.

"I guess all men are flawed to some extent. No matter how hard we try, perfection eludes us.” He shrugged. “Are you ready to go?"

Strange remark. Jeremy looked troubled but since he didn't elaborate, I didn't push. Maybe once we reached the restaurant he'd feel comfortable confiding in me. I eyed my glass of wine. I hated to waste good chardonnay. I also hated to waste cheap chardonnay. I took one quick sip then put the glass down by the sink.

I locked my front door and we walked out to Jeremy's navy Mercedes. He politely helped me in without making any anatomical detours. I settled into the passenger seat admiring the gleaming burled walnut paneling and array of controls on the dashboard. “Nice car."

"Your cars are the clothing you drive in.” He shot me a sideways glance. If that were true, I was currently riding in a tux. But what did my pastel hybrid say about me?

It was a short drive to the restaurant. Jeremy handed the keys to the valet and we strolled down the slate pathway to the entrance of the River Inn. Between the vaulted ceilings, pine paneled walls, and enormous green plants interspersed throughout the restaurant, it was like entering a primeval forest. The hostess greeted us warmly and we followed her to a romantic corner booth overlooking the American River.

Jeremy immediately started perusing the wine list while I admired the tumultuous river crashing over the rocks below the restaurant. When the waiter appeared, my date lifted his gray curls from the menu. “We'll have a bottle of the 1976 Dom Perignon."

The waiter looked impressed, nodding his head in approval. “Excellent choice, sir. I'll be back shortly."

I was also impressed and displayed my approval by emitting a tiny burp. Uh, oh. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that chardonnay on an empty stomach. Our waiter arrived with a silver ice bucket, two crystal flutes and the two hundred dollar bottle of champagne. A muffled pop and—voila, I was holding a fifty-dollar glass of booze.

The bus boy delivered a basket loaded with some garlicky smelling focaccia bread. Jeremy was still engrossed in reviewing the wine list so I withdrew two pieces and slathered on some butter. The doctor was either trying to make a major impression on me or he was a wine connoisseur bar none. I sipped the champagne and munched on the excellent refined carbs while gazing at the churning river below.

My date finally looked up from the two-inch thick gold embossed wine list. “Laurel, do you have any preferences for reds?"

My only preference was that the wine didn't taste like grape juice. How could I convince him I was a connoisseur as well? “I prefer red wines from the Napa Valley.” That should narrow it down to a couple hundred choices.