Read Every Other Saturday Online
Authors: M.J. Pullen
Every Other Saturday (18 page)
“I appreciate the offer. But I’m not a dating guru, Ken. I’m a sports guy. This is completely out of my depth.”
“Come on. You haven’t been just sports for years. Our on-air talent are all sports guys. You’re different: you review barbecue places and gyms, and the best hot shave in the city. I’d call you…Atlanta’s Arbiter of Masculinity.”
“I’ll update my business cards.”
“And now instead of just restaurants and fantasy teams, you’re reviewing women.”
“For the love of G-d, don’t say that on air,” Dave said quickly. “I get enough hate mail from women as it is.”
Kenneth laughed. “If everybody loves you, you’re doing it wrong. Anyway, you should consider it. We’ll start in the New Year with a special segment once a week, after the results are in from your J-Date thing. Probably we’ll have you do dating on Fridays—tips for the weekend, that kind of thing, and then your regular gig on Mondays.”
“You realize, that until two months ago, I had only been out with about five women total. I was married to the same one for fifteen years. I am not a dating expert.”
“You’ve got ten thousand followers on Facebook who say otherwise. Besides, you keep saying you want to do more at the station. I see this as your best shot. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day.”
“I’ll think about it.” Dave looked at the clock—he was twenty minutes late and couldn’t stall any longer. “I gotta run. There’s a meeting at my daughter’s school.”
“One last thing. I don’t want to ask you to compromise your integrity…”
Dave laughed. “That ship has sailed, man.”
“Like I said, the station is definitely into this dating thing right now. But it would help a lot if your J-Date experiment had a great, dramatic ending. The kind of thing people get excited about.”
“You mean like, if I ended up dating someone in January?” He thought of Ashley, and her offer to serve as his arm candy with no messy emotional entanglements. Apparently she wasn’t far off with her flair for the dramatic.
“If possible. You don’t have to get married, but a happy ending with one of these women would go a long way toward your credibility. And your popularity.”
“I’m not doing a rose ceremony, Ken.”
“Of course not. No. Whatever you think. This is your baby. Be creative.”
Julia was the first to see him when he entered the classroom. She gave him a quick smile, and glanced at the empty chair between her and Lianne to her left. She wore red lipstick, he noticed.
Debbie, who had been facing away from the door, turned to see him, and took her bag and leather-bound day planner out of the seat next to her. There was a box of brewed coffee from the donut shop and a platter of donut holes on a table by the door. He poured himself a cup and selected two of the donuts before making his way to the circle and taking the seat next to Debbie. He glanced at Julia as he sat, but she was looking at a notepad on her lap and didn’t meet his eye.
“So, we were just getting started,” Debbie said. “Actually, we were talking about some of the things we liked and didn’t like about last year’s auction. Julia, you did a lovely job, of course. I’m sure we all agree…”
“No, I—I really wasn’t—” Julia started, but none of the other women seemed to hear her. They were all chiming in with Debbie’s polite acknowledgment.
Dave felt a pang of guilt, remembering that Julia had not officially been in charge of the event until one of the other families moved away suddenly, and that he and Debbie were maybe supposed to have helped with the auction more than they did. “Deb, I don’t think Julia can take all the credit for last year,” he said. “Remember the Andrews family?”
But the group moved on, heedless of Julia or the forgotten extenuating circumstances, and Debbie ignored him. He caught Julia’s eye across from him and shrugged.
“It’s okay,” she mouthed. “Thanks.”
He gave her an exaggerated eye roll in return and she smiled. He tried to judge by her expression whether she remembered anything about their last meeting. When they’d kissed, he thought she seemed pretty okay with it. It had been a nice kiss, actually, even if it was a huge mistake. But then he’d had to put her to bed just a few minutes later. How awkward was this thing going to get?
Around him, the comments piled on top of one another, filling the room with complaints like a plague of frogs.
“Last year checkout at the auction was disorganized.”
“Yeah, definitely more people at checkout.”
“The wine was terrible. We need a better bar.”
“And better prizes. My husband’s company can donate an iPad…”
“Yeah, and can we do more fun stuff for the adults, less of the ‘lunch with a teacher’ type stuff?” This was Tamara Goldman.
“Lunch with a teacher is cute!” someone else put in.
“Me, too. Sam won that last year and he loved it.”
“Of course it’s cute,” Tamara said. “So cute. I was just thinking nicer stuff, too. Like golf packages and massages and weekend getaways.”
“I agree with you, Tamara,” Debbie said firmly. “Do you think you and Matthew could donate something like that?”
“Us?”
“Yes. Or you could go and find someone in the community to donate.”
“I don’t like to do that. It makes me uncomfortable to ask people for things. I feel so weird doing it. I would bid on it, though. If it’s a nice enough package.”
“Don’t think of it as asking for you,” Debbie said. “You’re asking for the kids.”
“I don’t know.” Tamara wrinkled her nose as though Debbie had just suggested she dig through the dumpster out back to find appetizers for dinner.
“That’s the cool thing about the teacher lunches,” Julia said quietly. “They don’t cost anything, the teachers are always generous with their time, and they bring in good money. Same for the class art projects.”
“Julia is right,” Debbie said. “We have to keep those things, even if they aren’t glamorous. But Tamara, I agree we need more for the adults. I have a connection at a winery I’ll tap, and Dave always has some amazing sports items—plus a signed copy of his book. Honey, can you get some other stuff for the guys, too? Cigars or tickets or something?”
Debbie’s hand was on his knee now, and she’d called him honey.
“Sure,” he said. But he wanted to yell, “What the
fuck
?” Up until an hour ago, he wasn’t sure Debbie was speaking to him; now suddenly it was “honey” and a hand on his knee as though they were still together. Was she trying to let him know she wasn’t mad anymore? Or to show off in front of all these other women that she still had him by the balls? Dave knew one thing: he wasn’t the only screwed-up one in this relationship.
Even worse, as Julia responded to requests for her painted furniture, her eyes were intent on Debbie’s hand. Suddenly the room felt oppressive and thick: as though a cloud of vaporized estrogen hung in the air, suffocating him. He had to get out of here. He stood. The group quieted, staring at him. He couldn’t leave. Not after being the last one here, and the one they all assumed would bail. He extracted his phone from his pocket. “I have to take this.” He pointed at it, ignoring the fact that the screen was dark. “Sorry, please continue.”
Feeling idiotic, he stepped outside and pretended to have a conversation for a couple of minutes. He paced around in the next classroom down, listening for hints about the tone in the meeting room. He hated feeling like such a coward, but wished there was another man on this stupid committee.
When he returned, Debbie was divvying up tasks. He stood near the doorway and ate another donut rather than returning to the seat next to her. She scratched notes in her planner and tossed her hair while she talked. “Okay, so Lianne, you’ll get some quotes for the bar and get those back to me. Everyone will try to get at least three additional items for the auction—just email me with your ideas so we don’t duplicate anything. What else?”
When no one spoke, she added, “Julia? Dave?”
Dave felt himself redden inexplicably with the association. A memory of unbuttoning Julia’s blouse appeared with a vividness that surprised him. He found he couldn’t do anything but shake his head and avoid Debbie’s eye. Why did he feel this way? He’d done nothing wrong. Julia had overindulged, and he had helped her to bed, like any friend would. There was nothing salacious about it at all. Except the one little kiss, which Julia probably didn’t remember.
Julia mumbled that there wasn’t anything else, and thanked Debbie for running the meeting. “And, Dave,” she added. “Thank you both.”
When the meeting broke up, he was headed off by Tamara Goldman, grilling him about the kinds of tickets he could get and to which sporting events. By the time he could put her off and wade past the other women, Julia had escaped through the door of the classroom, and Debbie’s hand was on his arm.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey. Nice job.”
“Thanks. Do you have time for lunch?”
“It’s not a great day for it. Why?”
She looked offended. “I just thought we needed to talk. Unless you had something more pressing to do?” This was directed toward Julia’s retreating form.
“No, dear,” he said with exaggerated sweetness. “Lunch would be
delightful
.”
He followed Debbie up the stairs and out of the school, exchanging quick pleasantries with the administrative staff as they went. By the time they got to the parking lot, Julia’s minivan was long gone.
# # #
He should have known it was a trap. Post-divorce Debbie had never invited him to lunch unless Lyric was with them. The few times they had met up alone to discuss their daughter or other issues, it had always been a noncommittal coffee so they could make a quick exit if things got tense.
No such luck today. As he followed Debbie into the pizza place she said she was dying to try, he saw Aaron at a booth facing the door. His friend’s face morphed from expectant to delighted, and then to shocked and annoyed in a matter of seconds. “Deb,” Dave hissed. “What are you doing?”
“It’s time,” she said. “Man up.”
“I tried calling him,” Dave complained. “He’s the one avoiding me.”
“You didn’t try very hard. Anyway, I’m over it.”
They reached the table, where Aaron was now concentrating very hard on the wadded-up straw wrapper in his hands, face hidden by the bill of his baseball cap and russet beard. Debbie leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Hello, friend,” she said, with a tone of such intimacy that Dave felt jealousy radiate through his whole body. But Debbie did not sit down next to Aaron. She pointed at the seat opposite and looked at Dave. “Sit.”
“What am I, a dog?” Dave said, petulant.
“No.” Debbie smirked. “Dogs can be trained to be useful. Sit. Down.”
Beneath the baseball cap, he saw Aaron crack a smile. Dave sat with an exasperated sigh.
“Now. I am going to get a ninety-minute massage. You two will order a pizza and two beers. And you are going to sit here and figure out how the
fuck
—” she whispered the word, “this is all going to work out. I don’t care how you do it. Go outside and beat the shit out of each other for all I care. But when I get out of my massage, everyone is going to be normal and nice and the men in my life will act like adults. Is that clear?”
Dave murmured something incomprehensible and heard Aaron do the same. Debbie held out her hand. “Excellent. My massage is your treat, by the way. They’ll split it between two cards.”
“You’re pushing it, Deb,” Dave said as Aaron gaped at her. “Don’t press your advantage.”
She didn’t move, or even drop her gaze, just stood with her palm up, eyes blazing. Dave folded first, reaching into his wallet and slapping his Falcons-logo Visa onto her palm. “It’s like we’re still married,” he said with false bitterness. “No shopping.”
Aaron followed suit with his own card, looking dazed. They both watched as Debbie sashayed out the door, reluctant to face each other. Dave was not looking forward to this conversation. Between Julia, Debbie and Aaron, his life was one long stream of awkward.
“Your nose looks good,” he offered, when they had placed their order.
Aaron laughed. “Definitely the first time in my life I’ve heard that one.”
“At least I wasn’t destroying a masterpiece,” Dave said. “I’ve tried to call you.”
“I know.” Aaron shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to talk. I guess you get it, though, since you avoided my calls for weeks, too.”
“Neither of us is awesome with confrontation, apparently.”
Aaron rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’d say you have some skills in that area.”
Dave thought of what Debbie had said when she’d kissed Aaron’s cheek. “She called you friend.”
Aaron smiled for the first time. “Yeah. It’s kind of a joke between us. We’ve been staying friends. We didn’t want to…take things further, until everything was resolved.”
“You mean with me.”
He nodded. “That was before you punched me in the face, though. After that, all bets were off.”