Chapter Twenty-Three 13 page

The comparison nearly debilitated her. It was true. How many times had she seen her mother, highball glass in hand, serenading people with Debbie’s Dinner Theater?

He kissed her cheek and headed inside. “I’m going to go for a run since it’s so nice. Why don’t the two of you enjoy some time together?”

She looked over at Eric, leaning against the doorway, a hesitant smile on his face. She really didn’t want to have a conversation with him while she was drunk and practically naked. He was long past the age when she could disguise her foibles. He was an adult now—a sharp one—and she wasn’t at the top of her game for their first discussion since he’d seen her kiss a woman. Yet she doubted she’d get another opportunity to speak with him alone.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked, pointing to a chair.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

He sat down, his hands clasped in his lap. It was his nervous body language. She remembered that the last time she’d seen him this way was the night she and Lawrence had confronted him about his cocaine usage. That image was enough to propel her forward and accept her decision.

“Eric, I’m very sorry that I didn’t tell you about Paula, that’s my friend’s name. I can’t really explain to you what happened. She’s gay and she was very upset. She’d just lost her mother. I guess I just went a little out of my head for a while but I never meant to hurt you or deceive you. You’re the most important person in the world to me.”

She put her hand on his knee and stared into his deep green eyes. Genetically he’d inherited them from Lawrence but she’d always seen a kindness that was unique to him. He smiled slightly and covered her hand with his own. He stared at her with a look of innocence tainted by wisdom. She could tell he wanted to believe her simplistic story but he knew she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

“Is everything okay, Mom?”

She flashed a weary smile. “I’m tired,” she said, reverting to the timeless mom response that instantly explained everything. “I’m ready to go home,” she added, hoping he would be convinced.

She knew he wanted to say more and she’d learned that with enough time he’d give voice to his feelings. He took a breath and said, “Mom, about that morning—”

“There’s no reason to talk about it. Just forget it, okay?”

“I don’t want to forget it. I mean, I was really shocked, that’s for sure. But if I step away from my feelings and just look at it objectively, you were really into her. Dad says she was an old friend. Is that true?”

She nodded, somewhat uncomfortable by how much he’d really noticed. “Paula and I have known each other since we were little. We grew up together.” She finished her drink and turned to him. “We don’t need to say any more, son. I’m just so sorry you saw that.”

“Are you sorry you kissed her?”

It was a loaded question, and if he was still eight-years-old she could avoid it by changing the subject or jumping out of her chair and claiming a large bug had just scampered across the patio. Both tactics had worked before when she wanted to avoid a subject with him. By the time they’d addressed the distraction the original topic was forgotten. That wouldn’t work now.

She summoned the voice she used to comfort him when he fell off his bike, the serious expression that reassured him that he really would get into college and the persuasive tone which convinced him that he could beat his drug addiction.

“It was a terrible mistake. Now, we’re going to go home and get you back in school. Okay? That’s all that matters.”

She squeezed his hand and went directly to the bathroom. She sobbed silently for several minutes and decided to take another shower to mask her tears. When she emerged again, he was back in his room, talking on his cell phone. She sighed deeply and felt hunger pangs. She found the room service menu and ordered a sandwich. Realizing she had no money for a tip, she burrowed through Lawrence’s pockets, looking for his wallet. She pulled a five out and a book of matches fell onto the coffee table.

They’d come from the Camelback Inn, a luxury hotel and spa in Phoenix. It was one of his favorites and he’d taken her there to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary. On the inside cover of the matchbook he’d written a room number. It was relatively new and probably acquired during one of his trysts with a prostitute while she was away. He couldn’t be deprived of sex—ever. A niggle of suspicion tickled her mind and she reached for his cell phone, which he never bothered to take with him on his runs despite her protests.

She found the main number in his contact list and the operator connected her with the room. She recognized the voice immediately. Marta’s eastern European accent was quite distinct.

“Is someone there?” she asked irritably.

“Hello, Marta.”

She could hear her gasp two thousand miles away. “Shit!” And she hung up.

Three seconds later Lawrence’s cell phone rang and Steph grinned. She picked it up and laughed. The picture that popped up on the Caller ID showed Marta naked from the waist up. She sported a cute, blond haircut, but what instantly caught Steph’s attention was her recent augmentation. While Marta had never been flat-chested, her breasts weren’t her best feature—until now. She’d added at least two cup sizes, probably to a double-C.

“Marta?” she answered gleefully.

Marta stammered until she asked, “Where’s Lawrence?”

“He’s out running right now. He left his cell phone and I’ve been admiring the lovely picture of you that he’s included on his display. Are those double-C’s?”

“D’s,” she said dumbly.

Steph poured another drink. “Ah, of course, that’s the size Lawrence likes the most.” She paused and when Marta didn’t comment, she continued to stick the knife deeper. “I know you’re a little shocked right now so I’m just going to tell you a story and you let me know which parts are wrong. Okay?”

Marta grunted and she took a huge slug of Glenlivet. “So after I left, you and Lawrence played house and he performed some work on you, but when he found out from his attorney I’d get half of his wealth, he told you I had to come back or your ride on the gravy train would come to a crashing halt. He set you up at the hotel and came to get me but he assured you that it wouldn’t take long before he could convince me to let you back in the house and everything would be back the way it was. He could fuck you every Wednesday afternoon while I played tennis and got my massage. Did I get it right?”

There was a pause and Marta said softly, “Except that I get an all-day visit to the spa every week.”

Steph smiled. “Of course. I’m hanging up now.”

When she dropped Lawrence’s cell phone onto the table she noticed her hands were shaking. She sat down and closed her eyes. Nothing had changed and she wasn’t surprised.

“Mom?”

She whipped her head to the side. Eric stood in the doorway to his room, his hands in his pockets. She had no idea how long he’d been standing there or how much he’d heard. She was drunk and she knew that like her mother, she got much noisier when her sobriety was compromised.

She looked down and said, “I ordered a sandwich. Did you want anything?”

He came and sat next to her. “I haven’t been a very good son.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about? You’re the most amazing person. I couldn’t ask for a better son.”

He shook his head. “I really don’t know where to start.” He took a breath and organized his thoughts. “I always knew Dad was a bastard and that he cheated. But when he came to me a few days ago and said he wanted to make it right, I believed him. He’d been pleading with me for weeks to forgive him, and when he asked me to go with him to get you, I said no at first. Then he said he might do something foolish and I got a little scared.”

She smoothed his hair and touched his cheek. “Of course you did, sweetie. He’s your father and you’d never want anything bad to happen to him. You wanted to believe him.”

“That shouldn’t matter. I’m a recovering addict and one of the cardinal rules is that everybody lies. Anyway, I only came because I was worried he’d hurt himself. I meant it when I told you to leave. He’s not good for you. But then I saw you and your friend…”

His voice trailed off and she said, “We don’t have to talk about this, son—”

“Of course we do! Mom, you’re a lesbian and you’re in love with a woman. And you’re about to go back to Scottsdale and live with someone you hate.”

She couldn’t speak. He’d called her a lesbian, a word she couldn’t even call herself. She took another drink and poured him half a shot. He nodded his thanks and downed the liquor.

“I was just talking to Jameson about this.”

“Oh, why?” Jameson was Eric’s best friend and the person who convinced him to get help for his addiction.

He looked at her like she was dumb. “He’s gay, Mom.”

“He is?”

Eric chuckled. “Mom, sometimes you’re a little dense. You’ll have to work on your gaydar if you’re going to be a lesbian.”

“My what?”

He shook his head, the chuckle turning into a real laugh. It felt so good to see him laugh. “Mom, Jameson helped me realize that I needed to let you live your own life and be happy for you. I need to support you.”

She shook her head. “That’s not your job. You’re my son. I support you.”

“Mom, that was great when I was nine but I’m a grownup. We have to be here for each other, starting right now.”

He took her drink from her hand and put it on the table and held her hand. “Do you love your friend… sorry, what was her name again?”

She was overcome by so much that tears dripped from her cheeks. She was so proud of him.

“Paula,” she whispered.

He kissed her on the cheek. “Just by the way you say her name I know how you feel. Can I meet her sometime?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He looked around and checked his watch. “Well, I think we’d better get you out of here. You don’t need another scene with Dad.”

She agreed. She quickly repacked while he called the front desk and secured another room several floors below. He promised that he would deal with Lawrence and she made a point of leaving the matchbook and his wallet visible. He’d get the message.

They met at the door with her things and she threw her arms around him. “I love you. It doesn’t say enough but it’s all I have.”

“I know, Mom. I love you, too.”

She picked up her suitcases and set them down again. She gazed at Eric who eyed her quizzically. “Son, sometimes adults don’t always behave well. There’s a part in each of us that doesn’t mature past the age of twelve. Inside we’re still kids who sometimes choose to do the wrong thing.”

He grinned. “I know. You don’t have to explain Dad’s behavior, Mom. I get it.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, sweetheart.”

She disappeared into the bedroom and returned with Lawrence’s garment bag. He always traveled with an expensive suit regardless of where he went, including their vacations. As Steph became a savvy participant in their marriage, she surmised that he brought his dress clothes to pick up women, and she couldn’t imagine how many nights she’d lain in a lonely bed while he rode a stranger somewhere else in the hotel.

She took the bag out to the balcony and pulled the zipper down, exposing the tailored Armani suit. It was gorgeous. She hefted the bag over the balcony and with all her strength, threw it out into the night sky. Eric quickly joined her at the railing and they watched it plummet ten stories—and land in the gurgling hot tub.

She looked at him with a pout. “Do you forgive your mother?”

He laughed so hard he cried.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 658