Yeah.
That was years ago. Five, maybe? We were still newlyweds then.
“I have to go,” I tell him. “I have a date.”
“Oh! Uh, okay. Sorry, Jenny. Have fun. Let me know about Friday. Take care, honey. Bye.”
Honey. Force of habit, or just affection. I call my brides honey all the time.
I hang up, bemused. While I wouldn’t wish anything bad to befall my ex-husband, I can’t deny that it feels kind of great to have him miss me. To be the one with plans.
Speaking of, two very attractive gentlemen are waiting for me downstairs, so downstairs I go.
* * *
After dinner, Evander’s mother calls. Leo talks to her in a low voice for a few minutes, then looks over at me. “Can you drive Evander home?”
“Sure.” I’ve only had the one glass of wine. “Is your car in the shop?”
“No. Let’s go, Wonderboy.”
It’s a given that Loki comes. Leo doesn’t seem to go anywhere without him. We drive through Cambry-on-Hudson to a scruffier section of town, closer to the gravel quarry. Evander gives me directions, not Leo, which surprises me. I thought he drove Evander home from time to time.
The James residence is a two-family house; down the sidewalk is a cluster of teenagers who yell and curse and roughhouse in the loud way of teenagers, then go silent as Leo and Evander get out of the car and go into the house.
The kids turn their attention to me, and the loud talking resumes. Their message is clear—look at us, be afraid of us, we own this street. I smile. It goes unreturned.
But Leo is only gone a minute.
“How is it for Evander, do you think, being a musical prodigy in a neighborhood like this?” I ask when he gets back in the car.
“Tough,” he says. “His parents aren’t sure they want him to keep on playing.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was. I’m trying to make it easy with the free lessons and taxis and keeping him for dinner, but it might be a matter of time.”
“So he can, what? Sell drugs with these kids?” I point to the knot of children, the smell of pot thick in the air.
“That would be racial profiling, Jenny.”
“Half those kids are white, and can you not smell that? That’s marijuana, dear boy.”
He runs a hand through his glorious hair and sighs.
“I thought you drove Evander home every week,” I said.
“No. I don’t drive students. Too much liability.”
That makes sense. But he’s tense, his fingers tapping on his knees, as if he’s playing the piano. “So what’s the pre-college program?” I ask.
“It’s a weekend school for prodigies. Very intense, but if he gets in, he’s almost guaranteed to be accepted at Juilliard for college.”
“He’s that good?”
“He’s that good. He’s quite possibly great.”
Imagine that. It would be incredible to go see Evander playing at Carnegie Hall someday, to be able to say I knew him when he was little. My husband was his teacher.
Not that I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Why don’t I ever hear you playing?” I ask.
His fingers stop moving, and he shrugs. “I play sometimes. You just might be at work when I do. I don’t know.”
I believe I’ve just been lied to. “Well, will you play for me when we get home? I’d love to hear you.”
He gives me a look.
I’m not stupid. I’ve crossed a line. First of all, I just said words a man hates to hear—when we get home. Technically, we’re not living together, despite being in the same building, despite sleeping together every night but two these past couple of weeks. And secondly, I asked to hear him play... Not the first time I have, and not the first time he’s said no. You’d think a pianist would play the piano, wouldn’t you? Especially, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, for his girlfriend, and he did call me his girlfriend. Evander is a witness.
The silence is getting to me.
“Jenny,” he says at a stop sign. “Remember when I said I was recreation only?”
“Yes. I also remember when you said you were gay as far as I was concerned, which I believe I have disproved.”
“I meant it about the recreation thing. We’re friends with benefits, okay?” His voice is gentle.
Shit. Already, there’s a lump in my throat. “So that rules out piano playing, does it?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Like the locked room upstairs? Listen. I’ve read Jane Eyre. That better be a red room of pain up there, and not your ex-wife.”
“What’s a red room of pain?”
“Never mind.” Though I’m fairly sure I know the answer, I can’t seem to help myself from asking the next question, either. “What about being my wedding date when Kimber and Jared get married in a few weeks?”
“I don’t do weddings. You know how you women are. You read all sorts of things into it, then trample each other to catch the bouquet.”
I nod, doing the old it’s fine, really, I don’t mind a bit, hey, who needs a date to a wedding? We chicks love going stag.
Most men don’t relish weddings. It’s fine. Leo and I have only been together a short time. He’ll get there.
“So guess what?” I say brightly. “I saw my father’s mistress today. File that under the heading of small world, because she’s the mother of one of my brides. In fact, the bride herself once got hand-me-downs from Rachel and me.”