Monarch Beach (24 page)

“Amanda, I know what I did was wrong. I’m ashamed and I’m sorry.”

“You are only sorry you got caught.” I shook my head.

He took my hand and held it firmly. “In France, husbands have affairs and the wives don’t care. It will never happen again.”

“I can’t.” I shook my head.

“I will do anything you want.” He put his arms around me and kissed me hard on the lips. His kiss was so familiar; his mouth had the same sweet taste of coffee and mints I remembered. I felt for a minute like we had never stopped kissing.

“We’re in public.” I broke away from him.

“Then we’ll go somewhere private.” Andre stroked the back of my neck.

“We’re not going anywhere.”

He reached forward and kissed me again. “Amanda, we belong together. Let’s have dinner and go up to bed.”

“Are you crazy? I haven’t seen you in two and a half months.” I pushed away from him.

I ordered another scotch and soda. I needed the alcohol to create a plate of armor that Andre couldn’t penetrate.

“My life will be an open book. You can visit the restaurant twenty times a day, you will never see me look at another woman,” he said like a schoolboy pleading with his headmaster.

“You can’t breathe without looking at other women,” I said, and gulped my scotch.

“Give me a chance.” He kissed the back of my neck.

Max came running up with a Frisbee. “Ready, Dad?”

“I’m coming.” He jumped off the bar stool and took my face in his hands. He kissed me slowly, like a teenager on a date with his pinup fantasy. “As soon as I show your mother how much I’ve missed her.”

“Yuck, you guys kiss too much.” Max stood patiently with the Frisbee.

“Impossible,” Andre smiled. “At dinner we will share a plate of oysters,” he whispered in my ear.

I watched Andre and Max play Frisbee on the Grand Lawn. Even though Max’s hair had gotten blonder over the summer, they looked so much alike. They both moved gracefully, throwing and catching the Frisbee like natural athletes.

I took a small sip of scotch. It was having the opposite of my desired effect, and my feelings about Andre were teetering on a dangerous abyss. It would be so easy to believe him: to pack up and fly back to San Francisco, hang my clothes in our bedroom closet, and go back to being a PTA mom.

I grabbed a handful of cashews and chewed them slowly. I imagined having breakfast in our kitchen like we used to after Max had gone to school. Andre brewed organic coffee, and we drank it the French way: with real cream instead of half and half. Sometimes we shared a chocolate croissant. Our kitchen got the morning sun, and it was our time together, before Andre walked to the restaurant and I went off to a school meeting.

I knew, as I fantasized, what was wrong with this picture. Andre’s days and nights at the restaurant included reaching under women’s skirts, massaging their breasts, screwing them in his office, in the coat room, in the walk-in fridge. But what if he had changed? I knew I should be considering Edward, but he lay in some shut-off corner of my mind. All I could see was Andre running barefoot on the Grand Lawn, throwing Max the Frisbee.

Andre ran over to me and emptied his pockets on the bar. “I can’t play with all this stuff weighing me down.” He unbuttoned his shirt and laid it on the bar stool.

It was hard enough watching Andre run with his shirt on; I couldn’t look at him bare-chested. I turned back to the bar. I fiddled with Andre’s car keys, counted the change he spread on the bar, and picked up his phone. Andre had the same flip-phone I did. I flipped it open to see if he still had the picture of Max on his first day of school as his background. He had one new text.

Suddenly I was sober. Should I read his text? If I was going to trust him, shouldn’t I start now? But if he was telling the truth, he had nothing to hide. I held the phone in my hand, thinking of the trouble I had caused myself by reading Edward’s text.

Andre and Max were yards away, chasing each other around the lawn. I pressed read. “Hey lover, when are you back? I miss your chocolate croissants. Keeping bed warm. LOL MM.” I snapped the phone shut like it was a piranha. Andre and Max seemed to be floating far away from me. I did the only thing my mind would let me do: I ran.

I ran up five flights of stairs, out the front doors, and into a town car that was parked in the driveway.

“Laguna Beach Tackle, please; 450 Forest Avenue,” I said to the driver. Only when I rolled up the tinted windows and pulled away from the hotel did I exhale.

Later, I promised myself I would lie face down on my bed and cry. How had I let Andre’s sheer beauty, the way his chest looked when he caught the Frisbee midair, stop me from seeing what a cheating, lying bastard he was? But I couldn’t go up to the suite now. My mother would ask me what happened and Andre and Max would come to find me.

The town car pulled up in front of the restaurant and I froze. What if Edward was still angry with me?

“Could you wait for a bit?” I asked the driver.

I applied a new coat of lip gloss and stepped out of the car. Gemma stood at the hostess booth, waving menus at a group of sunburned tourists.

“Hi,” I said tentatively. “Edward asked me to help you.”

“That would be great, we’re mobbed.” She nodded to the crowd.

“I’ll just tell Edward I’m here.” I walked toward the kitchen.

“He went home an hour ago, said he didn’t feel well.” Gemma stopped me.

“Oh, he didn’t tell me.” I felt foolish and out of place.

“I could really use you, if you have an hour,” she said, and grinned.

I looked uncertainly at the men and women wearing fanny packs, picked up a stack of menus, and passed them out. I had nowhere else to be; I might as well make myself useful.

*   *   *

“I think I’m going to go.” The crowd had thinned and I sat in the hostess chair. My feet ached, but at least I had shut my mind off for an hour.

“Hey, it was really swell of you. Edward will be pleased,” Gemma thanked me.

I walked outside thinking if Edward was pleased, he probably wouldn’t have gone home “not feeling well.” I had ruined his night and mine by not listening to him. The town car waited at the corner.

“Where to, madam?” the driver asked.

I played with my phone. I flipped it open and sent Edward a text. “Done at restaurant. Can I come over?”

I sat back, waiting for a reply. I flipped open my phone: no texts. I leaned forward to tell the driver to go home, when my phone buzzed.

“Am home. Come over,” Edward’s text read.

The town car climbed the hill to Edward’s house. I felt as nervous as the evening of our first date. Seeing Andre had destroyed my new confidence. I had behaved like a newborn puppy: innocent and looking for love in the wrong place.

Edward was waiting outside. He wore a blue robe over cotton pajama pants. His face broke into a smile when he opened the door of the town car.

“No Bentley tonight?”

“I had to make a quick getaway.” I laughed.

“You can tell the driver to leave,” he kissed me softly on the mouth.

“I have to get home for Max later,” I mumbled.

“I’ll drive you.” He took my hand and guided me up the stairs.

“Gemma called and said you were a huge help,” he said when we got to the living room.

“Edward…” I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for not listening to him, but he put his finger over my mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. He put his arms around me and pulled me down to the sofa. He looked at me carefully, stroking my cheeks, brushing his fingers over my mouth. The pain and tension of the evening started to dissipate. I tried to wriggle out of my skirt but Edward stopped me. “Not so fast,” he whispered. “I want to enjoy you.”

He pushed me back on the sofa and lay on top of me. I could feel his heart beating, and he was hard underneath his robe. I lay back and let him kiss my mouth, my neck. He cupped my breasts and pushed them out of my bodysuit. He sucked my nipples, which sent shivers down my spine.

“Edward,” I whispered again.

“Let’s go upstairs.” He got up and took my hand. We walked up the stairs holding hands, and when we got to his bedroom he laid me on the bed and kissed my knees, my stomach, my mouth. He peeled off my bodysuit and rolled up my skirt. Finally he threw off his robe, tugged off my panties, and slid on top of me and into me.

*   *   *

We came at the same time. It was so deep, so delicious, I felt different, not myself. I tucked myself under Edward’s arm and closed my eyes.

“Gemma said you went home sick,” I said finally.

“I’m better now.” He grinned.

“Edward, I…” I started.

“How about I get some champagne? I think we deserve it.” He got up, pulled on his robe, and treaded down the stairs.

I snuggled deeper into the bed. I was like a kitten that had just finished a warm bowl of milk. I rolled over onto my stomach and felt something small and hard dig into my flesh. I reached down and found my butterfly earring. I sat up, and felt my ears to see which earring was missing. Mine were both in my ears. I held the third earring in my hand, looking at it but not seeing it, until Edward walked back up the stairs.

“Ice-cold champagne, grapes, and caviar.” He held a silver tray on his hands.

“Left over from your evening rendezvous?” I spat.

“What?” He was puzzled.

“Were you too busy fucking to drink the champagne?” I sat up. My whole body shook; my teeth were chattering and wouldn’t stop.

“What are you talking about?” He put the tray on the floor and sat down on the bed.

“I’m talking about this.” I dropped the earring into his lap.

“It’s your earring.” He picked it up.

“It’s not my earring, because mine are in my ears. Whose earring is it?” I pushed back my hair like a madwoman.

Edward didn’t say a word. I waited for him to deny everything, say he had no idea how it got there, maybe his son had a girl in his bed, but he didn’t.

“I made a mistake,” he said finally. “An old friend called while I was at the restaurant. An old fuck buddy, actually.”

“A what?”

“Her name is Bethany. I met her after my divorce. She was recently divorced and we hung out a lot. We were fuck buddies. We had sex for fun, no strings attached. I’m not even attracted to her; she’s one of those British rose types, pale skin and flabby thighs. I haven’t seen her in years. She called in tears because her boyfriend broke up with her. She was sobbing, threatening suicide. She asked if she could come over and I said yes.” He looked down at his hands. “I was angry at you. I knew when you saw Andre all the feelings would come back, and you would want to pack Andre and Max into a suitcase and fly off to be a happy family again.”

I shivered and pulled the sheet around me.

“I know, because I wanted that with Julie. You always think: This time it can be different; this time they won’t hurt me. So I let Bethany come over, and she cried out her whole story and then she came up here. She used to like to fiddle with my things, arrange my bookshelves, tidy my dresser. I did buy another pair of earrings; they were going to be for Jessica and they were sitting on my dresser. I guess she put them on, I didn’t even notice.”

“You’re missing the important part. You fucked her,” I said.

He looked at me like he had just lost something valuable. “I did. She was here in the bedroom; we ended up in bed. I am so sorry, Amanda.”

“How could you, you’re my knight in shining armor, you’re the good guy,” I yelled at him.

“I am the good guy, I just made one bad mistake. I thought I was losing you.”

“You didn’t know anything. And you didn’t wait to find out. You fucked another woman and then you fucked me an hour later. You’re worse than Andre.” I started to cry.

“I was an idiot. Look at me”—he took my face in his hands—“I want us to be together. I see that so clearly now.”

“I want to go home.” I grabbed my clothes. “I’ll call the car.”

“We need to talk, we can’t just throw this away. I haven’t met anyone in five years I felt anything for.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I slipped into my bodysuit and zipped up my skirt.

“Amanda, please.” He put his arms around my waist.

“I have to go.” I kept my eyes on the ground.

“Let me drive you. I won’t say a word.” Edward pulled on sweatpants and grabbed his car keys.

*   *   *

We drove down the hill in silence. I hugged the edge of the passenger seat, trying to sit as far from Edward as possible. I tried not to think, because if I released the trapdoor that kept my thoughts shut, they would bury me. We pulled up at the hotel and I opened the car door.

“I’ll call you in the morning. I know it’s a shitty time to tell you, but I love you, Amanda.” He leaned over and put his hand on mine.

“Good night, Edward.” I got out and closed the door.

*   *   *

The lobby was full of guests laughing and mingling. Women wore strapless evening dresses and high heels. Men walked around with drinks in their hands, cocktail waitresses refreshed champagne glasses. I couldn’t even nod or say hi to the hotel staff, I was so ashamed. I was a slut, an easy mark.

I sat in the quietest corner of the lobby lounge, in a giant velvet chair that made me invisible. I pulled out my phone and checked my messages. Andre had called three times asking where I was. His last message said he was staying at a motel on PCH and he would be over for breakfast. I sent him a text: “No need to come for breakfast. Save your croissants for MM.”

I wanted to go upstairs and climb into bed, but I couldn’t move. I felt like the heroine of a B movie who could see the train coming but couldn’t get off the tracks. Twice down, game over.

Summer was ending. Returning to Ross would be a daily nightmare of stepping over Andre’s women. I imagined them lined up on Ross commons, waiting to hop into bed with him. Staying in Laguna Beach would mean starting from scratch: new school, new house, new friends. In my exhausted state, that seemed an impossible task.

In my freshman year of high school the end-of-the-year party was held at my house. I was usually shy about kids coming over because they were in such awe of the gold-plated mirrors, the concert-sized baby grand piano, the wall of first editions in the library.