Monarch Beach Read online

“Max, I told you to put the phone down. Please go wash your hands, and you can help me toss the salad.”

  Max put the phone on the island and moved to the sink. The phone buzzed in front of me. I wiped my hands and saw one new text. I quickly turned away; I didn’t want to snoop with Edward’s phone, but Max had put it next to the olive oil. I picked up the oil to drizzle it over the salad, and black letters appeared on Edward’s phone. They said “To Edward Honey Pot” “from Legsuptohere.”

  I froze. Edward and his son were chatting on the deck. Max was noisily lathering his hands with soap. It was just Edward’s iPhone and me staring at each other. I wanted to walk away from it. This was only our second date, it shouldn’t matter if Edward got texts from someone who called him “Honey Pot.” I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what kind of a woman would sign herself “Legsuptohere.”

  “Okay, Mom, what should I do?” Max asked.

  “Why don’t you go help Edward with the barbecue,” I said quickly.

  Max went out onto the deck. I could ignore the text and finish tossing the salad or I could press read. I still held the bottle of olive oil in my hand. I wanted to slam it down on the phone and watch them both break into a million pieces. I couldn’t help myself, I pressed read. The text said: “Had a sexational time last night. I know you have company but sext me later. Ha ha. Love L.”

  I closed the text and looked up to see if anyone had seen me. Spying was as bad as cheating. I stood by the sink and ran the water to clear my head. Edward told me he had worked last night, obviously not all night. I watched Edward outside, turning the meat and laughing with his son and Max.

  “Amanda, dinner is served,” Edward announced, poking his head into the kitchen. “Want me to carry the salad bowl?”

  “No, I have it.” I gave him my most confident smile.

  We sat at the table, and Edward passed around plates heaped with ostrich meat, glazed carrots, and grilled onions.

  “Okay, whoever is brave enough, try the ostrich. If you don’t like it, I have some tame lamb here,” Edward said when everyone had their plates.

  I didn’t feel brave. I felt scared of being with this family, of getting my heart broken, of sitting next to a man who got texts from Legsuptohere. I also knew I couldn’t taste the meat, no matter what animal it came from.

  “It’s awesome,” Max announced, eating two large bites.

  Normally I would say how proud I was of him for trying it. Most eight-year-olds kept to a strict diet of hot dogs and mac ’n’ cheese. But it took all my energy to chew my carrots.

  “I want to raise my glass to our guests. I hope Amanda and Max find everything they’re looking for in Southern California. They are a welcome addition to the landscape.” He winked at me, and I could feel his hand briefly rest on my thigh under the table.

  “I like it,” Edward Jr. said. “Looks like your chef has taught you a few things.”

  Jessica pushed a few pieces of carrot around the plate and took a mouthful of salad. Women and girls, I thought bleakly, were victims. Men sailed through life, eating and drinking and screwing whomever they pleased. I tried to remember it was Edward’s wife who fooled around, but my brain was frozen around the name “Legsuptohere.” I put my fork down. I couldn’t even pretend to eat.

  Edward and his son chatted about cricket, surfing, and Wimbledon. Max started getting restless, and banged his fork against his plate.

  “Max, please stop,” I said.

  “We’ll have dessert soon. Why don’t you get my iPhone? Play some games,” Edward said.

  I almost stood up to stop him, but Edward’s hand was back on my thigh. I sat motionless. My throat was so dry I could barely swallow. I took a swig of wine and felt my cheeks flush.

  Max brought out Edward’s phone and sat down, mesmerized by a new game.

  “I’m getting another beer.” Edward Jr. got up. “Anyone want anything?”

  “I have everything I need,” Edward replied. I felt his hand press harder on my thigh. He leaned close to me, his breath smelled of wine and onions. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

  I smiled back. My eyes suddenly filled with tears. Is that what men said when they fooled around? That “you look beautiful”? I blinked. I wanted to go home but I was too miserable to move.

  “Hey, Dad.” Edward Jr. came out of the kitchen, carrying a beer, and an iPhone in a green case. “You think I could cut out after dessert? I kind of have plans.”

  I looked from the phone Edward Jr. was holding, to the phone Max was playing with.

  “You both have the same phone,” I said.

  “Apple had a special, so my son suckered me into buying him an iPhone, too. Buy one get the second half price. We even have the same cases,” Edward said.

  “It was a great promotion. And the only other cases were purple or leopard print. What do you say? Do you mind?” Edward Jr. turned to me.

  I couldn’t answer. All I could think was: They have the same phone.

  “You were out late last night,” Edward said.

  “I met this cute girl from Montana. She’s only here for a week,” Edward Jr. begged.

  I could hear my own breathing: inhaling, exhaling. I imagined a college coed from Montana; tall and fit like Edward Jr. Legsuptohere, I repeated to myself. It wasn’t Edward’s phone.

  “It’s up to Amanda,” Edward said. “I promised her a family evening.”

  “It’s fine.” The words came out in a giant rush of air.

  “Cool. I’ll help get the dessert.” Edward Jr. beamed at me.

  “I think I’ll catch a ride down the hill.” Jessica had moved all the carrots to one side of her plate and the meat to the other.

  “See what I mean.” Edward shook his head. “I can’t keep these kids around unless I’m handing out twenty-dollar bills.”

  “It’s fine,” I said again, this time my voice sounded normal.

  We ate dessert: kiwi, pomegranate, and raspberries, topped with vanilla ice cream.

  “The ice cream is homemade at the restaurant,” Edward said proudly.

  Edward Jr. cleaned his plate. “I don’t know, Dad, you’re getting kind of girly. You should take up poker or something.”

  “The restaurant is how I pay your mother’s alimony. Which hopefully filters down to your child support and puts clothes on your back,” Edward replied.

  “Yeah, well. Just don’t start making doilies.” Edward Jr. pushed his chair back, grabbed his bowl and beer glass, and went into the kitchen.

  “I think I’m going to go, Dad.” Jessica had eaten the fruit, and left the ice cream in a small blob on her plate.

  I ate every bite, slowly. My taste buds were functioning again, and the pomegranate and ice cream tasted heavenly.

  “We lost them,” Edward said as he sat back. “How about you, Max, do you like my ice cream?”

  “It’s great. Can I play some more games?” He put his spoon on his plate and picked up Edward’s phone.

  “Sure, why don’t you take it into the living room.”

  When Max left, Edward put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

  “The iPhone is the greatest babysitter,” Edward remarked.

  I didn’t want to talk about iPhones, or apps or texts. I just wanted to sit with my head on Edward’s shoulder.

  “My kids like you,” Edward said as he rubbed my palm with his hand.

  “Jessica didn’t say two words to me,” I told him.

  “She’s not big on conversation. Hasn’t really talked to me in five years.”

  “Have you ever told her your wife cheated on you?”

  “I can’t think of anything worse than a girl knowing that about her mother. We said it was ‘irreconcilable differences.’ Whoever invented that term has a lot to answer for. Historically, you had to have a reason to divorce: ‘she screwed the milkman,’ or ‘he fucked the Scandinavian nanny.’ People thought twice before they were branded with the scarlet A. Now it’s ‘irreconcilable diff
erences,’ like you couldn’t agree on what flavor oatmeal to have for breakfast.”

  “Jessica might be nicer to you if she knew,” I told him. I hoped I could be that circumspect with Max.

  “She’s eighteen. She has to be mad at me about something. It’s a teenager’s creed.”

  “She’s very pretty,” I said. I reluctantly moved my head from Edward’s shoulder, in case Max came out on the deck.

  “Too thin. That’s how she communicates, by not eating anything I cook.” He shook his head.

  “Is it a real problem?” I asked.

  “It was the first year after the divorce. She looked like a toothpick. At first we thought it was just a thirteen-year-old trying to fit into micro minis, but then we noticed at her mom’s house she ate fine, but when she stayed with me she drank lemon tea and ate celery sticks.”

  “What happened?”

  “Her mom and I and Jessica saw a therapist once a week. I’d take her to her favorite restaurants on the nights she stayed with me. I figured she wouldn’t be able to hide her food in public and she wouldn’t want to make a scene. She’s a bright girl though. Eventually I think she figured she wasn’t solving anything. We were still divorced.”

  “Wow.” I wondered what minefields lay ahead for Andre and Max and me.

  “Here I am again telling you the terrors of divorce. There are plusses. Like meeting you.” He turned my face to him and gently kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back. We both tasted like kiwi and pomegranate.

  “I think I better get Max home,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll grab my keys. But our next date is going to be adults only. No kids of any age. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I waited on the deck while Edward went into the house. I was still shaken by the iPhone incident, but I felt a new sensation creep over me: I liked Edward and he liked me.

  Chapter Six

  “I want to sleep with him,” I said to Stephanie on the phone the next day.

  “Wow, Sleeping Beauty is waking up. I though all men besides Andre had cooties,” Stephanie replied.

  “I find Edward really sexy.” I sat in a lounge chair by the pool. Max was splashing around with an inflatable palm tree, and I had a stack of magazines and newspapers I hadn’t read.

  “I knew you’d get your mojo back,” Stephanie replied.

  “Be serious! Is it too early to sleep with him? What if Max finds out?”

  “Sorry, Zoe and I just finished a Disney movie marathon. You might be living in the lap of luxury with a Kids’ Club and five pools at your fingertips, but I have a sandbox and one sixty-inch TV with which to entertain my children.”

  “Don’t forget the faithful husband, the gorgeous house, and the devoted housekeeper. I’ll trade with you any day,” I said.

  “Not if you saw my house. Glenn is out of town and Gisella is visiting her mother in Lisbon. Zoe and Graham have turned the living room into an Indian fort.”

  The thrill of Edward started to wane. I squeezed my eyes shut and remembered the long afternoons spent in Stephanie’s sandbox, when my only decision was chicken nuggets or fish sticks for dinner.

  “Have you seen Andre around?” I asked.

  “Now you’re switching gears. Let’s focus on Edward. While I disapprove of his age, at least he’s not married. I’m beginning to long-distance like him.”

  I hadn’t told Stephanie about the iPhone mix-up and the texts from “Legsuptohere.” I didn’t want to sound like a hyper-paranoid teenager.

  “We had a great time last night,” I said. “He has this quiet strength, and he’s funny. About everything: his kids, his divorce, his restaurant.”

  “I can’t believe you sit around talking about divorce and restaurants. I would think those are two subjects to be avoided at all costs. Maybe you should sleep with him, so you both shut up.”

  “You’re not getting it, Stephanie,” I complained.

  “Sorry, I know it’s not all champagne and roses, even with a new guy. But try to keep it romantic. You don’t want to start doing his laundry and buying his shaving cream. You’ve been there.”

  “I’m not doing his laundry! We’ve been on two and a half dates. He wants to see me tonight after the restaurant closes. I am only asking when is the appropriate time to sleep with him.” I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Well, that’s obvious. After he has brought you flowers, taken you out for several dinners, and given you one slightly significant piece of jewelry.”

  “Jewelry? Just for sex?” I shook my head.

  “How do you think I got Glenn?” Stephanie replied. “I have to go, Zoe is trying to make my curtains into a teepee. Don’t do anything hasty. Make him wait.”

  * * *

  I had a similar conversation in the evening with my mother. We sat on the deck, drinking our six p.m. cocktails. Every night room service brought us something new to try along with the old standbys of martinis and vodka gimlets. Tonight I was sipping a Slippery Slope: rum, tequila, orange juice, and a squeeze of lemon.

  “Any plans for the evening?” my mother asked. She had grilled me about my date when Max and I arrived home. After telling her about Edward’s spectacular view, and how bright and attractive his kids were, she seemed to be softening. She had even commented that she noticed he wore a Rolex Oyster like my father—a definite sign of good taste.

  “Edward has to work, but he wants to take me out for a drink after the restaurant closes.”

  “Isn’t that late?” she asked. My mother had changed in the three weeks we had been at the St. Regis. Her cheeks were almost pink, and her mouth and fingernails were no longer nicotine yellow. She carried herself with more confidence, which meant she treated me like a schoolgirl.

  “Mom, I can stay out all night if I want.”

  “You most certainly cannot. You’ve only known Edward for a week. And what would Max say if he woke up and you weren’t in your own bed. Don’t forget your first priority is to be Max’s mother.” She put down her martini. My mother never sampled the new cocktails. She thought all the alliterated names were gauche.

  “I wasn’t planning on staying out all night,” I mumbled, though I had been considering it. It wasn’t about erasing Andre anymore. It was about feeling Edward on top of me, having him kiss my nose, stroke my hair. For some reason, I had been thinking about going to bed with him all day, and I had to stop. As Stephanie said, I had to make him wait.

  “I like Edward, but take it slow. You’re not even divorced yet. And you’re young, beautiful, and wealthy.”

  “Edward isn’t a gold digger!” I snapped.

  “From the looks of him he isn’t, but you have to be careful.” My mother cut a sliver of brie and put it on a water cracker. I noticed she was eating things other than chocolate without being prompted.

  “You mean I have to make sure his Rolex isn’t a fake?”

  “Just get to know him.” She took a careful bite and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  “You and Stephanie are such killjoys,” I grumbled.

  “You’ve got all summer. You’ve got the rest of your life. You just shook off one wolf in sheep’s clothing; you don’t want to be landed with another.”

  “Edward is not a wolf.” I switched from the Slippery Slope to a diet 7UP. Maybe it was the alcohol that was making me horny.

  I gazed down at the Grand Lawn where another party was in full swing. I watched people mingle like figures in a Seurat painting. A band was starting up, and men pulled women onto the dance floor under bright, tinted lights. I realized I didn’t envy those people as I had a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t want to dance and flirt and drink endless champagne. But I did want to be with Edward. I wanted to see his crinkly smile. I wanted to sit close to him and feel his arm around me.

  “I’ll meet him for one drink, in the lobby. I’ll warn him on the stroke of midnight I turn into a pumpkin,” I said.

  “Don’t get smart. I’m just trying to protect you.” My mother smiled.

  “Betwee
n you and Stephanie, I feel like Rapunzel. But honestly, Mom, I’m making progress. I haven’t thought about Andre, I mean really thought about Andre in a while.” I got up and went inside to unglue Max from the television.

  “I was right about bringing you here”—my mother had to have the last word—“and I’m right about this, too. Please take it slow.”

  * * *

  We ate room service dinner together. It was lovely, sitting at the polished table in the suite’s dining room with Max and my mother. Max had another great day of surfing and stood on his chair to illustrate “hanging five.” He ate spaghetti and meatballs, green beans, and a wedge of chocolate cake, and then plopped himself on the couch to read a surfing magazine. He hadn’t mentioned Andre in a couple of days. It seemed all he wanted to do was surf and eat, and lie in front of the TV and play Wii Surf before bed.

  My mother ate a chocolate-pistachio mousse and disappeared into her bedroom. I could hear Ryan Seacrest’s voice introducing “America’s next American Idol” through the closed door. I gave Max a “thirty minutes before bed” warning, and went into my room to flip through Vogue.

  I loved the stack of magazines the housekeepers put on my bedside table each day: Vogue, Bazaar, Elle, W. I admired new fashions from Zac Posen, Stella McCartney, Ella Moss; even Burberry had some wild styles inspired by Kate Moss. W was my favorite because it had page after page of clothes you would never see on the street. I found myself tearing out pages of runway shows like I did when I was at prep school, and would paste them on my dresser. I then critiqued the strengths and flaws of each designer, thinking what I would add—a thicker belt, a shorter skirt—to enhance the outfit. I smiled because it had been so long since I thought about anything besides what Andre wanted and what Max needed.

  The phone buzzed and I was so enraptured by a fashion spread of Miu Miu caftans, I answered without checking the caller ID.

  “Amanda, where have you been? You haven’t returned my calls. I am frantic with missing you and Max.” It was Andre.

  “Just busy. Max has been surfing all day.” I could feel my stomach tighten. I remembered all the nights I had called the restaurant to see when Andre was coming home and his phone was off. I always thought he was busy taking care of lingering clients, I didn’t realize he was servicing the staff. I blinked away the image of Andre and Ursula wrapped around each other like two pieces of licorice.