The Men I Didn't Marry by Janice Kaplan Read Free Book Online Page B

downstairs to eat a low-fat yogurt. Somehow, my spoon wanders into the gallon of mocha-chocolate fudge ice cream. So I won’t eat dessert at dinner. How good could the Japanese treats be at Masa anyway?
    Masa. Per Se. Eric must have made a reservation at one of them. Finally, a constructive idea hits me. I’ll phone them and find out what time we’re expected.
    But I strike out with both calls.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, our client lists are confidential,” says the cool maître d’ who answers at Masa. “I can’t reveal that information.” At Per Se, I’m transferred three times but get the same result. Who knew that restaurants were more secretive than the CIA? You’d think I were asking the Colonel for the classified ingredients in Kentucky Fried Chicken.
    Stymied, I hang up and replay the conversation with Eric in my head. He definitely said he’d call me around dinnertime. And he was arriving this weekend. Oh, shit. Why did I assume “weekend” meant Friday?
    By eleven o’clock, I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean Friday.
    And I’m right. When Eric calls, I’m sound asleep and it’s two A.M., which officially makes it Saturday. Still in my clothes, I must have dozed off in the cozy club chair in my bedroom, reading
When Bad Things Happen to Perfectly Nice Married Women
.
    “Hallie, it’s Eric. I’m so sorry to be late,” he says when I groggily pick up the receiver. “My pilot didn’t show up and I had to wait two hours for another one.”
    “How incredibly frustrating for you,” I say, trying to work up some sympathy for the travails of private-plane ownership.
    “Anyway, I just flew in from London. You live at 21 Oak Street, right?” he asks.
    “Twenty-seven,” I say automatically. I stand up and walk across the room with the portable receiver, trying to stretch out from my bedless snooze.
    “Oh, now I can see you,” he says.
    I look around the room, half expecting Eric to jump out of the closet, and I’m not far off. I go to the window and peer into the darkness. Under the street lamp, I see the outline of a long black limousine, pulling up in front of my house.
    “Nice bra,” Eric says cheerfully. “Is it new?”
    I look down and realize that he must be in the car, staring into the bright lights of my bedroom. Instinctively, I throw back my shoulders— and then quickly reach for the tab on the shade. I pull it so quickly that it comes crashing down on my head.
    “You okay?” Eric asks.
    Damn Bill. I told him months ago that the shade was loose. Can I ask Eric to fix it? Or maybe his driver, pilot, housekeeper, butler, or maintenance man. Or wife. Remember, he may have a wife.
    “I’m fine. But listen, I already ate dinner tonight. And it’s after two. How about if I come by tomorrow? Lunch, dinner, I’m free for either.”
    “But I’m not. Change of plan. I thought I’d be here for the whole weekend, but I have to leave tomorrow to close a deal in Bermuda.”
    “Buying shorts?” I ask, joking.
    “No, I’m trading long.” And then he pauses. “Okay, I get it. Bermuda. Shorts. Very funny, Hallie.” He chuckles. “Come on down. I want to see you. And hurry. Don’t feel like you have to put on a shirt just for me.”
    I find myself smiling and grab for the sheer pink blouse. After all, he’s already seen the bra.
    When I step outside onto my dark cool porch, I see Eric leaning against the limo, arms folded, a big grin spreading across his face. I’m self-conscious as I walk carefully down the steps and across the long front walk, aware that Eric is taking in my every move. Thank goodness for the sexy shoes. As long as I don’t trip, they do add a little wiggle to my walk.
    Instead of worrying about the impression I’m making, I decide to concentrate on the handsome man in front of me. And he is still handsome. If it’s been twenty years, I don’t know where they went. His thick hair still falls boyishly across his brow and his strong body seems as lean and muscular