Page 23 of The Husband Diet
‘Hey,’ I exclaimed as he pushed me and pulled me around the floor like a light, old mop. He obviously didn’t need lessons. ‘Where did you learn?’
‘My mom was a dance teacher, remember?’ he said, winking at me.
And after a moment’s shock, I got it and smiled gratefully. He’d enrolled us forme. To get me moving, to make me happy and to take me away from my life for a couple of hours a week. I couldn’t have loved him more.
Whirling and twirling across the dance floor, I realized it was fun, not having to worry about looking like a respectable kick-ass boss who scared the pants off her staff. It felt exhilarating just to move to the sound of the music. Dancing was carefree and didn’t have a purpose except to make me feel good (and shift some pounds, of course). Just moving around for the sheer fun of it and not because I had to hustle and run errands was elating. And how long had it been since I laughed?
I almost felt silly, but I shrugged it off. There was more to me behind the mother, manager and betrayed wife. I was a girl again in Paul’s arms, just like twelve years ago, when we were young and wild and free. Paul was still all the above. Me? Getting there, slowly but surely.
I glanced around at all the couples of every color, shape, age and size having a great time, leaving their worries at home. Sure, they were always there when they got back, but at least dancing gave them some happiness and fortified them for the rest of the week until it was once again time to tango. So when in the dance hall, I danced. I danced my heart out, thinking that if this was going to be the new and improved Erica, it wouldn’t be half as bad as I thought. I’d missed me, missed the person I once was. The one who used to be able to laugh at anything.
Paul twirled me and swirled me, guiding me through the complicated steps that, after a while, became easy. I relaxed in his arms, confident there was no way I could ever let him down, not even if I screwed up his steps. Paul was my lifeline.
*
While I was washing-up after the kids’ lunch on Saturday, I got a call from Paul. He was in hospital with a broken leg and just wanted me to know in case I needed him. That was Paul for you. The one time he needed a friend, he was worried about me.
Knowing I couldn’t depend on my siblings or my aunts, who were leaving for a vacation in Mexico for the week on a trip organized by the Italian community in Little Italy, I turned to my last resort and called Marcy to see if she could babysit. All I needed was an hour or so to run a few things over to him and keep him company.
A sigh. ‘Erica, I’m getting ready to go out for dinner (at 1 p.m.?) with some friends. I don’t have time to come babysit your kids.’
Why was I even surprised? Did I think she’d managed to change overnight? And did you notice she didn’t even ask me what was wrong with Paul?
Didn’t she remember when she made me drag my kids across town at night to the hospital for her ingrown toenail op? And now that I needed to rely on someone for a couple of hours tops, I was on my own.
‘Never mind,’ I snapped. ‘As you so often remind me, children belong to their mothers and not their grandparents.’ Before she could replicate, I hung up on her for the first time in my life.
I called an emergency babysitter and within twenty minutes, I had a Mrs. Doubtfire lookalike at my door. Ever grateful, I shoved the list of emergency phone numbers (all mine) at her and in three minutes flat, I was out of there. Which was unlucky for me, because five minutes later, I was squirming in my Kia van, dying for a pee. I pulled into a plaza and charged into a nice-looking bistro.
Finally a relieved woman in every sense, I stepped out of the stall and lathered my hands with some rose-scented soap. Did I remember to get Paul’s slippers? I… what thehell? A tickling, multi-legged slimy sensation under my slacks made me freeze as my mind knew there could only be one explanation. A spider!
A horrible convulsion shook my body at the realization of my worst phobia. Never mind heights, open spaces or closed spaces! The only thing in the world that scared me to death were those wretched beasts.
I remember screaming and beating my leg to kill said beast, but the thought of it crushed to a pulp against my flesh sent me into a mindless hysteria. I was beyond panicking. I also remember throwing myself on the floor in a fit of terror for what seemed like days because darkness kept washing over me. I must have been near passing out several times until someone – a man – gripped my arms.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Help! Take my pants off!’ I shrieked.
‘What?’
‘A spider in my pants! Take them off!’
‘Your pants?’ he asked dubiously.
‘Please.’
‘Are you sure?’
What the hell was wrong with the guy? ‘Now!’
At that, the blessed man obliged and yanked on my zipper. ‘It’s stuck,’ he informed me.
‘Just rip them off!’ I begged.
‘You want me to tear your pants off? Is thisCandid Cameraor something?’
‘Just do it!’ I shrieked.
