Page 89 of The Husband Diet
‘You’re not planninganybreaks?’ he murmured into my ear.
‘Are you kidding? But if it’s as good as I know it is’—I wrapped my arms around his neck—‘you get an extra bonus.’
It didn’t take all night, but man was itgood. The book, you dirty mind! And it was beautiful. Poignant, funny, honest, sharp, insightful. Just like Julian. Where the hell had I found this man? What had made him what he is today? All I had was the end product, but why did he turn out to be so much better than the average man who burped and farted proudly and always left the toilet seat up? What made him so special?
We discussed his book, made love again, discussed it some more over a midnight snack of leftover lasagne (which he’d made while I was reading, constantly asking me, ‘What part are you at? Did you get to the darkest moment yet?’) and finally fell asleep around 3 a.m. At least he did.
I was on a mission to satisfy my morbid curiosity, so while Julian slept, I logged onto Google and typed in Red Sox and Foxham. And there he was. Julian Nigel Foxham, alias The RedFox, former baseball champion for the Red Sox. He’d been defined ‘The Diamond of the Diamond’.
But what had been a promising career had been brutally interrupted due to an arm injury received during a game. After a total refusal of sports, he’d thrown himself into dating practically every girl in a label – and especially out of it – from actresses to models to sports stars.
The list was endless. And it never lasted more than a week. I wonder how many notches he had on his bed post… I’d have to make a point of counting them. I read on:
After having suffered a major injury to his batting arm, Julian Foxham retired from the sports scene. He’s currently writing his second book on his experience with the Red Sox, entitled,The Woman in Red Sox.
Woman in red socks? Who was she? A former lover? His first title had beenMy Love Affair with the Red Sox.
He had been a few years younger. Always those kind but sexy eyes.
Things between Julian and me were going great. The sexual tension gave no sign of dying out and we’d done it oodles of times – in his bed, in my bed, on his chaise longue (that was a favorite of ours), on my sofa, on his sofa, in my shower (another favorite), in his shower. On my kitchen counter (Paul had the kids), among flour and chocolate (which I strongly recommend, as Julian’s got a shamefully sweet tooth).
The only place we hadn’t done it was our cars or our offices, but we’d pretty much covered the geography of our lives.
32
The Return of Ira?
One February evening as I was waiting for Julian to take me out on another dinner date, I got a little visit from Ira. He was standing on the doorway, pale and unshaved. He looked horrible.
‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded as that old feeling of resentment rose in me as if on cue.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m on my way out. You should call.’
‘Where are the kids?’
‘With my sister Judy and Steve.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
And just then, Julian pulled up in his jeep and got out, carrying a box of pastries and a bottle of wine. His smile disappeared like an elastic band that had been stretched and flung far away.
‘Julian, you remember my soon-to-be ex-husband, Ira,’ I said, baring my teeth. And then I added, ‘Ira, you know my boyfriend, Julian.’
‘Uh, hello, Ira,’ Julian managed.
‘Go on in, Julian. Ira was just leaving.’
Ira stared at him, then at me, as if he still couldn’t fathom how the hell someone like Julian Foxham was with someone like me when I wasn’t even good enough for my own husband.
‘Tell the kids I’ll come by tomorrow evening,’ he snapped and left, driving off with a screech as Julian watched him go, then turned to me again, his eyes still huge.
‘I’m sorry about the boyfriend, Julian – it just came out. I wanted to hurt him.’
‘Is that the only reason why?’ he asked softly, placing my gifts just inside the entrance, under the mirror, leaving me a moment to think that one over without him breathing down my back. ‘Or does it feel good to say it out loud?’
