Page 9 of The Playboy and the Widow
“Cliff’s hot stuff, Mom. He’s going to make your blood boil.”
“Joan, for heaven’s sake. The way things are going, I may never see him again after tonight.”
Alarmed, Joan bolted upright. “Why not?”
“Well, for one thing my clothes are boring, and for another I don’t look a thing like Katy Perry and my hair’s all wrong.”
“I didn’t say that,” Joan returned defensively.
The doorbell chimed and Joan tore out of the room. “It’s him. I’ll get it.”
Diana let out an exasperated breath, squared her shoulders and did one last check in the mirror. She’d dressed sensibly, hoping to be tactful enough to remind Cliff that she was a widow and a mother. According to Shirley, Cliff had previously dated beauty queens, centerfolds and an occasional actress. Diana was “none of the above.” Her reflection revealed round eyes and a falsely cheerful smile. Good enough, she decided as she reached for her sweater and placed it over her arm; nights still tended to be nippy in May.
Joan came rushing back to the bedroom. “He brought you flowers,” she announced in a husky whisper. “Mom,” she continued, placing her hand over her heart, “he’s so-o-o handsome.”
As Joan had claimed, Cliff stood inside the living room with a small bouquet of red roses and pink carnations. It had been so long since a man had given her flowers that Diana’s throat constricted and she couldn’t think of a single word to say.
He smiled, and the sun became brighter. Shirley was right. This man was too much for a mere widow.
“You look lovely.”
Somehow Diana managed a feeble thank-you.
“Mom’s got terrific legs,” Joan inserted smoothly, standing between Diana and Cliff and glancing from one to the other. “I keep telling her that she ought to show them off more often.” She slapped her hands against her sides. “But my mother never listens to me.”
Diana glared at her daughter but said nothing. “I’ll find a vase for these.” As she left the room, Joan’s chatter drifted after her. Her daughter found it important that Cliff know she was much too old to have a babysitter. Katie was over at the Holidays’, but at eleven, Joan was far too mature to have anyone look after her.
“I thought you had baseball practice?” Diana heard Cliff ask.
“Normally I do,” Joan explained with a patient sigh, “but I skipped today because my mother needed me.”
Diana reappeared and Joan escorted the couple to the front door. It was on the tip of Diana’s tongue to remind Joan of the house rules when she was alone, but one desperate glance begged her not to. Diana grudgingly complied and said everything that was needed with one stern look.
“Have a good time,” Joan said cheerfully, holding the front door open. “And, Cliff, you can bring Mom home late. She doesn’t have a curfew.”
“I’ll have her back before midnight,” Cliff promised.
Joan nodded approvingly. “And don’t worry, Mom, I’ll take care of everything here.”
That was what concerned Diana most. She kissed Joan’s cheek and whispered, “Remember, bedtime is nine.” Shirley would be over then to sit with the girls until Diana returned.
“Mom,” Joan said under her breath, “you’re treating me like a child.”
Diana smiled apologetically. However, it would be just like her daughter to wait up half the night to hear the details of this date, and Diana couldn’t face Joan and Shirley together.
Cliff’s sports car was parked in front of the house. It was a two-seater that Diana couldn’t identify. Cool. Very cool. He held open the door and helped her inside. She mumbled her thanks, feeling self-conscious and out of her element. Diana drove a ten-year-old SUV and wouldn’t know the difference between a BMW and an MGB.
Cliff joined her a moment later, inserted the key in the ignition and turned to her, smiling. “Is she always like that?”
“Always. I hope she didn’t embarrass you.”
“Not at all.” He looked more amused than anything.
“I sometimes wonder if I’m going to survive motherhood,” Diana commented, her hands clenching her purse.
“You seem to be doing an admirable job.”
“Thanks.” But Cliff hadn’t seen her at her worst. Katie called her the screaming meemie when she let loose. Diana didn’t lose her cool often, but enough for the girls to know that the best thing for them to do was nod politely and agree to everything she shouted, no matter how unreasonable.
