If You Only Knew Read online

  "Everything not nailed to the floor."

  "Spaghetti and meatballs?"

  "They love that. I even have sauce. Homemade, no less. One of the few things I can make." I open the pantry and take out a quart of spaghetti sauce and a package of pasta. Leo gets some ground turkey, milk and eggs from the fridge and starts rummaging around in my cupboards.

  It's dangerous, I think, to be playing house with a man who doesn't want a relationship. Who professes to be for recreation only. Who says he doesn't like babies but is fantastic with toddlers and children, who sends out mixed messages of jealousy and friendship and unreachability, if such a word exists.

  But it's so, so nice, too.

  "Did I hear you right? You own this building, huh?" I ask.

  He glances at me. "Yeah."

  "That explains your wretched skills as a super."

  "It does, I guess."

  "Why do my rent checks go to the real estate company and not you?"

  "Because it's easier to have them handle it. And I asked them not to tell my tenant I was the owner. Didn't want you to think I was a real estate magnate with piles of money."

  "The next Donald Trump."

  He smiles, then breaks an egg into the ground turkey. "I'll work on my comb-over."

  "Don't you dare. You have the most beautiful hair on the face of the earth."

  "True."

  "My nieces adore you," I say, taking out some lettuce that's hopefully not too old.

  "Of course they do. They're female, aren't they?"

  I roll my eyes. "You and that ego."

  "I'm sorry I was such a rotten date the other night," he says, not looking at me. My knees soften dangerously. "I'm jealous of your ex-husband, in case you haven't figured that out."

  "Aren't we all. He has the perfect life."

  "Not because of that, dummy."

  I peek at the girls, who are blessedly engrossed in the movie. Loki has joined them, curled up next to Grace, his head in her lap. "Why would you be jealous of Owen?"

  "Because you're still hung up on him."

  Swooniness and irritation roll around in my heart, a sensation I'm thinking of calling The Leo. "Why would you care? You're not interested in me. You're gay where I'm concerned, remember?"

  "I'm allowed to be contradictory. That's not just reserved for you women."

  "So what's the contradiction? You want my complete and undivided attention so you can ignore me?"

  "Yes. That's it exactly."

  "You know, if you ever decided to be straightforward, we could maybe have something here."

  "Recreation only, sweetheart."

  "Right. You were born to be married. You should father a dozen kids."

  He puts the meatballs in the sauce, then washes his hands. "I was married once."

  The shock must show on my face, because he... Well, hell, he never told me. "What happened?" I ask.

  He doesn't look at me, opting to keep lathering up his gifted hands. "She left me."

  Ah. No wonder he knows so much about my feelings on Owen. "You want to talk about it?"

  "I don't." He raises his eyes to me, and they're clear and neutral. "But I do want to watch that movie with the girls."

  With that, he walks out of the kitchen. I hear him say something to the girls.

  So his heart was broken, too. And I guess he's not over his wife; hence the "recreation only" bit.

  It's oddly cheering, knowing that Leo's divorced. So I was right. He was born to be married; he just picked the wrong woman.

  And maybe I could be the right woman.

  I ignore the faint warning that chimes somewhere in my head. The old Easy, there, let's not pick out the fabric for the gown just yet chime. I'm heartily sick of that sound, let me tell you. And, please. Leo is watching a movie with three little girls. He loves his stinky old dog to the point of the ridiculous. He can make meatballs. He is the essence of family man.

  Dinner is a sloppy, happy affair. The girls have fallen deeply in love with Leo and demonstrate this love by chewing up their meatballs and showing him the contents of their mouths, draping spaghetti over their noses and heads, and blowing bubbles into their drinks. Loki lurks under the table, cleaning up the food that rains down.

  Leo sings them songs and pretends to play the piano on the table. Even seeing him pretend to play is a weird sort of thrill. His hands are huge, his fingers long and fluid, almost. He sings along to that, too--Bah bum, bababa bababa bababa BAH bum. He doesn't eat much, but he does have a glass of red wine. Just one.

  The top floor of my house is locked. It contains the owner's stored stuff, the Realtor said.

  I wonder if I could pick that lock.

  Hi, I'm Jenny, and I'm a stalker.

  "Thank you for dinner, Aunt Jenny," Leo says, standing up and clearing a plate.

  "Thank you for dinner, Aunt Jenny," the girls echo.

  I take the girls upstairs and give them a much-needed bath, then read them a story. "We want Leo to read to us," Grace informs me.

  "Yes, yes. Leo," Rose and Charlotte echo. Rose pronounces his name Weo, which is very damn cute.

  "Leo," I call. "Your presence is requested."

  There's no answer. "Maybe he's walking Loki," I say.

  We finish the story, and I tuck them into bed. Then we call Rachel, so they can tell her all about their exciting day--the chocolate chips, hide-and-seek, peeing in the sink, Loki. "They've been great," I lie when it's my turn. "How are you?"

  "Oh, I'm good," she says, but I hear a note of uncertainty in her voice. "I'm homesick, though."

  "What are you doing tonight?"

  "Meeting an old friend from Celery Stalk for drinks. Maybe dinner."

  "Nice! Good girl, Rach."

  There's a pause. "Has Adam called?"

  He had. "Yeah. I just let Grace answer the phone. I didn't talk to him." Because I didn't want the girls to hear my death threats.

  "I wonder if he's been with...her this weekend," my sister says.

  I have no answer for that. "Listen. You just enjoy your dinner and the hotel. Send more pictures, okay? Love you."

  "Love you, too."

  "Why Mommy away?" Rose asks.

  "She's having a little fun time away," I say.

  "She has fun with us," Grace says, scowling.

  "Yes. The most fun of all is with you girls. She loves you so much," I say. "But she also knows that Auntie loves you so much and so she shared you with me. You're my present!"

  This assuages any pouty lips. I smooch the girls, breathe them in, get Charlotte to pee one more time, resettle her in the big bed. "I love you, my sweethearts," I say.

  "We love you," they inform me.

  Leo is not downstairs, though the kitchen is cleaned up. God loves a man who can clean up a kitchen.

  Now I can have a glass of wine, and never in my life have I deserved one more.

  I pour myself some cabernet and take it into the living room.

  My sister sounded shaky. And that question--is Adam taking advantage of her absence by being with his mistress... God.

  I'd bet the farm that the answer is yes. I bet he's told Emmanuelle--such a porno name--that his wife doesn't understand him, and she's irrational and demanding, and God knows what else. That things haven't been good for a long, long time, but he owes it to her to at least try to work things out...but...you know how wives are. Not nearly as understanding as mistresses.

  What did Dad tell Dorothy, I wonder? My wife's obsessed with her job? She's not as young as she used to be? The sex feels very married.

  It may be time to find Dorothy and have a little talk. Or not. Jeesh, I have no idea.

  Personally, I always thought married sex was the best sex. Owen and I knew each other's bodies, our favorite parts. There was the trust factor, the love, the like. It was always good.

  I wonder how the sex is between Owen and Ana-Sofia. Life-changing, no doubt. Proof of God to my once-atheist husband.

  My door opens, and in come
Leo and Loki.

  "Hey," he says. "Girls in bed?"

  "Yep. Bet they'd love it if you went up and said good night."

  "Nah. I'll just rile them up." He sits on the couch next to me. Loki lies down at his feet without snarling at me. A pleasant change.

  Then Leo looks at me, and his eyes are soft and gray and have a hint of a smile in them, and my insides drop and tighten. He reaches out and touches my face.

  Scratches my cheek. "You have some dried sauce here," he says.

  "Ah. Thank you."

  Then he slides his hand around to the back of my head and pulls me to him. One of my hands goes to his chest, and I can feel the solid thumping of his heart. "Recreation only," he murmurs, his voice scraping a part low in my stomach. "Got it?"

  "Got it," I whisper back.

  His eyes crinkle with a small smile, and then he's kissing me, and his mouth is... God, his mouth is good at what it's doing--a slow, gentle, thorough kiss that makes my insides leap and spark. He kisses the corners of my mouth, then my lips again, his tongue sliding against mine, shifting so that he's half lying on top of me, his long, rangy body covering me with its delicious weight. My hands slide up his arms, which are taut with muscle, across his shoulders and neck, all the while kissing him back.

  "We can't... The girls are... So no..." I manage to say against his perfect mouth.

  "I know," he whispers, kissing just under my ear. "This is just a make-out session." He kisses down my neck, making me clench and melt. "When do they go home, by the way?"

  Then he pulls back and smiles at me, and it seems to me all I could ever want and all I ever hoped for is in that smile.

  The warning chimes go silent under the sounds of us kissing and the happiness singing in my heart.

  Rachel

  When Sylvia, the Swiss concierge, calls to ask if I'm expecting a Mr. Gus Fletcher, I manage to say yes, send him right up.

  If Adam knew I was having a man up to my suite, then going out for drinks and dinner, he'd be very, very uncomfortable.

  Which is, I suppose, the point. Adam slept with another woman. I'm just having dinner with an old friend.

  Doesn't make me feel less nervous. I blot my underarms with tissues and chug some water. Check my lipstick. Blot again.

  And then there's a knock at the door, and I go to open it.

  "Holy crap," Gus says.

  "Yeah, I know. It's big. Kind of stupid, really. For one person. I mean, not that I mean anything by that. I just... I don't know. Hi. How are you?"

  "I meant, holy crap, you look incredible."

  I pause. "Oh. Thank you." I'm wearing one of the outfits from yesterday's spree--a red sheath dress that cost more than my first car. High, strappy metallic heels. The makeup. I also had my hair cut and highlighted and blown out.

  He just looks at me for a second, then leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Nice to see you when you're not covered in vomit."

  I smile, though I'm twisting my hands. "I get that a lot."

  "Show me around. I'll probably never see a hotel suite like this again, so I want to drink it in." There's that smile that makes his eyes almost disappear into dark little crescents.

  "Gus," I say, "I'm... Just to make sure we're clear, I'm not...you know. Coming on to you."

  "I know. I'm not that lucky. Where does this stairway go to?"

  "The rooftop deck. All mine. And yours."

  We go up to admire it. "Gorgeous. So. I'm starving. Where are we eating?"

  Because I chickened out last night and stayed in the hotel, I booked a reservation at one of the swanky places my sister recommended. We walk down the street, my heels occasionally catching on the cobblestones, until Gus takes my arm.

  "Sorry," I say. "I'm trying a new vibe."

  "You look beautiful," he says. "But you always did."

  He's wearing a white dress shirt and jeans, black Converse high-tops. This makes him look much more famous and sophisticated than I do. I should just wear a sign that says Not From Here and Trying Too Hard.

  "Oh, my God, I think that's Gwyneth Paltrow," someone says, and I turn to look.

  "Where?" I whisper.

  Gus laughs. "She was talking about you, Rachel."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  For some reason, this makes me feel a lot more confident. That, and Gus's hand on my arm. I've known him for longer than I've known Adam, and it dawns on me that I've really, really missed having him as a friend these past four years.

  "Is this it?" He stops outside a restaurant.

  "It is."

  The maitre d' looks us up and down, then crosses something off on his list. "This way, please," he says, and leads us to a huge booth in the back of the restaurant. It's a fantastic table. I know this because Robert Freakin' De Niro is in the booth next to us, talking animatedly to his companion. The actor looks up as we're being seated and gives a slight nod.

  "Robert De Niro is sitting next to us, Gwyneth," Gus says in a low voice.

  "I'm trying not to wet myself with excitement," I murmur back. "It's harder after having the triplets."

  He laughs.

  Gosh, I like him. I haven't been around a man I liked this much in what seems like a thousand years.

  The art department at Celery Stalk was one big work space. I shared a massive desk with another woman, Liara, a tattooed and pierced lesbian who talked nonstop and educated me quite a bit about the wonders of her love life. My participation in the conversation wasn't really necessary. Liara was outgoing and fun and well liked... I was the workhorse, sort of.

  Gus always asked me to work on his projects. He was--is--the concept guy. I wasn't flashy, and I wasn't full of bubbly personality like Liara, but I did good work, and Gus always appreciated it.

  I never really got the impression he liked me until that ill-timed date request, and by then, it was too late.

  We order a bottle of wine and talk, first about workmates, then about Gus, whose live-in girlfriend left him last year.

  "Did you see it coming?" I ask.

  He looks at me a long minute. "Yes. I couldn't tell if we should've tried harder or broken up earlier. Either way, it was tough."

  "I'm sorry." And I am. I can't imagine someone leaving Gus, quite frankly.

  He shrugs. "Well, I recovered. I always do. I thought about throwing myself in front of a train, but..."

  "Anna Karenina did that. No one likes a copycat."

  "I know," he says. "Besides, it's so nineteenth century. So I just listened to a lot of Beck and ate ice cream instead."

  "Beck? Really? The train might've been less painful."

  Another laugh, loud and unabashed.

  Our dinners come, and we dig in. "Oh, my God," Gus says. "This may be the best thing I've ever eaten or seen anyone eat."

  "It should be," I concur. "Bobby De Niro eats here."

  "Oh, we're already on nicknames with him, are we?"

  "Well, we're sitting next to him. I feel it's only right."

  Gus's smile makes my stomach tingle. I drop my eyes.

  The Old Rachel would never have had the guts to ask a cute guy to dinner, let alone engage in snappy dialogue. She never would've worn this dress. The New Rachel would only have done this out of spite.

  I don't feel any spite right now. I just feel...happy.

  It's been a while.

  "So tell me the truth," Gus says, putting down his fork. His plate is clean, as is mine. "Am I here because you want to make your husband mad? Because I gather that this weekend is about him, sort of."

  "My husband doesn't know you're here. And you're right, it is." I take a sip of wine. "We're having a rough time."

  "You want to talk about it? I mean, I told you about my Anna Karenina moment. I owe you."

  I look at Gus's nice face, the cropped hair, the omnipresent smile. "I'd rather not," I say. "Let's talk about anything but that, okay? I didn't ask you to have dinner because I wanted to talk about my husband, or make him jealous, or
anything like that. I asked you because I couldn't think of a nicer person."

  He puts his fork down and looks at me for a long moment. "That might be the best compliment I've ever had," he says. Then he smiles and continues eating, and there's a warmth in my heart that has nothing to do with the wine.

  *

  When we leave the restaurant, it's nearly midnight, and Tribeca now pulses with music from clubs and restaurants. "Feel like going anywhere else?" Gus asks.

  I hesitate. "You can come back to the hotel. The roof deck is all mine." I feel foolish as I say it. A scorned wife spends lots of money to punish her husband. How original.

  But the view from the deck is stellar. Liberty Tower is beautiful and poignant, the Woolworth Building stately and grand. I bring up a bottle of wine and Gus opens it, and we sit in our chairs and don't say anything, just look at the lights and listen to the sounds from the city below. I take off my shoes and wrap up in the soft throw the hotel has so thoughtfully provided.

  "Rachel?"

  He never shortens my name. Most people do. "Yeah?"

  He gives me a long look. "I just want to say something. You know I always liked you. Had a crush on you."

  "I actually didn't know that until you asked me out." A blush prickles my cheeks, and I'm glad for the dim lighting up here.

  "Well, I did. I still do."

  I look at him, but that's it, apparently. "I like you, too, Gus. But I can't do anything about that. I'm still married."

  "I know. I wouldn't want you to. But I wanted to say it anyway." He sits up. "And with that awkward parting salvo, I should probably go."

  I walk him to the door. "I'm really glad we did this."

  He smiles. "Thank you for calling me. It was an honor."

  Suddenly, there's a lump in my throat. "Good night, Gus."

  "Take care."

  He kisses my cheek, and for one second, I think about turning my head and kissing him on the mouth.

  I don't. I close the door instead.

  Whatever happens, this night is a little jewel for me to tuck away. A perfect night with a kind man who liked me and still does, more than ten years after he first asked me out. Who tried nothing, but was simply honest and charming and nice.

  Then I go into the bathroom and wash up, hanging up my red dress with care. Floss. Brush.

  There was a night before the affair, when I was brushing my teeth before bed, and Adam came into the bathroom and felt my ass and said, "Do you even know how beautiful you are?" and I laughed, because I had a mouthful of foam. I remember how lucky I felt, that my husband still wanted to feel my butt, still came on to me.