Free Nine Women, One Dress by Jane L. Rosen Page B

always wanted to come to the Four Seasons. You know, Jack Kennedy ate here the night Marilyn Monroe sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.”
    “Really? I didn’t know that.” I laughed at myself again. It was nice to get the reference this time.
    “Don’t worry,” she said, “I don’t expect you to sing like that to me.”
    That’s
right
—it was her birthday. I pieced the whole mix-up together. Sherri would be furious.
    Dinner was lovely, the food and wine superb, the conversation delightful, and eventually I began to ignore the constant vibrating of my phone in my pocket, which I knew must be Sherri getting angrier and angrier. We talked about anything and everything, but the thing that touched me most was the way she talked about Marilyn. “Remember when Marilyn threw you that surprise party and I couldn’t get you to leave the office?” Or, “Remember how Marilyn always called Stanley-from-accounting’s home-wrecking girlfriend by his ex-wife’s name just to irritate her?” We laughed and laughed, and I realized that everyone around me had been scared to even mention Marilyn’s name, let alone reminisce about her. Even my daughters avoided saying “Mom.” It was as if everyone thought by bringing her up they would be reminding me of her, as if I forgot about her until someone said her name. It seemed that Felicia was the only one who knew that I was always thinking about her, that her name spoken out loud was a kind of comfort. Besides the meal and the wine and the conversation, I could not get over how pretty she was. This woman whom I had seen nearly every weekday for more than seventeen years was really very beautiful. I had just never stopped to sit across the table from her and look into her lovely blue eyes. I never even knew she had lovely blue eyes.
    My phone was now vibrating on an almost continuous basis. I excused myself and called Sherri from the men’s room. She was, as I expected, furious: furious over the “old lady” cashmere shawl and the “meaningless” card, furious over missing our anniversary, completely furious that I hadn’t straightened out the situation the minute I saw Felicia, and over-the-top furious that Felicia had on
her
little black dress. I calmed her down as much as I could and promised to make the night a short one and come right over afterward. I said that we would reschedule and that I would make it twice as special. Just when I thought I was out of the woods she said, “Make sure you tell her that I want that dress back.” Oh, boy. I could never do that.
    I walked back to the table and a strange thing happened. I saw Felicia and I felt a little flutter in my stomach. I couldn’t possibly have feelings for a woman I had worked beside for years. I chalked it up to my sweet tooth—the longing I always feel after a good meal for a little sugar. Hopefully the restaurant’s signature cotton candy and the Black Forest cake we had ordered for dessert would satiate me.
    “So, besides dinner at the Four Seasons, what else is on your New York bucket list?” I asked.
    “I’ve never seen a show at the Carlyle,” she said.
    There was a pause—one I probably should have filled with an invitation to the Carlyle, but I didn’t want to lead her on. She didn’t seem to notice the lack of a forthcoming invitation and came right back with “How about you?”
    “Hmm…” I thought. “I’ve never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.”
    “Really?” she said. “Well, that’s an easy one. I know the best pizza place right on the other side—my treat!”
    I smiled and agreed to her implicit suggestion. “Sounds good.”
    “How’s Sunday?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “It’s supposed to be beautiful out on Sunday.”
    I should have said I had plans, but something stopped me.

CHAPTER 11
An Out-of-Borough Experience
    By Albert, Jeremy’s Publicist
Age: 35 going on 60
    As usual I woke up half an hour before my alarm, and as usual I ceremoniously waited in bed