mind.
Good thing she’d brought the walkie-talkies. She’d set the alarm early every morning, get coffee, find a quiet spot to detox from Dana, and have Artie locate her position. They’d just have Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead
85
to be a little more creative finding ways to meet for sex. To their surprise, Aaron became their ally. When Artie signaled, he’d round up the kids and promise to sneak them into the casinos.
Mindy’s only hope was that he didn’t expect them to return the favor so he could get it on with Melissa from Manchester.
How did one have the “talk” with a seventeen-year-old who could probably give them a few good pointers?
Mindy sneaked into Artie’s stateroom, turned on by the prospect of having a scandalous little midday birthday interlude, though it was with her own husband, so call off the paparazzi. She quickly changed into her favorite black negligee, saddened that it had fit much better before her long-term affair with Ben and Jerry.
Although as her friend Rochelle liked to say, “Once a man’s between your thighs, he’s not askin’ what the scale says.”
But when Artie was a no-show, anticipation was replaced with anger. If he was hanging out at the Cigar Bar with Ira, no gift from a ship boutique would make up for it. This was followed by fear. What if the heart attack was real this time and he was lying on the bottom of the pool?
Naturally her first instinct was to call his cell, but one thing that hit you hard after the ship sailed was that you might as well toss it overboard, ’cause service was spotty to nonexistent and the kids had the walkie-talkies.
All she could do was pace inside the tiny cabin, watch CNN
in Spanish, break into the minibar, and ponder if Dana and Ira were also finding ways to have sex, though she doubted from Dana’s stiff I-don’t-find-you-funny reactions to everything Ira said that she much cared. “Sorry, Ira. I have water Pilates at ten, my aromatherapy massage at eleven . . .”
By the time Artie turned the key, Mindy had changed back into a big T-shirt and shorts. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but I turned down six good offers.”
86
Saralee Rosenberg
Artie, his face red and perspired from the heat, sat on the edge of the bed, staring out.
“Hello?” she waved her hand in front of his face. “Please don’t tell me you got the cabin numbers mixed up and had sex with someone else, ’cause no offense, but you don’t have that much to go around anymore.”
“She died,” he said.
“What? Who? Who died?”
“Davida.” He waved a piece of paper in the air.
“Oh my God. She died? What does that mean?”
“What do you mean what does that mean? It means she crapped out. She’s gone to meet her maker.”
“No, I get that part. What does that mean for Aaron . . .
for us ? ”
“What kind of question is that? I just found out like two minutes ago. I have no idea what it means. I’m in shock.”
“Wait. Are you upset because your first wife died or your second wife is thinking we’ve got only ten minutes left for sex?”
“That’s not even funny, Mindy. God! What is wrong with you? A forty-four-year-old woman who was bright and artistic and made beautiful patchwork quilts for half our neighborhood in Queens got sucked into a drug world and basically took her own life. . . . I think you would have liked her. . . .”
“Oh. Then I’m sorry for your loss. . . . I didn’t know you had feelings for her anymore.”
“I don’t. . . . I’m just . . . I don’t know what to do. Do I tell Aaron?
Do I not tell him? Do I get him on a flight out tomorrow, when we get to Cozumel? Do I go with him?”
“I have no idea. Wait. How did you even find out?”
“I was down at the bursar’s, buying tickets for the snorkel trip tomorrow, and the woman sees my name and says, sir, I think you just got a telegram. And I’m thinking, they still have those?
Turns out it was from my ex-brother-in-law, Wayne, and it said,
Good thing she’d brought the walkie-talkies. She’d set the alarm early every morning, get coffee, find a quiet spot to detox from Dana, and have Artie locate her position. They’d just have Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead
85
to be a little more creative finding ways to meet for sex. To their surprise, Aaron became their ally. When Artie signaled, he’d round up the kids and promise to sneak them into the casinos.
Mindy’s only hope was that he didn’t expect them to return the favor so he could get it on with Melissa from Manchester.
How did one have the “talk” with a seventeen-year-old who could probably give them a few good pointers?
Mindy sneaked into Artie’s stateroom, turned on by the prospect of having a scandalous little midday birthday interlude, though it was with her own husband, so call off the paparazzi. She quickly changed into her favorite black negligee, saddened that it had fit much better before her long-term affair with Ben and Jerry.
Although as her friend Rochelle liked to say, “Once a man’s between your thighs, he’s not askin’ what the scale says.”
But when Artie was a no-show, anticipation was replaced with anger. If he was hanging out at the Cigar Bar with Ira, no gift from a ship boutique would make up for it. This was followed by fear. What if the heart attack was real this time and he was lying on the bottom of the pool?
Naturally her first instinct was to call his cell, but one thing that hit you hard after the ship sailed was that you might as well toss it overboard, ’cause service was spotty to nonexistent and the kids had the walkie-talkies.
All she could do was pace inside the tiny cabin, watch CNN
in Spanish, break into the minibar, and ponder if Dana and Ira were also finding ways to have sex, though she doubted from Dana’s stiff I-don’t-find-you-funny reactions to everything Ira said that she much cared. “Sorry, Ira. I have water Pilates at ten, my aromatherapy massage at eleven . . .”
By the time Artie turned the key, Mindy had changed back into a big T-shirt and shorts. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but I turned down six good offers.”
86
Saralee Rosenberg
Artie, his face red and perspired from the heat, sat on the edge of the bed, staring out.
“Hello?” she waved her hand in front of his face. “Please don’t tell me you got the cabin numbers mixed up and had sex with someone else, ’cause no offense, but you don’t have that much to go around anymore.”
“She died,” he said.
“What? Who? Who died?”
“Davida.” He waved a piece of paper in the air.
“Oh my God. She died? What does that mean?”
“What do you mean what does that mean? It means she crapped out. She’s gone to meet her maker.”
“No, I get that part. What does that mean for Aaron . . .
for us ? ”
“What kind of question is that? I just found out like two minutes ago. I have no idea what it means. I’m in shock.”
“Wait. Are you upset because your first wife died or your second wife is thinking we’ve got only ten minutes left for sex?”
“That’s not even funny, Mindy. God! What is wrong with you? A forty-four-year-old woman who was bright and artistic and made beautiful patchwork quilts for half our neighborhood in Queens got sucked into a drug world and basically took her own life. . . . I think you would have liked her. . . .”
“Oh. Then I’m sorry for your loss. . . . I didn’t know you had feelings for her anymore.”
“I don’t. . . . I’m just . . . I don’t know what to do. Do I tell Aaron?
Do I not tell him? Do I get him on a flight out tomorrow, when we get to Cozumel? Do I go with him?”
“I have no idea. Wait. How did you even find out?”
“I was down at the bursar’s, buying tickets for the snorkel trip tomorrow, and the woman sees my name and says, sir, I think you just got a telegram. And I’m thinking, they still have those?
Turns out it was from my ex-brother-in-law, Wayne, and it said,
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