He slipped around the back of the BMW and withdrew a cumbersome bag from the trunk. “I have plans,” I said, following him out into the driveway. Paid some formidable amount to fly four to Vegas, stay at the Mandalay Bay, and attend the concert and a meet-and-greet with the band. Daniel had “won” the tickets at the school silent auction. Isabelle and her two girlfriends had been counting down the days to see the band August Moon, a quintet of handsome lads from Britain who sang pleasant pop songs and drove tween girls mad. To walk away from commitments guilt-free. It was so like him to have a Band-Aid for everything. “If you can’t do it, have her call me, and I’ll make it up the next time the group’s in town.” “Don’t start, okay?” He turned toward the door. I thought I’d wait and see if you could take them first.” Isabelle, having retreated immediately to her room-no doubt to get on her phone-had missed the entire exchange.
And now my ex-husband was standing in my living room in formal black tie and telling me there’d been a change of plans. Forty-eight hours of art and sleep and wine. They were, like the trip to Ojai, my gift to myself. I’d spent a fortune at Blick stocking up on materials for my artist retreat. Whatever.”Īn unopened package of Da Vinci Maestro Kolinsky brushes was lying on the entry table, alongside a set of thirty-six Holbein watercolors. I know I promised the girls, but I can’t. I must have looked at him in disbelief because he followed that up with: “I’m still working on the Fox deal and it’s not going to close anytime soon.” “I can’t do the Vegas trip,” he said, thrusting a manila envelope in my hand. He’d left the car running in the driveway. Two days before my planned getaway to Ojai, he showed up at the house in a tux with our daughter, Isabelle, in tow. I suppose I could blame it all on Daniel.
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