Hot Stuff

by Virginia Page

  "I'm sorry, Sophia," I replied. "There’s nothing left. I ate it all."

  I looked down in shame. I was sure my bottom lip pooched out like a naughty child, which seemed fitting because gorging all the food was an immature thing for me to do.

  "That's okay, sweety," she said. "I'll order a pizza when we get home."

  I smiled. Sophia was so understanding. Of course, when she mentioned the pizza, my first reaction was wanting to know if I could get in on the action. Although, I was too embarrassed to ask.

  "Are you still hungry?" she asked.

  "Yes," I muttered.

  I couldn't believe Sophia's generous nature. Why was she being so nice to me? Were there strings attached? I felt horrible thinking about her in that way, but couldn’t help it because I’d always had trust issues.

  Sophia pulled up into an enormous driveway leading to her home.

  "Let's get you inside," she said.

  I looked up at her house. It was magnificent. Probably one of the most impressive houses I’d ever seen in person. A big staircase led up to a giant porch, surrounded by white pillars. The exterior was all brick in various shade of earth colors. The sun shined off of the windows, in the same way her sports car glimmered. Looking at the house, I realized she had done well for herself. I was guessing due to her divorce from William. Of course, I knew I shouldn't have assumed that.

  The inside was even more impressive, high ceilings and open space. When we walked through the entry foyer, I was in awe of the marble spiral staircase. A slight echo occurred while stepping on the white marble floor. I looked up at the beautiful crystal chandelier shimmering and reflecting off everything, not believing my eyes at her lavish living. We were standing in paradise.

  The kitchen, filled with stainless steel appliances, was a chef’s dream. I wondered if Sophia was a good cook. At least I hoped she was.

  Sophia pulled off a menu with coupons for a pizza place that were held on by magnets on the refrigerator, and then she handed them to me. It surprised me that she’d have coupons. I didn't think someone at her level would even bother.

  "Let me know what else you might be hungry for," she said.

  I grabbed the menu, rattling off about a half dozen things I wanted.

  “Antipasto salad, barbecue ribs, ravioli, a meatball sub, a basket of shrimp, and a pizza.”

  I couldn't help myself. A girl's gotta eat.

  After Sophia called in the order, she told me some of her horror stories regarding being married to William. Like the time he’d slept with her personal trainer. After a while we began to laugh and joke about her horrible experiences with him, two kindred spirits bonding.

  "Do you have anything to share?" she asked.

  "He cheated on me with our ex-babysitter Hannah," I replied.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” she said. “He’d slept with my sister.”

  Ouch! Apparently, Sophia had gone through something I could never have imagined William doing. How could he stoop so low?

  “He wanted us to stay together and make our relationship work,” she said, “but I was not going to put up with any more nonsense from him. He’d crossed the line. I couldn't forgive him after he’d stooped that low.”

  “How did you get back on your feet?” I asked. "I can see you've done well for yourself."

  “At first it was difficult, but I was able to stay with some friends. I’d found a job as a cashier at a convenience store, working midnights. Since there were not many customers on the late shift, I had a lot of time on my hands. There were romance novels next to the magazine rack, so I’d read them when business was slow. My imagination ran wild with the different scenarios that were too good to be true. I really enjoyed reading, so much that I wondered if I could write one myself.”

  “Did you write a romance book?” I asked.

  “Yes, for the fun of it. I thought I could never do it, but after a few weeks, I decided to give it a shot. Pads of paper from the stockroom were the canvas for my inspiration. I’d written out some ideas and couldn’t believe how naturally the words flowed from my pen. Every chance I had, I worked tirelessly on writing.”

  Sophia held her chest, her eyes welled up. I could tell she was passionate about her accomplishment.

  “After I finished my first novel, I didn’t know what to do with it. Was I supposed to send it to a publishing company? I asked around, and one of my friends mentioned online self-publishing. I didn’t have a computer, but I had to get my manuscript typed in digitally to publish it. The next-door neighbor let me use her computer in exchange for free babysitting. Fortunately I’d taken typing class back when I was in high school, so I was able to type in my story in a reasonable amount of time.”

  Sophia walked over next to the fireplace and pulled a book off of the bookshelf. A gorgeous shirtless man graced the cover.

  “Wow! Who is that?” I asked.

  “A photographer friend of mine. He’d put together a cover for me in exchange for a few beers. He’d let me use his camera to take pictures of his hot body with his shirt off, flexing his muscles, blowing me kisses, giving me that badboy smirk. You know the one. I figured out how to self-publish my book while researching online.”

  “Did it sell?”

  “At first my sales were crickets, but after a few days I sold a trickle here, a trickle there. After I’d released several novels, instant word of mouth had spread fast, so my sales boomed, skyrocketing. Ever since then, readers have contacted me, looking forward to my next releases. I’ve made a fortune out of passion. So take it from me. You don’t need a man. You can do it on your own.”

  “Me? I guess my typing skills are okay,” I said, “and I love reading romance novels. I used to be a part of a reading group, until William messed it up.”

  “You should write something,” she replied as she pointed over at her desk. “You can use one of my laptops.”

  “I think I might take you up on that.”

  I wondered if I could really be a writer. I was afraid failure might crush my hopes and dreams. Then again, if Sophia could do it, why couldn’t I? I was just as smart as anyone else. Plus, being a dreamer and hopeless romantic were my strengths. All I'd have to do was write my genuine thoughts and feelings down.

  I walked over and picked up the laptop, feeling confident.

  Sophia smiled. I almost got the sense she was proud of me for taking the leap.

  “You can do it,” she said. "I believe in you."

  My hands shaking a little, I walked out of the room ready for exploring a new opportunity. What did I do to deserve Sophia’s help? Feeling truly blessed.

  Chapter 17

  After I’d turned on the laptop, An anxious feeling filled me with resistance, my mind speculating on whether I could do it or not. I almost ditched the opportunity, but then I realized my moment had come. A second chance had presented itself, and I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.

  After taking several deep breaths and settling myself down, I opened up a text editor and stared at the blinking cursor for what seemed like an eternity. At first, I couldn’t think of any ideas and had almost given up. Then I drifted off into a daydream, focused purely on Hot Stuff. Why was I never able to get him out of my mind? Then something occurred to me. I could write about him and just fill in the blanks with everything I wanted to happen between us. After using him as my inspiration, thoughts flooded my mind, one after another. Of course, most of them were bad ideas. I’d become more critical as each idea came to me, leaving me with such frustration and resistance, causing me grief. I closed the lid on the laptop, burying my face into my hands, crying, drowning in an enormous amount of self-pity I’d never experienced before. It was one of the only times I’d ever felt like a complete and utterly hopeless failure.

  I couldn’t understand how Sophia was able to write when I was having so much trouble. My imagination had always been so vivid, and I knew I was capable of doing anything I put my mind to, but every idea I came up with made
me feel insecure. What if readers didn’t like my writing? What if they thought I was stupid? What if nobody ever bought my book? I couldn’t bear to put myself out there like that for a chance at major disappointment. I'd become upset with myself that I hadn't written because I knew I was capable, feeling frustrated. What was the point? Nobody would ever buy my writing, so why should I even bother?

  I decided I’d give writing another chance tomorrow or maybe next week. I figured If I started on Monday that’d get me a fresh start, or maybe I could start next Friday. Something inside myself told me I could do it. I just needed to be persistent. Nervous energy flowed through my body, causing my hands to tighten up, feeling almost paralyzed. I needed to re-focus. Seeing myself as a writer in my mind, standing tall and strong, writing in a meaningful way, I was inspired, yet frightened.

  Learning that Sophia had succeeded on her own inspired me to do the same. If I did my best, maybe I could be just as successful as her. Then I could get my daughter Chloe back and start a new life.

  The door creaked, Sophia peeking in the room through the crack in the doorway, her expression a look of understanding.

  “You’ll get it,” she said. “It just takes time. Be patient. You'll be a bestselling author before you know it.”

  Sophia left the room.

  I smiled, realizing how blessed I was having Sophia helping me out, mentoring me. In that moment, the possibilities seemed endless.

  Hearing a noise downstairs, knocking at the front door, my eyes lit up.

  “The food is here,” Sophia shouted.

  I ran down the stairs, tripping over my feet, anticipating the delicious takeout. After all, I’d put so much effort into writing, I needed a break to recharge my energy. Once I got to the kitchen, I found Sophia unwrapping the food, so I pulled up a chair.

  Taking a deep breath, sniffing the lovely aroma, a mixture of Italian and barbecue, I skipped the antipasto salad and went straight for the barbecue ribs. The meat fell right off the bone, my lips twitching due to the thick, caramelized sauce, sweet and spicy.

  I noticed Sophia was making up a plate for herself, which filled me with a feeling of scarcity. Quickly, I dropped the ribs on my plate and proceeded to grab more food, staking claim of the best selections on the table. Feeling a little guilty but I couldn’t bare missing out. Unable to resist, I immediately grabbed the pizza slices with the thickest bubbles on the crust that were smothered in sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, my favorite. I cut the meatball sub, taking three-quarters for myself. Scooping up the majority of the salami, cheese, and pasta from the antipasto salad while Sophia wasn’t looking, I was on a mission. I gulped down a couple ravioli and a handful of shrimp because I didn’t have any more room on my plate. I rushed away from the table, hiding the evidence of my gluttony, covering the top with napkins, hoping Sophia didn’t discover my little secret.

  Afterward, feeling deep regret for my selfishness, my stomach ached from overeating. I couldn’t get to sleep, because every time I tried to lie on my back, I could hardly breathe, food backing up in my esophagus, indigestion and heartburn torturing me. I couldn’t stop belching, hoping Sophia was far enough away that she couldn’t hear me.

  A thud sound coming from the hallway startled me. When I opened the door, there was a tray on the floor with a glass of water and a container of antacid tablets. It was bitter sweet. I was relieved and embarrassed at the same time. Part of me was even insulted, and the other part of me was ever so grateful. After my stomach settled, I was finally able to get to sleep.

  In the middle of the night, I woke up feeling inspired. An urge to write forced me out of bed. I got out the laptop, my eager hands typing out some of my best thoughts. The words were meaningful to me, so I continued to release the prose from my flow. I kept looking over my shoulder, feeling vulnerable, afraid Sophia might see what I’d written. My writing seemed good to me, but I couldn't be sure anyone else would appreciate my story. The idea of someone not liking my writing was breaking my heart. My thoughts were personal to me, so I needed to keep my guard up. Deep down inside, I knew just one piece of criticism might shatter my confidence completely, so I didn’t want to take a chance to show anyone. I wasn't sure if I was capable of putting myself out there, feeling fragile.

  The door creaked opened, and Sophia stood in the doorway holding a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. I closed the screen of the laptop, hoping she didn’t see anything I’d written.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I made us a midnight snack.”

  “Not really,” I said, but I was lying, and she knew it.

  “Okay,” she replied. “I won’t bother you anymore. I can see you’re busy.”

  Sophia began to walk away.

  “Wait,” I said.

  Turning back toward me, Sophia smiled.

  “I could probably have a few bites before you go,” I said. “Those cookies smell delicious.”

  Since Sophia went through all the trouble to bake cookies, I figured I’d make the supreme sacrifice to indulge myself, even though I was full and could hardly breathe from eating so much food earlier.

  I couldn’t believe how sweet Sophia was for bringing me a snack. What did I do to deserve all of her generosity?

  Sophia placed the tray next to me. I took a bite, and was surprised because they were still warm. The chocolate chips were gooey, melting in my mouth. After I’d finished all of the cookies, my face had become sticky. I chugged the ice-cold glass of milk, refreshing my taste buds. When I looked up, I noticed Sophia had only taken a couple of bites from the one cookie she’d taken, and I was licking the plate clean, feeling like a savage.

  Sophia handed me some napkins, and raised a small hand mirror in front of my face. At first I felt insulted, but then I saw my lips were smothered in chocolate, and I had a milk mustache. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself.

  The first night at Sophia’s house was great, but after a few days, I fell into such a depressed state, missing Chloe. I stopped writing, mostly crying, feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t get out of bed for a few weeks. Sophia was supportive at first, bringing me food every day, giving me my breathing space.

  One day Sophia came in pestering me to get up and go live my life. She opened the window blinds, my eyes couldn’t take the sunlight. I just covered up my head with the blankets and did my best to ignore her. She was impossible to avoid, due to her persistence.

  After multiple attempts of reasoning with me, she finally dragged me off the bed and into the bathroom, shoving me into the shower, me fighting her the whole time. She turned on the water, spraying my face mercilessly. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop her. I fought to get the sprayer out of Sophia's hand, but couldn’t, so I tried to turn off the water but was unsuccessful.

  "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked.

  "Because you're fucking stinking up the place," she replied, raising her voice.

  I didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused, but for some reason I’d burst into laughter, continuing to fight to get the sprayer away from her.

  Sophia’s face turned red as she pointed her finger in my face.

  "Get it together, woman," she said. "You've got a life to live and a baby to take care of."

  I realized Sophia was right. Moping around and feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to do anything but make me feel worse.

  Sophia handed me the sprayer.

  "After you're done showering, come downstairs. I'm going to make breakfast," she said. "If you're clean, then you're welcome to eat. If not, stay up here and drown in self-pity."

  "What are you cooking?" I asked.

  Sophia smirked at me.

  "Wouldn't you like to know?"

  Chapter 18

  I’d realized Sophia had known I wasn't going to pass up a home cooked meal. She was definitely using food to motivate me, and I didn’t mind at all.

  Enjoying the warm water massaging my skin, I soaped up my body. I turned up the hot water
, my muscles relaxing, soaking up the heat. The glass of the shower door steamed up almost immediately when I turned up the hot water. I lathered my body, the heat tantalizing my nerves. I almost didn't want to get out. If it wasn't for breakfast, I might have stayed in there all day. All I could think about was eating. I wondered if Sophia made French toast, or Belgian waffles, or blueberry pancakes and bacon and eggs.

  I finally got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. The mirror was completely fogged up, so I drew a heart on it hoping to renew my faith in love. Would I ever open myself up to another man and let him inside? What man would want me? I removed the towel and cracked open the door so the mirror would clear. I looked at my body searching for flaws. Of course, I had a lot of good features, but in my mind, I kept pointing out my faults over and over and over. By the door, there was a stack of clothes with a note that read, "Hurry up, I'm getting hungry."

  I smiled at Sophia's silly quirks. She always seemed to know how to lighten the mood. I was so grateful for her generosity. How could I ever repay her? It was puzzling to me why Sophia was so generous to me in the first place. Maybe she was just a good person, but I couldn't help thinking there might have been ulterior motives in having me stay with her, most likely to irritate William, not that irritating him would bother me. The thought actually made me smile. If that were the case, I was all for it.

  Walking down the stairs, I smelled bacon. Oh, yeah! My mouth salivating due to the delicious smell, I could almost taste it. The idea of eating Sophia's homemade breakfast made me want to cuddle up on the couch and watch television all day, snacking. Unhealthy fantasies of procrastination tugging at me, I realized I needed to change my behavior and stop my self-destructive ways, otherwise I’d never get myself together.

  Feeling self-conscious about my weight, I thought about people I’d known who were slim and fit. I’d remembered watching them, hoping to learn from their behavior. What I’d discovered was astounding. When I’d observed them eating, I’d noticed they didn't put any mayonnaise on their sandwiches. They also didn't even eat the whole thing. I was shocked to see that they had only eaten about half, and they’d thrown the other half in the garbage can. Why wouldn't they finish eating it? How dare they waste food like that? Their behavior was a travesty. They should have been stoned in town square.