Angie snapped out of her reverie and turned to Ben, “Okay yes that was humiliating.”
“And he was just a stand in for…” asked Ben.
“Gordon Ramsay?” laughed Angie. “C’mon they’re ready for us.” Ben followed Angie to the pedicure station and winced as the girl tickled his feet.
“Just hold on and bear down,” said Angie.
“I’m not giving birth,” he snapped, shivering a little and pulling his feet away from the determined woman who kept reaching for them. “I can’t believe you go through this rigamarole every week just to see a doctor.”
Angie sighed. “I really think Dr. Flicker—Kevin—has a thing for me. So please stop implying it’s some wacky infatuation. I know what I’m doing this time. It’s real. I’m not a kid in school any more. And I need you to believe in me.”
Ben shook his head sadly. “I’ve believed in you since we met in third grade. I just want to protect you. To….” Ben blushed and stopped speaking as Angie smiled at him.
“You can be my best man—er….”
They both leaned back in their chairs as green masques were applied to their faces and then Ben watched Angie follow a woman into a closed room marked Waxing. When she yelped loudly from inside, he crossed his legs and grimaced.
Chrissy loved the way her feet felt as they skimmed across the sidewalks. She was in the Zone. The whole Zone idea didn’t make much sense to her, but wherever it was, she was in it. She could run for a very long time and the more she ran, the farther she felt like running. Her breath came in even strokes and her heart pumped perfectly. She’d gone an extra mile and didn’t even feel the strain. She could run, relax and look at the scenery. There were nothing but beautiful houses here, perfectly maintained landscapes to become the backdrops for all the people who lived inside these elegant, very expensive homes. And now she was one of them. It was such a far cry from when she was a nothing little sales girl at Godiva—merely thinking the name made her shudder inside. All that de… she couldn’t even think the word let alone say it. But Bill had come along like Sir Galahad and had rescued her and now here she was, living the life she had always wanted.
She ran smoothly to his—her—front door and opened it, and maximizing on endorphins, ran right into what used to be a tastefully appointed family room. The soft blue and taupe hues were very welcoming. The cottage style cushy sofa and chairs faced a big flat screen television, tastefully hidden inside an armoire crafted of reclaimed wood. Artistically painted and distressed tables sat before and beside the couch. It was at once elegant and comfortable, a place where a family could feel at home and not worry about making a mess yet which could host visitors who would look around and nod approvingly.
And now, it was her gym. She had managed to fit all the exercise equipment she wanted right into the den. The family could work out together. They didn’t, but they could. She was the wife—well the girlfriend—of a Beverly Hills doctor and that required she look the part. She dug in her purse, quickly downed two over the counter diet pills as well as two special Chinese herbal pills, thinking if only she had the real thing, the thing that would make all the difference. Doubling her dosage on these pills was barely doing the job, but at least she wasn’t a victim to all those old cravings. She just wasn’t thinner.
Not wanting to lose any momentum, Chrissy grabbed her boxing gloves and stuffed her hands inside. Whack, whack, whack. She began socking the punching bag in the corner. Dancing and lurching and whacking. A kick. Another kick. She loved the feel of it. When people said she worked out like a cheetah on acid, she took it as a compliment. Exercise made it so much easier to stay on her diet. But she hadn’t lost so much as a pound in several weeks—how was that even possible? Her plan was to investigate something called negative calorie foods although that seemed like a big lie to Chrissy. Since when did eating make calories disappear? Wait, it must be really disgusting food, the kind that made you throw up without having to stick your finger down your throat. Of course. Chrissy puzzled over this for a while, the music from her iPod rather loud, so loud in fact that she didn’t hear the phone ringing.
Bill sat in his office, having cleared away the crowd of patients in his waiting room and ready for a little lunch break. His desk was like Kevin’s although it contained none of the desk toys Kevin loved. Seeing those balls crash into each other and bounce back would drive Bill crazy. And he had no desire for a teeny golf game or a Zen garden either.
Thinking about the incident this morning and Candy’s comments, he felt disturbed and was flipping through the photo archive on his laptop. There were many pictures of him with Chrissy and the kids. They were walking and laughing and playing and there she was, this pretty girl with red hair in a pixie cut. Her smile was bright and so endearing. There she was with Candy beside her, reading a book. There she was with Will, building something out of Legos. And then he played a video they’d made at the beach one day.
They were all seated on a blanket eating sandwiches and enjoying the day. There Bill was, so strange always to see himself, not bad he always thought, but he knew it was better than that, even if he was on the wrong side of forty, his hair gray, ok prematurely gray, but only at the sides, and his face still angular and nicely chiseled. What a catch, he thought, laughing briefly, then again the kids were moving and laughing and Chrissy was talking with them and unwrapping more sandwiches and some carrot sticks, and everyone was having a lovely time. That was the day he’d asked her to move in with them, more than a year ago. They were all so happy and it all seemed as though life was back on track.
Bill had to believe that things would be all right, that despite her current odd behavior, Chrissy was who she’d seemed to be when first they met, the girl who fit right in as part of the family. Maybe she just needed something, more assurance or something he could provide, and he would provide it. But today he’d have to discuss the Slimfast with Chrissy, so he dialed his home number. He would make the kids breakfast from now on. And either give them money or make their lunches, which he should have been doing all along. Was she still running? While listening to the phone repeatedly ring, he removed a partially eaten candy bar from his desk drawer and nibbled discretely on it.
Chrissy tried to yank the gloves off her hands but somehow they seemed to be stuck. She grabbed the phone and tried to push the button but she couldn’t manage it with the gloves on. Finally she held the phone to her lips and pressed the green button with her tongue.
“Hello?” she said hastily, sounding out of breath and frustrated. She listened to what Bill was saying with a baffled look on her face. “I don’t see why—what could be more nutritious?” She kept fumbling and yanking on her gloves and finally got them off with a grimace and a shrug. Reaching for the remote, she set the TV on mute, and turned on her kickboxing DVD so she could continue while talking to Bill.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “Of course I know they’re children. What else would they be? Midgets?” Then sighing complacently, she said, “You win. No more Slimfast. Coming home on time tonight?”
Bill casually fiddled with the candy bar wrapper, which he had folded into a ring and was trying on his left hand. “I have that game tonight with Will, remember? Why don’t you and Candy come to cheer us on? We can go out for dinner after. It’ll be fun.”
“Eat out?” she asked, sounding as though he’d said something remarkably cruel. Chrissy amped up her kicks to match and exceed those of the group working out on the DVD. “So what about the Koush Koush?” she asked.
Bill shook his head as a resigned look crossed his face—they’d had this conversation too many times before. “The FDA is never going to approve that drug, hon, I told you. Besides it’s only for the most severely overweight.”
Kicking and lurching even more deeply, Chrissy was adamant, “I need it.”
Bill swirled around in his chair, gazing helplessly out the window but there was nothing distracting enough to claim his attention. “Horses died on that drug during trial
s in India.”
Chrissy scowled. She just had to let him know she was determined, make him understand that she was doing all this for him. What was wrong with Bill, anyway? He should want her to have it, not be there like some giant road block in her way. “I’m aiming for zero body fat. I can’t do it without Koush Koush.”
“Starvation victims have more body fat than that.”
Chrissy stopped kicking and lurching briefly as she considered what he was saying. Her voice grew mournful and she sounded almost terrified. “Oh God, could you imagine that—what if you died and still had cravings—and no body.” She held the phone out away from her and looked down at herself, then resumed talking. “No mouth.”
Bill patiently attempted to provide assurance although inside the frustration mounted, “Now stop worrying—I mean it. Since you’ve been on this diet, you haven’t been yourself—I’m starting to worry about you. You don’t need….”
Chrissy looked up to see Will walking into the den, eyeing her suspiciously and changing the TV to one of his shows. “I’ll go to India to get it if I have to. Oh—Wally’s here.”
Bill shook his head again. “Hon it’s Will not Wally. It hurts their feelings when you get their names wrong after all this time. Listen—a diet drug out of India is not something you should mess with. Have you been taking any diet meds I don’t know about?” Opening the center drawer of his desk, he removed a picture of JoEllen and gazed at it lovingly.
Will glanced toward Chrissy and precociously gave her the sort of look of disgust most teens display often and said scornfully, “You mean WILL! William Masters JUNIOR, remember?”
Kevin had been having an excellent day. Now, taking a little break, he sat at his desk as Nurse Caryn bent over the stack of journals on the floor in his office. Bill was a fool keeping all his periodicals on a shelf. He waited long enough and then slunk over to where she was standing, and spooning himself behind her, he squeezed her breasts, causing her to giggle. What a great woman. She was the perfect woman, the perfect nurse and Kevin was happy she was there when he needed to let off some steam. Envisioning another quickie in the closet, he almost didn’t hear the movement by the door. When Bill entered, they jumped quickly apart and he was fairly sure Bill, who was pretty much a zombie these days, didn’t catch on. Caryn exited the office with a sweet little wink in his direction as Bill slumped down in the chair in front of his desk.
“You think maybe I could ask Laura to help me plan a party for Chrissy’s birthday? She’s not exactly Chrissy’s fan.”
Hmm. This was something Kevin didn’t know. “She isn’t?” he asked.
“Don’t you ever stop to talk to your wife any more?”
Kevin laughed. “Not if I see her coming first.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Chrissy’s going through something and I figure a party might be a nice surprise for her, show her we care.”
Kevin shrugged. Why not, he thought.
Bill rose and turned to leave the office but then turned back again. “Better lay off the nurses and especially the patients. Our insurance is high enough already without sexual harassment claims.”
Kevin grimaced. Maybe Bill wasn’t as much of a zombie as he’d thought. “That would never happen,” he said, summoning as much confidence as his voice could project. He watched as Bill just looked at him silently. And waited for Bill to leave but Bill didn’t move, so he said placatingly, “Again.”
“I’ll call her now,” said Bill.
“Really? Really?” asked Ben uncomfortably as Angie pulled him into Victoria’s Secret and began showing him bras as he alternately blushed and looked for a mirror to examine the blond streaks in his already sandy hair. She held up a bra so minimal it surely wasn’t meant to encapsulate adult breasts, but what Ben knew about lingerie was about equal to what he knew about female anatomy.
“Ohh,” she cooed, strangely excited, “Look at this one….”
Ben looked, glanced around to see if anyone spied him looking, looked down at his shoes, then went on talking. “I just don’t see it that way. He’s just another old, married guy isn’t he? You’ve never even gone on a date with him, have you?”
“I’m not buying this underwear to strain spaghetti, am I? It’s coming, you’ll see. This is just not like one of those incidents you keep reminding me of. I’m a grown up now, a woman, not some kid with a crush on the guy she babysits for.”
“But Angie, don’t you get it, it’s just another version of the same thing. Remember that creepy guy with that weird kid….”
Angie remembered only too well, but she was fifteen then, and that was a long time ago. Justin’s dad was the cutest guy, sort of geeky but cute and he always had that baseball cap on, even in the house. Gee, maybe he was balding? She never thought of that before. Anyway he was cute, and even though she was significantly overweight it was clear he thought she was special. They always stopped to talk as he dropped her off at her dad’s after babysitting.
Eventually it escalated and one night he actually kissed her. They both moaned at the same time. “Oh Mr. Robinson,” Angie had sighed.
“Angie,” he yelped, his voice muffled and his lips still pressed to hers, “Ow ow ow.” He sounded so orgasmic. That was what she did to him—how thrilling.
Wanting to enjoy the moment, Angie sighed, but then she jumped and Mr. Robinson yelped once more as a scary police officer rapped on the window of the car. She leaned away and Mr. Robinson wailed. Finally she wrenched her mouth away from his, as he grabbed his pinched lip, bloodied from having been caught on her braces.
The police officer had a scornful look on his face, causing Angie to blush. “Everything all right in here?” he asked, looking at Mr. Robinson as though he might actually take him into the police station. Wouldn’t that be just horrible? She’d have to spend all her babysitting savings to bail him out.
Then, just to make things even worse, Angie’s dad turned on the lights and looked out the door. “What’s going on here? Angie, is that you?”
The police officer seemed to know her dad and waved, saying, “Don’t worry, Judge, I have it under control.”
Angie’s dad waved and yelled, “Thanks, Frank. Send her in.”
Angie had no choice then but to exit the car and trudge back toward the house. Her father had already gone back inside but it still felt humiliating. She turned toward Mr. Robinson, trying to show him some support, but he was busy with the cop, handing over his driver’s license and all.
What was wrong with Ben, anyway? He had this nervy talent for making her remember stuff nobody would want to recall. What was the point anyway? Why did he have so little faith in her? He was always saying that her choices were mistakes. Didn’t she have enough people in her life to do that already?
Ben knew by the expression on her face precisely what she was thinking. If only she had a clue about what was on his mind, but no, as she had been since the third grade, Angie was oblivious. He stood there then, loitering outside the dressing room, discretely looking at all the frilly stuff, wondering if ever Angie would buy that stuff for him to enjoy, when she opened the dressing room door and flashed him the bra she’d been trying on. He could see it only for a moment and then his glasses got a little steamy. Was there no air conditioning in this blasted place? Were they trying to replicate the Victorian lack of modern devices? What the devil anyway. Victoria never had stuff like this. This whole day had gone to hell. Why did he let Angie drag him to all these places? He wasn’t Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua so why did he let her treat him like that? He felt relieved that her doctor’s appointment was imminent and he could soon flee.
Dr. Kevin Flicker liked his little projects. Always vaguely bored and disenchanted with the status quo of his daily life, Kevin regularly had one or two going simultaneously. It was what kept life interesting for him and held at bay the encroaching idea that his best years were possibly behind him. At the moment, Chrissy was his number one project. They talked on the phone nea
rly every day, sometimes more than once—it was titillating. There was nothing like finding a woman’s soft spot and pressing it repeatedly until….
“Koush Koush?” he asked her.
Her voice was filled with the sort of beguiling desperation he most adored in a woman. “I have to have it.”
Chrissy was by this time doing Yoga, and as she talked into the Bluetooth headset, she was free to move into the various poses that were so beneficial for limberness and peace of mind. At least she had achieved the limber part. She lay on her back, hips raised, repeatedly touching knee to shoulder, knee to shoulder, alternating sides.
“I could stop by the Moroccan restaurant and bring you some. With lamb or beef?” Kevin asked smoothly.
Chrissy had dropped both knees down to her shoulders and she lay in a contented little ball. “Silly,” she said.
Kevin’s voice grew more heated. He stroked two of the dangling balls in his Newton’s Cradle desk toy, weighing them in his hand. “It’s gonna happen for us, you know. It’s gonna be so hot, so sweet.”
Still on her back, Chrissy’s legs were extended straight up in the air and she opened them widely, then closed them tightly, only to open them yet again. Her breath remained steady but her voice had an odd rasp to it. “Sweet?” she asked expectantly.
Kevin smiled. He’d found the soft spot. “Yes, I’m going to start with hot fudge. And raspberries.” He paused for effect, long enough for her to gain a mental picture, something he anticipated might take a few seconds, considering all. Then he said, “Have you ever really looked at my tongue?”
Hungry for Love Page 2
