Hungry for Love

by Nancy Frederick

  “No, no, I’m here for you, Kevin. Do you still have my number?” Kevin looked so worried, Angie didn’t want to trouble him, so she pulled another card from her purse and scribbled her home number on the back before giving it to him. “Here—take this one.”

  Kevin shook his head sadly. “I’m just not free to come and go. If only Bill could have a taste of what I feel with you.”

  Thrilled, Angie sighed and glowed with the flattery, then came back to earth, saying, “I think he’s a quack. He’s nothing compared to you. He told me to eat—to taste again.”

  “Really?” asked Kevin, seemingly shocked, then he did an about face and calmly said, “Maybe you should try his approach. Get on his good side.” He scrutinized Angie’s face, but nothing seemed amiss, so he continued, “Oh no, I could never ask you to….”

  Kevin felt good about the way that encounter had gone. If he had planned it precisely it couldn’t have gone any better than it had naturally. Soon things would be happening, thanks to his cleverness and skills with women. It was exciting to wait and watch as the whole thing whirled into being. And wouldn’t Bill be amusing when caught with his pants down for a change.

  He drove his Porsche leisurely, while he talked on his cell phone. “It’s all in motion now, baby. It’s an unstoppable force, like fudge boiling over.” Wanting to enjoy the thrills and chills of the conversation, he pulled into an empty space and just sat there, talking.

  Conveniently parked several cars behind Kevin were Butch and Wimp. Butch rapped her fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel as Wimp repeatedly turned to look at a parcel in the back seat.

  “I asked you to hold that steady between your legs on the floor up here,” said Butch with no small degree of irritation.

  Wimp shook his head with fear and apprehension. “I didn’t fight in any wars cause I didn’t want my balls blown off. Do you think I would let that happen here in Beverly Hills?”

  Butch reached for her crop. He had been getting increasingly bold and cheeky and she knew she should put a stop to it immediately. Their whole relationship was going downhill because of this quest, but she knew she couldn’t simply abandon that poor gym girl who was so at the mercy of this snake.

  “We’re gonna make a point today,” she said. “If he can’t stand the heat, he should stay out of the bedroom!”

  Kevin had relaxed back against the leather seat of his Porsche and was enjoying the way the conversation was going. “Until you moan. Until you whimper and beg me to stop, no to never stop.” He listened as Chrissy’s voice got that thready, raspy quality that so turned him on, then he continued, “I’m going to take some of those licorice whips….” He paused again then responded to her query, “Red.” And then another pause, followed by “Okay, red and black.”

  Wimp had detached his seatbelt and gingerly set the tote bag between him and Butch as they each turned their full attention toward it and the last minute tinkering Butch had to do. Dangling a few tools from the very edge of his fingers as though he were holding something nauseatingly drippy or gooey, he set them down on his lap. Butch faced the middle of the car and focused completely on what she was doing. She knew it would be no problem after all her years working in studio FX and prop departments. If she could build fireworks—and she could—she could certainly do this.

  Wimp’s hands clearly trembled. “Are you really so sure we should go this far,” he asked. “We could get into tr….”

  Clenching the needle nosed pliers, Butch looked up and glared at him for what felt like the zillionth time. “We’re taking a stand.”

  Wimp shook his head. “I just don’t want to cross the line.”

  Butch grew even more livid. “That man is an enslaver of women. He’s the one who’s crossed the line and now he’s gonna hang from it.”

  Kevin was cooing into the phone, “Yes,” he sighed in his sexiest voice, “Gummy bears.” He couldn’t take it any longer. “I’m coming over there.”

  Kevin abruptly pulled out into traffic and sped away as an identical Porsche smoothly pulled into his vacated space. The doors opened and a couple exited the car. She was elegant but no beauty and she spoke with an irritating Valley girl accent. She carried an Ipad, onto which she intermittently typed and flipped through information. Her companion was dressed and sounded like a New York wise guy, with that sleek, sharp, shiny suit and a certain prancing air. His accent was so thick it was almost impossible to understand him.

  As they walked toward a restaurant, she said flirtatiously, “Um, like, I totally knew you were totally right for us the moment I saw you—I mean totally.” He gazed at her like Mr. Very Cool, and swaggered even more, patting what appeared to be a bulge in his jacket pocket, then snapping his sunglasses.

  “Of cauze you did,” he said, “I din’t wawk in yaw daw fwaw nuttin’. I knoo what daw it wuz and whut you waunted and I wuz the guy tah do it. No questyuns axed.”

  She shivered a little with expectation and they both entered the bistro and disappeared from sight.

  Wimp and Butch were deep in concentration but shortly Butch nodded, indicating everything was ready. She gestured toward the car and nodded at Wimp. “Ok, do just what I told you.”

  Wimp grimaced and then exited the Honda, casually but neurotically walking toward the Porsche. Stopping constantly to gaze around for potential hazards, he followed Butch’s directive and planted some sticky stuff at the bumper and under fenders, always jumping back from the car each time. He glanced at his watch in dread, then hightailed it back to their vehicle.

  “Quick,” he said terrified, “Get outta here. Go. Go. Go.”

  Butch sneered and said, “Wait.”

  Then it came, a loud pop, and the midsized explosion Butch had so carefully engineered. She laughed with glee, then held her hand up for Wimp to slap, and he attempted to fist bump her and then she flicked both hands in exasperation at him. He wasn’t that young, but he never got the high five. Why did she bother.

  Preparing to drive away, Butch noticed the wise guy and his companion running hysterically out of the bistro toward the car.

  Butch, horrified, looked toward Wimp, who was even more upset than the owners of the Porsche. “What? What? What?” Then she pulled the car out of their spot and sped away.

  Standing by the flaming Porsche, the woman was stunned to observe her companion, who in the space of seconds had transformed from a macho New York wise guy into a hysterical Valley boy. His gestures had gone instantly from macho and assured to effeminate and panic-stricken.

  He waved and flailed toward two cops and some firemen who’d arrived on the scene almost instantly. “Oh officers! Officers! Over here! I’m dying, I’m dying. Bobby’s car, I wasn’t even supposed to drive it, now look at it. Doesn’t it break your heart? I may need medical attention. I could very well be in shock. And what will I tell Bobby? I’ll be sleeping on the couch for a year.”

  The woman looked toward him, embarrassed that she’d made such a fuss over him, chagrinned that she’d envisioned more happening between them during the shooting. “What happened to your New York….”

  Suddenly realizing that he’d fallen totally out of character, the wise guy pulled himself together and attempted to regain the macho that had dissolved in the explosion. “I still get the part, right?”

  - SIX –

  Laura parked in front of a festively decorated house, several clusters of balloons out front indicating that something big was happening here today. It was—her daughter Julie’s good friend Jessica was turning nine and just as Laura was about to enter the house to pick Julie up, she and Candy stepped outside. Both girls giggled and smiled happily, their faces painted to resemble cats. They each held balloons, goodie bags and were excitedly talking.

  “Daddy!” yelled Candy, and Laura turned and spotted Bill, exiting his car and walking toward the girls. Candy raced toward Bill and hugged him tightly. He waved toward Laura, smiling.

  “Hiya cat women!” he said cheerfully, “Did you ha
ve fun?”

  Candy nodded vigorously. “Yes, it was much better than Cheryl’s party. Nobody threw up!”

  Bill laughed. “That’s a relief.”

  Laura smiled at the girls and their happy faces, then turned to Bill and asked, “Have some time? I have an idea.”

  Laura left her car parked on the street and the four of them took off in Bill’s car toward Santa Monica. As they turned onto the pier and walked toward the carousel, both girls squealed, “Merry-go-round.”

  The antique carousel with its beautifully restored horses and benches on the celebrated Santa Monica pier was a local treasure. Only more recently had the city added an amusement park on the pier, making it an even more popular spot.

  The girls raced toward the ticket booth as Laura spoke softly to Bill, “What do you think?” Then she silently mouthed the word, “Party?”

  Bill nodded and smiled, answering, “It’s perfect. I love it!”

  “I love it too,” squealed Candy. “Let’s ride a bunch of times!”

  Bill paid for eight tickets and they all climbed up onto horses, peacefully going up and down as the nostalgic carousel music played. The girls were delighted when the ride ended and Bill held up another set of tickets so they could do it all over again.

  When the girls suggested a ride on the roller coaster, Bill and Laura looked at each other cautiously. Bill shook his head, “Little girls who’ve been eating cupcakes and candy all day probably don’t belong on a roller coaster. We don’t want to break that throw up record today, do we?”

  Candy shrugged. She didn’t like throwing up but she didn’t want the day to end.

  “What if we go stroll along the Promenade for a while,” suggested Laura.

  “Strolling,” said Julie.

  “Strolling is good,” said Candy.

  Third Street had long been designated a walking area, no cars allowed, and in the last two decades had become the prime gathering spot of the district. Couples went on dates, parents took children to see the amateur performers who themselves were there in hopes of being seen by someone in the entertainment industry. Moviegoers lined up and ate excellent pizza, and shoppers walked the several blocks, accumulating purchases as they went. There were restaurants to suit every palate and pocket book and it was in general a fun place to stroll.

  “We’re outside and no smoking,” enthused Laura. “Not allowed here. Fantastic.”

  Candy and Julie demanded to stop and offer coins to a monkey with his organ grinder—they laughed as the monkey took the money right from their hands and begged for more coins so he wouldn’t walk away.

  They continued their stroll and Laura stopped to listen to a little girl singing—she couldn’t have been more than twelve. She had a boom box with her, and apparently her dad was her manager. He’d cue up the music and she’d sing, a microphone comfortably in her hand. The girls were less entranced and pulled on their parents to move forward.

  “Ohh,” enthused Julie, “Tattoos.”

  Bill scowled, but Candy squealed too. “Just how much paint do you need on your skin in one day?” Bill asked.

  Laura laughed. “Never enough,” she said. “These wash right off, don’t they?” Laura asked the hopeful artist, who was busy showing the girls all the designs. When she nodded, Laura looked to Bill, who also nodded and soon enough the girls were debating where to put this newest ink.

  Julie held up her ankle, “I think flowers right here, like an ankle bracelet. One I won’t lose!”

  “Cool idea,” said Candy. “I’m gonna have this heart, right here on my arm.” Bill winced a little as he saw Candy had chosen a blue heart with the word Mom in pink in the middle.

  Laura touched Bill gently on the arm and both parents stood silently, watching their little girls being decorated as the girls oohed and aahed with excitement. Just as the artist was finishing, Laura observed a hippie girl passing, holding a young puppy.

  “Oh look,” said Laura, “Doesn’t he just remind you of….” Laura gazed tenderly at the puppy as the girl stopped and allowed everyone to pat him. Then she pointed a few steps down, toward where the SPCA had set up a table for pet adoptions.

  “Be very gentle,” said Laura to the girls, who were busy patting the puppies who were corralled in a fenced area on top of a long table.

  “Pat him, Mommy,” said Julie. “It’s okay. He doesn’t mind.”

  Laura reached down and picked up one of the puppies, snuggling it tightly under her chin and sighing sweetly. “Ohh you’re such a little doll, such a little love bug,” Laura cooed.

  Bill thought of Kevin, and said cautiously, “Are you sure?”

  Laura tried to return the puppy to the coral but she just couldn’t. She looked helplessly at Bill, who had already made a donation and bought a leash. Julie and Candy pranced along beside Laura, taking turns petting the puppy.

  “Should we call him George II?” asked Laura.

  Bill took the dog from her arms briefly and lifted it, scrutinizing its privates. He laughed, “Georgette,” he said.

  “No!” said Laura laughing back at him, “Gracie!”

  They stopped again at a sunglass cart where the girls were busy trying on the most outrageous designs, not at all designed for children. Julie reached out and set some heart shaped, diamond trimmed glasses onto Gracie’s nose and the dog shook her head but seemed to be smiling. “She needs these,” insisted Julie.

  “No, she doesn’t,” said Bill and Laura simultaneously.

  Chrissy hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time. Her life was actually moving forward. This morning when she dressed in her favorite tailored suit, she was excited to notice how great she looked—and that the suit seemed substantially looser than it had the last time she’d worn it. This was her big day. She’d walked into the diet center like she owned the place and had been hired on the spot. Now she would have something of her own, something great, and she’d be able to help and inspire other people.

  She glanced around the room. Everything was in place for her first session. She’d refilled the pamphlets station. The doctor’s scale had been dusted—by someone else of course, not by a superstar like herself. She was here to motivate people, not to dust. It was a huge step up. The bulletin board was nicely organized, thanks to her, and it contained all the weight loss information the center offered. She’d even added some material on her own, downloaded and printed at home. A second bulletin board boasted a collection of before and after photos. Those were the success stories. Chrissy could just imagine how many success stories she would create and all the grateful people who would walk into their healthier, thinner lives, thanks to her wisdom, knowledge, and most of all experience. Nobody knew more about this subject than she did. Well, of course Bill knew a lot. But he only knew it from the outside. She was right here in the trenches. And she’d lived it. Lived it all her life.

  Seated in chairs in the big sharing circle, wearing name tags, first name only of course, were half a dozen fatties. No, Chrissy wouldn’t even think of them like that—they were future thin people. All she had to do was show them the way and the light. She was ready. These were people who were like her, who wanted what she wanted. They were going to be her best friends some day, she knew it—and she would be their mentor.

  Chrissy slipped closer into the room, taking a moment to listen to what was being said in the sharing circle. She just knew it was something right on, something inspirational. But wait….

  A woman tagged Glenda was whining almost, speaking with resignation, “I couldn’t help it. The kids gave me the candy. It was love, not just food.”

  Then someone labeled Jean chimed in and said sympathetically, “It’s so hard sometimes because you take care of them, but who takes care of you.”

  A gruff looking middle-aged guy called Lou spoke up with a crusty voice, “These pre-packaged dinners are so small. I like a nice steak….”

  Chrissy was aghast. They were heathens! They needed her desperately and where was she? She
was right here, ready, willing and able to charge into the group and get these people in order. “What am I hearing?” she said sternly. She stomped into the circle and walked around, stopping briefly in front of each dieter, glaring, then moving on. “You people are losers! Except where your diets are concerned.”

  She took a full minute for this to penetrate, then she marched toward Glenda and stood staring at her, making and holding that all-important eye contact. “Is candy important?” she sneered angrily, and snidely continued, “From the kids?” She wagged a finger at Glenda and said sternly, “No! It isn’t!”

  She walked around the circle once again. Then she zeroed in on Lou. Her eyes narrowed. Her lips clenched. “Next you’re going to be whining you miss your beer.”

  She raised a fist and shook it with passion. Then, looking them all in the eyes, she said, “Am I gonna hear next that you don’t want to get rid of your size fifty jeans?” Glaring intensely, she continued, “What’s wrong with you people?”

  Just at that moment, Chrissy’s supervisor, a girl of only twenty-five, pretty, youthful, and naturally slender, gazed in the room. This was exciting. Chrissy had gotten off to a fabulous start and now Elise could see her in action. She smelled a promotion coming. And many newly thin people following her to the ends of the earth. She knew what to do: amp it up a little.

  With evangelical fervor, Chrissy continued, pacing, stopping, glaring, and gazing into eyes that began to mist over, eyes that held an occasional tear, or a newly felt rage. “Do you want to look like beached whales for the rest of your lives?” Chrissy snapped her fingers toward the fattest person in the circle and continued, “You think you’ll get love that way? You think you’ll get sex that way?” She made a gesture of questionable taste then continued, marching with increased vigor and glaring even more deeply at her clients. “Your husbands—and wives—are probably too scared to have sex with you. Afraid you’ll roll over on them. SPLAT!” She clapped her hands together for emphasis.