She strode down the street with confidence and purpose—nobody could stop her now. Except something did stop her, Bill and Laura, on one of their dates, inside the deli, laughing and smiling. She could even hear their voices if she strained.
“So we’re all set,” said Laura happily. That smug bitch.
Bill smiled at Laura like she was the only woman on earth. When had he last smiled at Chrissy that way? Even his lovemaking had grown sluggish. “I can’t wait for the weekend,” he said.
“It’s gonna be fantastic in every way,” said the deli girl improbably. “Food and fun.”
Chrissy felt a dagger plunge deeply into her heart. This was no treadmill injury—this was the real thing—piercing emotional pain. She stood there, pressed against the side of the building to remain unseen, but twisting and squirming in agony, attempting to decide what steps she should take. Should she maybe just stride in there, young, aglow and alive and confront Bill? She wrapped her arms around her head, trying to squeeze an answer out of her brain.
But then there were Bill and Laura, calmly walking down the street away from the deli as though nothing at all were wrong. Where was the guilt—that was what Chrissy wanted to know. The man had no shame and she was hitching her wagon to his horse? What had she been thinking? But really it all made sense. Look at the way he so cavalierly ate ice cream and sandwiches and virtually everything she couldn’t, right in front of her. Look at the way, night after night, he came home with bags full of food. Look at how every night he was either cooking or wanting to go out to eat. The man was a, was a, what was the word for someone who cared about nothing but food? Son of a bitch, that was the word. No wonder he constantly refused to get her the Koush Koush, a drug she desperately needed. Then she’d be thin and he’d be a big fat burger slurping cow. Chrissy was seething and grew more livid the longer she pondered this betrayal.
Gulping, Chrissy strode into the deli like a boxer about to climb into the ring and pulverize a long-time nemesis. She glared at the deli girl with absolute hatred and rage. Her words poured out in an unstoppable stream, “We can smell this place inside the gym. Nobody can work out because of you. You’re going to have to keep the kitchen door and windows tightly shut. It’s the only decent thing to do.”
Angie examined the clearly hysterical girl in front of her, considering what reply would make most sense, but ultimately all she could do was just be honest and reasonable and hope that she’d calm down a little. “It gets hot in there. I have assistants. They need to breathe.”
“They’re kitchen workers,” said Chrissy, becoming more and more distraught, “They’re used to the heat.” Then she burst into tears and cried with so much rage and force that Angie was afraid she’d bring on a stroke. “My whole life is falling apart,” Chrissy bleated, “I don’t need this shit now too.”
“Oh you poor thing,” said Angie sympathetically. “Come and sit down and have a cookie.”
Chrissy’s voice cracked and she croaked, “A cookie! A cookie? What are you—Satan?”
Angie had calmed Chrissy down a little and had got her seated at a table, drinking mineral water and eating an undressed salad. As they shared a plate of colorful sorbets, Angie spoke calmly, “It’s scary to think someone you love might be leaving you, but maybe it’s all in your imagination. You gotta have faith sometimes. There’s this doctor I’m in love with. He’s taken but I know that’s ending. He all but told me we’re gonna be together. I’m seeing him this weekend.”
Chrissy gasped, leapt from the table, knocking over her chair, and ran out of the deli as Angie watched in surprise.
Ben felt that in a way it was a good thing his most deeply disturbed client called him before he was due to go on a date. At least the hour he’d spend calming her down would help take his mind off the fact that he’d agreed to capitulate. Clint had been right and his offer to set Ben up with a nice sweet girl made sense. It was clear that to Angie he was completely invisible. He’d loved her virtually all his life and she’d never even noticed. To her he was a friend, and for all he knew, someone she considered a gay best friend, not the man she was meant to spend a lifetime loving. It was tragic, but it would have been more tragic if he had lingered in limbo, loving Angie and drifting all alone toward what would ultimately become senility. So he said yes, and this nice sweet girl was coming over and then they were going to dinner. Clint was out, allowing Ben to have the place to himself.
But at the moment he was busy placating this client who’d initially come to him to work through some of her food issues and by now had sunk into paranoia so deep that Ben wondered would he have to refer her to a psychiatrist who could install her in a hospital on twenty-four hour watch. She didn’t seem suicidal, although she sounded a little homicidal, but Ben was pretty sure it was mostly rhetoric. He didn’t stop to question whether he in any way was to blame for someone who at the beginning of therapy had seemed normal, a bit addicted to sweets, but coherent, and now sounded like a raving lunatic. Sometimes it took a while for the issues under the surface to emerge.
Chrissy was ranting, and this was the third time she had said the very same thing, her words punctuated with sniffles and deep sobs, “Him and two other women. And one is….” Here she took a big slobbering sob and continued, “Younger. And there’s…” and here her voice grew more enraged, more filled with disgust, as she gasped, “Food play too.” She stopped for a moment, just to sob, and then continued, “A fucking orgy.” Then from her mouth came several guttural sounds as though she were bringing up a hair ball, and she said, enraged, “I’m going to get him. I’d like to shove a Malomar in his mouth and tape it shut. He’d love that though. Not as though there isn’t one in his mouth every minute of the day. Um Malomars I mean, not tape.”
“Okay now Chrissy, I want you to listen to me,” said Ben calmly, also repeating himself for the third time. “Just focus on what I’m saying. Take a deep breath. C’mon now, let’s get you breathing again.”
“I’m breathing. You can hear me breathing, can’t you? I’d be dead otherwise, wouldn’t I? Most people have to breathe, don’t they?” Then Chrissy took several slobbery breaths through her nose, trying to clear it, then Ben heard her blow her nose a couple of times with very loud honks.
“Good job,” he said calmly. “You’re already sounding better. But the thing is this—you’re mad at your boyfriend, but you’ve never once had a conversation with him about this supposed affair, am I right?”
Chrissy began weeping again, and Ben could hear her muffled sobs, and he knew she was trying to conceal them from him.
“It’s ok to cry, Chrissy, if you’re feeling sad, let it out. I know you’re upset. I’m just trying to say that sometimes a conversation makes a big difference when it comes to impressions we have about other people. Then they can answer for themselves.”
“What’s he gonna say? He has to date other women so he has someone to stuff his face with? Every time I see them they’re eating. She’s a big honking woman, too. Like a size six, maybe an eight. She’s a plus sized woman. He’s into the fatties. Oh my God, that’s it. That’s it! I never put it together before. I was a little plump when we met, maybe as big as a size four. He likes fat women. That’s why he won’t get me the Koush Koush.”
“Didn’t you say he’s a physician?” asked Ben, “A diet doctor,” thinking about Angie and this quack she was always talking about. But no, this one’s name was Bill, not Kevin.
“Yes!” snorted Chrissy. “Well, I’m going to give him some of his own medicine. Ha!”
Ben was concerned enough to ask, “You’re not planning to drug his food or anything, right?”
“If I had the freaking Koush Koush you can bet I’d dose him with it, then maybe we’d be compatible again, a normal dieting couple in Beverly Hills. And nobody would have to fly off to India, would they?” Chrissy laughed then and said, “Gotta run. Thank you so much. Talk to you soon. I’ll let you know what happens. Don’t worry, Ben, I’m not planning to feed him an arsenic so
ufflé. I don’t know how to make a soufflé.”
Before Ben could keep her on the line long enough to be certain he didn’t have to call the authorities, she was gone, leaving him wondering just what she was planning. At least she sounded calmer at the end of the call than at the beginning, so that was hopeful. And then the doorbell rang and he was face to face with the nice, sweet girl.
Admittedly Clint hadn’t seen Colette since he broke her older sister’s heart in high school, and at that time she was what—twelve—but his description of her as a sweet little girl with a smile that lit up the room was still apt, but of course he’d seen a recent picture on Facebook. Colette walked in wearing a white sun dress made of some sort of fabric with little stitched holes that laced up the front with a pink ribbon and had a teeny pink belt. She looked like she’d just come from a garden party, but to Ben that was great. For a while he’d been nervous, expecting someone who dressed like an escapee from a hooker emporium, but at least it wouldn’t feel too scary escorting this nice young woman on a date.
“Where’s Clint?” she said a bit too breathlessly.
“Hmm, I’m not exactly sure,” said Ben honestly. “Can I offer you some wine before we leave for dinner?”
Colette nodded, and sat down on the couch. “Clint will be here soon, won’t he?” she asked.
“Gosh, I doubt it,” said Ben, walking in from the kitchen with a tray he’d prepared with cheese and crackers and a nice bottle of wine.
“Oh so this is supposed to be a real date?” Colette asked.
“Oh,” sighed Ben, suddenly aware of what was going on. “What did Clint tell you, anyway?”
“He said he had a nice guy for me to meet. But somehow I thought… oh I’m silly, you’ll hate me, I thought….”
“Clint, you thought Clint,” Ben said.
“Well, you know how it is when you have the feeling that someone is just meant for you? I was just this kid in school and Clint was dating my sister, and you could just see no way were they suited for each other, and I had this sense, this little feeling, but I was just this kid, and everyone laughed, said he was like a dress up crush, like when you play dress up and pretend you’re married, and he was just the pretend guy. But I always thought, no, he’s the guy.”
Ben smiled, handing a cracker with some cheese to Colette and swallowing one himself. “Oh I know a thing or two about that feeling. To tell the truth this evening was supposed to be the antidote for that feeling.”
Colette smiled and nodded. “Is he seeing anyone?”
Ben looked sympathetic but was honest, “He’s always seeing someone, in fact usually everyone.”
“He has lots of friends on Facebook. Like twelve hundred women and five guys.”
“It takes six guys to play basketball,” said Ben. “Tell you what. You’re here, it’s dinner time, I can order some Chinese, or we can go out and come back. Eventually he’ll be back and you two can sit and catch up. At least it will feel natural that way, not forced. And you look so pretty.”
Colette smiled. “You are nice. It’s too bad I didn’t meet you first.”
Ben laughed. “I’ve been in love since third grade with this adorable brown haired girl.”
“Tell me all about her,” said Colette.
- EIGHT –
This was the day. Bill noted with satisfaction the red circle on today’s calendar page. The party would soon begin and it would be a wonderful evening and they would be what he wanted—a happy family enjoying a celebration together. Chrissy would be surprised and would snap out of the crazy spell she’d been under. This would be the turning point in which everything went back to the way it was meant to be. Angie had worked really hard and he flipped through the pictures she’d just sent to his email. Everything was set up, and that giant banner saying “Happy Birthday, Chrissy,” was an inspiration. She would be so thrilled, he just knew it.
He pressed a button on his speaker phone and reached to unzip the garment bag hanging on his closet door.
Laura answered on one ring, and in a goofy voice, said. “Party central.”
Bill laughed. “Well, this is it. We’re all set. I have pictures right here from Angie and it’s all perfect. All that’s missing is us.”
“Hard to imagine she has no clue,” said Laura, the irony not lost on her at all.
“None,” said Bill. “She thinks it’s an anti-smoking fund raiser. What time are you picking her up?”
“I’ve got the kids right here,” said Laura, “And we were going to get her but Kevin called and said he could do it, so I said sure, great. So rare that he makes a thoughtful gesture.”
“That’s actually much better. We can all be there to yell surprise when she walks in with Kevin. See—things do have a way of working out.”
“Will!” said Laura, “Will, no, don’t do that. Oh geez. Bit of a spill—okay see you at the party.”
Bill shrugged, knowing it was nothing serious, and began changing for the party. He pulled up the slacks of his tuxedo and twisted and turned. Had they always been this tight? He knew they hadn’t. The jacket looked like he’d borrowed it from an organ grinder’s monkey. He turned this way and that and gazed at himself sausaged into a tux that was more than a size too small. He shook his head and sighed. Then he opened his desk drawer and removed his stash of candy bars and tossed them into the trash. The joke was on him. Now he’d have to go home and change into a suit, assuming he had one that fit. Bill laughed at himself as he slipped back into his clothes, zipped the tux back into its bag and walked through the empty waiting room. At least there was still plenty of time.
Bill pulled into his driveway behind Kevin’s Porsche just as Laura pulled in behind him and emerged from the car in a stunning evening gown. Bill pressed his hand to his heart, “Wow, lady, you’re a knockout.”
Laura smiled and said, “Will needs another shirt. Balancing cans of soda on his head.”
“Runs in the family,” said Bill. “Tuxedo’s way too tight. Malomars and candy bars. Physician heal thyself.”
“Ahh no. You just haven’t worn that tux in ages. Okay kids, let’s get that shirt. We have a party to attend.”
“C’mon let’s go see my grandma. I want her to see me all dressed up,” said Candy.
“Your grandma moved in next door?” asked Julie.
“Well, she’s adopted, but yes,” said Candy.
“She’ll see you at the party,” said Bill. But the kids were half way across the lawn by then. “Will, come back here, you need to change.”
“It’s okay,” said Laura, “I’ll grab a shirt and he can put it on in the car.”
Bill unlocked the door and held it open for Laura and they both walked toward the back of the house, but it was only a moment before they stopped, listening to noises that should not have been coming from the bedroom. A familiar look of resignation crossed Laura’s face while Bill’s registered disbelief. It must be something else. He strode toward the bedroom with Laura behind him.
And there in Bill’s bed sat Kevin and Chrissy, smoking. Both grabbed for the sheets as their respective partners entered the room. Bill stood looking at the couple, shaking his head sadly, as Laura grew enraged, almost more at the cigarettes than the obvious. “Screwing and smoking,” she said, “A new low, even for you.” Then Laura turned and walked out of the room.
Chrissy gazed at Bill with utter insolence, and in moving slightly, an emptied jar of fudge sauce tumbled out of the bed and onto the carpet. She looked down at the fudge then back up defiantly.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Bill with icy precision. “I’m going to a party to make excuses. Happy Birthday, Chrissy, by the way—surprise! When I get home you won’t be here. And Monday,” pointing at Kevin, “When I get to work, you won’t be there. The both of you can go to hell where you belong.”
“I can’t get all my stuff out of here tonight,” asserted Chrissy, determined to stand up to Bill despite the look on his face. “Who do you think you
are anyway, not like I don’t know what’s been going on with you and her.” She pointed toward the door where Laura no longer stood as Bill just shook his head at her.
Kevin looked toward the doorway his wife had vacated and wondered only briefly what Chrissy was talking about, then returned his focus to the more important issue. “Why should I give up half a practice that’s mine?” asked Kevin.
“I’ll get moving men to deliver your exercise crap wherever you want. And I’ll get a lawyer to split the practice. Both of you—get the hell out of my house. I’m calling the security company and they’ll make sure you’re out, stuff or no stuff.”
Bill turned and strode out the door, grabbing a suit jacket from his closet. He walked outside and stood next to Laura by their cars, a hand on her arm to steady her. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.
“Which part,” she asked, “The screwing, the smoking or the fudge?”
Bill shook his head, “What a couple of schnooks we are, huh. Thank God the kids weren’t with us.”
Laura nodded wryly. “So what do we do now? Call the caterer and cancel?”
“I hate to do that to her, she’s so sensitive, she’ll take it personally. Plus so many friends are probably already there. I’ll just go, make up a lie, hope it ends early. If I stay here I might take a baseball bat to them.”
“We’re always stuck being the grownups,” said Laura. “Should we just take one car?”
And that was what they did. According to Bill, Chrissy was sick and each time someone asked where she was, he made up a new, even creepier disease. As most of the people there were Bill’s friends, not Chrissy’s, nobody really minded her absence and they also didn’t leave early. They had a good time and nobody noticed how subdued both Bill and Laura were.
Sophie and Bert were the last to leave because Mrs. G had wanted to stay and help, although no help was needed. Angie’s crew was top notch and the party would have been a huge success under different circumstances. Sophie smiled toward the back, where the girls had conked out on some chairs. Will was riding the carousel, determined to set a record and each time he did another round, he shouted out the number.
Hungry for Love Page 11
