The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  WHEN JACKIE CALLED her, Cheryl rushed right over. The two friends stood in Doris’s living room, staring at each other.

  “What can we do?” Jackie finally spoke.

  “You can put up more than me,” Cheryl said. “It’s okay if you’re a bigger partner. I would do more, but this is everything I . . .”

  “I can’t,” Jackie said. “George looked over my finances and . . .”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” Cheryl demanded. “Robert had millions.”

  Jackie paced around, setting out the scented candles she’d found in Doris’s cupboards and methodically lighting them. “Everything’s tied up,” she lied, shaking out a match. “George said it would cause problems because of early withdrawal penalties, tax implications . . . it’s not a viable plan.”

  “What about some of your art?” Cheryl suggested. “Your paintings? Jackie, let’s gather them up, sell ’em and . . .”

  Jackie regarded her friend in amazement. “Darling, I’m a failed artist. I barely sold anything in Paris. And I only sold stuff here because Robert’s friends felt sorry for me.”

  “Your work’s amazing,” Cheryl said, wrinkling her forehead. “You could open a gallery and . . .”

  “Are we trying to get funding for a penis restaurant or some artistic fantasy?” Jackie said lightly. “Because if it’s the fantasy I’m really not that interested.” She knew that Cheryl wasn’t trying to hurt her, but Jackie had let go of the dream a long time ago.

  Looking around Doris’s living room, Jackie took in the dark impressions of wildflowers that dotted the walls. Some artist somewhere had painted those. Once upon a time, Jackie could have done it so much better.

  As a student at the Art Institute, Jackie had always received praise from the teachers and guest artists. Her bold work had attracted envy from even the most levelheaded artist in the room. At the time, she had believed a successful future was only a brush stroke away, but Jackie had never been clear on what she wanted that future to look like. Did she want to be a commercial artist? Own a gallery in New York? Create commissioned pieces for high-end clients? She couldn’t decide. As her fellow students followed the paths they had set for themselves and eventually surpassed her, Jackie continued to flounder.

  Some saw her marriage to Robert as an opportunity; Jackie found it limiting. Although many of his friends commissioned her work, the art they wanted to buy was very safe and conservative. Jackie accepted this, hoping that one day her creativity would have the chance to rebloom. When she decided to go to Paris, she was certain that she’d have some sort of a personal renaissance but, instead, spent hours on clichéd landscapes. Eventually, she just shoved her easel into a closet; paints shriveling up like butterflies trapped in jars.

  “What are our options?” Jackie said. “How do we get more money?”

  “I’m not sure.” Cheryl sighed. She perched on the edge of the couch. “I don’t want to open a restaurant with a bunch of strangers. It has to be ours—our heart, our soul, our money. Otherwise, what’s the point of even doing it?”

  “Yes,” Jackie said, swallowing a lump in her throat. “You’re right.” Cheryl would freak out if she knew George was funding Jackie’s part. She would call off the whole project.

  “You know . . .” Cheryl said. “There’s always Doug’s money.”

  Jackie lit another candle and shook out the match. A delicate wisp of smoke danced its way up to the ceiling. Nodding, Jackie said, “It’s not like they don’t have it. These are forty-dollar candles, never used.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Cheryl demanded. She stalked over to a candle and picked it up, checking the price tag stuck to the bottom. She slammed it back down on the table. “That’s just ridiculous.”

  When Cheryl and Sean were still married, they had constantly complained about the stacks of money Doug’s family came from. Every time Doug would buy a new computer or buy a box at a playoff game or debate about taking some safari that he and Doris were never motivated enough to take, Sean would buckle down and try to work even harder. It was a pathetic picture: Sean’s greasy hair bent over the drafting table in Cheryl’s kitchen, wearing some sort of shirt that looked like it came from the Goodwill.

  “At least he’s not trying to compete with Robert.” Jackie would sigh when Cheryl told her about it. “He could never catch up with him.”

  “He can never catch up with Doug,” Cheryl said, exasperated. “Their house is paid for. Mandy’s college education is paid for. Doug could retire today, if he wanted to. No matter how hard Sean works, he will never pass him. Ever. I don’t know why he tortures himself. It’s masochistic.”

  Now, Cheryl sank onto the cushions next to Jackie, shaking her head. “It’s amazing. Doug’s money could totally fund the rest of this thing but there’s no way Doris would do it. She’d let some weird moral standard get in the way.” Cheryl rubbed her hand against the couch cushions. “We are going to miss out on the greatest opportunity of our lives because Doris has her head up her ass.”

  “What did you just say?” a voice demanded. Doris was standing in the door of the living room, her fists clenched.

  “Oh, hi,” Jackie said brightly. “Welcome home.”

  “Why does Cheryl think I have my head up my ass?” Doris demanded. Her glasses were foggy, face red. “And who lit my candles?”

  “I did,” Jackie said quickly. “Listen, we have potential investors for The Whole Package . . .”

  “That’s great!” Doris’s mood changed immediately. She lit up, clapping her hands. “Good job, you guys.”

  “But we can’t afford to match them so the deal will fall apart,” Cheryl said.

  “Oh.” Doris took off her coat and started to walk toward the closet. She hesitated, then draped it neatly across a chair. “How much are you guys short?”

  “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” Cheryl said, throwing a pillow across the room. The pillow crashed to the floor, taking out a tiny decorative with it. “It’s a throw pillow,” she said quickly, at Doris’s look.

  “It’s mine,” Doris told her, setting it back on the sofa. “Please don’t throw my things.”

  “Just . . . Can you two please . . . ?” Jackie said, then blurted out, “Doris, we need you to be a partner. Please. We can’t do it without you.”

  Doris looked at her in surprise. Lips pressed together, she perched on the edge of the sofa, folding and unfolding her hands. Unconsciously, Jackie did the same thing. They were dry and cracked from the cold. No matter how much scented lotion she lathered them with during the day, they always felt like cardboard in the winter. Jackie would have liked to go back to sleeping with moisturizing gloves but the lotion she liked was too expensive.

  “What would a partner do, exactly?” Doris finally asked.

  “Create the restaurant,” Jackie said, voice bright. Convincing Doris would change everything. “It could be whatever we wanted—like planning a party! We’d make up the decorations, design the menu, hire the dancers, think up advertising . . . decorate the place with our gorgeous selves . . .” Jackie’s hands gestured wildly; she was giving such a great performance she may as well have tap danced across the coffee table. “We’d be the glamorous mavens who revolutionized Schaumburg and we’d be the most famous women business owners ever.”

  Doris was silent. “It sounds like a lot of work,” she finally said.

  Cheryl threw up her hands, exasperated. “Are you out of your mind? Of course it’s a lot of work.”

  “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Doris protested. “I just . . . I would have loved to have a career,” she said, looking down. “You know that. Doug was the one who wanted me to stay home and take care of him and the house and cook and clean and . . .” She looked around the living room. It was pristine. “I hope you’ll let me do it,” she said softly. “I would really like to be a partner. It sounds . . . fun.”

  Jackie’s stomach dropped. She and Cheryl looked at each other, eyes wide, before turning to D
oris and screeching, “Really?”

  Doris was staring down at her lap. “Really.”

  “Wait,” Cheryl said, hands on her hips. “You do understand we’re talking about a male version of Hooters, right? You seriously want to put your name on a restaurant about a penis?”

  “Cheryl,” Jackie snapped.

  “I’m sorry but there are things to think about,” Cheryl insisted. “What about when Doug comes back? How long will it take for her to rethink it all and back out of the deal?”

  “I won’t back out,” Doris argued, getting to her feet. “If I say I’m going to do it I’m going to do it.”

  “Girls, this is ridiculous,” Jackie seethed. “George is on a deadline. I need to know whether or not this is something you’re both interested in. Or I have to tell him it’s off.”

  Doris fidgeted, looking from Cheryl to Jackie back to Cheryl again. “I’m in,” she said softly. “I am, if you’ll have me.”

  “You have no business experience,” Cheryl warned. “I hope you know enough to know that you could lose everything.”

  Doris’s chubby cheeks stretched into a bitter smile. She rubbed her hands on her size 16 jeans. “If I did,” Doris said, nodding, “Doug would deserve it. He owes me at least that much.” Then she blew out a candle and stomped out of the room.

  The girls were silent for a moment, and then Jackie came to her senses. Cheryl had to make up with Doris. Otherwise, everything could still fall apart. “Go make up with her,” Jackie said. “Now.”

  Cheryl’s eyes widened. “No way. Just because we’re business partners does not mean we have to be friends.”

  Jackie got to her feet. She put her hands on her hips and her nose in the air, the same stance she’d had as the captain of the cheerleading squad. Back then, there had been more than one instance when Jackie had been forced to mediate for bickering cheerleaders. One time, she’d had to stop practice for an hour until one girl finally apologized to another for sitting in her boyfriend’s lap at a party. “You need to go talk to her,” Jackie said, in the same tone she would have used back then. “Do it.”

  “We’re not sixteen,” Cheryl reminded her. “You can’t just tell me what to do.”

  “You know what? You’ve been picking on Doris since I’ve been back,” Jackie said. “And I get it. She hurt your feelings but it’s time to move on. Right now, you’re the one who looks like the bitch.”

  Cheryl ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Look, you’ve been the head of marketing for years,” Jackie said. “You should know better than anyone else—you don’t bully a top investor when there’s money on the table.”

  When Cheryl didn’t say anything, Jackie pursed her lips and said, “Well, well, well. Maybe Stan had the grounds to fire you after all.”

  Jackie walked down the hall and slammed the door to her room. Once there, she stood and waited. Sure enough, she heard Cheryl let out a big sigh, then walk down the hall toward Doris’s room.

  CHERYL FOUND DORIS lying facedown on the bed, pressing one of Doug’s shirts against her face. She drew back in surprise. She had done that with Sean’s clothes, even though she had been the one who had told him to go away.

  Cheryl cleared her throat. “Doris . . .”

  Doris didn’t move. She looked like a beached whale against the starched shirt and mound of white feather pillows.

  “Jackie’s making me apologize to you,” Cheryl told her. “So, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” the muffled voice said.

  Cheryl stared at Doris, surprised. “What?”

  “I know you’re mad at me for what I said that one time.” Doris rolled over and looked at her, blue eyes bright. “That was stupid of me and I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Cheryl said, feeling her voice catch. The last thing she had expected was for Doris to apologize. The cold pain that had been sitting in her chest for months seemed to break apart and thaw. Cheryl let out a deep breath and sank onto the edge of the bed. “I love you, Dori,” she admitted. “We’re like sisters. I think because of that, sometimes we . . . we don’t think it’s permanent when we fight. I let it get too far and I’m sorry.”

  “You wouldn’t even call me back,” Doris said, twisting the sheets around her finger. “You just cut me off.”

  “I know,” Cheryl said, putting her head in her hands. “I was busy with work and before I knew it, all this time had passed and . . . I was embarrassed. About what you said. It’s no excuse, but the thing that happened with Sean wasn’t easy on me, no matter what everyone thinks. I felt so stupid after you talked to me. I felt like a whore.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Doris said, touching her hand. “Well, I guess I did at the time, to be honest, but I’ve been thinking about it and thinking about it and I was wrong. You’re my best friend. I should be there for you. Not judge you.”

  “Look, I get it. When those women were talking about me, it must have been embarrassing for you,” Cheryl said, picking at the edge of the white duvet cover. “It was embarrassing for me, to hear about it. But it’s not fair. It’s a double standard, and honestly, I always thought you’d be on my side, no matter what.”

  A tear ran down Doris’s cheek. “I am, Cheryl. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Cheryl said. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.” Cheryl grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and handed it to Doris.

  “Do you think Jackie’s going to stay?” Doris said, sniffling. “I really want the three of us to be together again.”

  “I don’t know,” Cheryl said. She’d been wondering that herself. Lowering her voice, Cheryl said, “She hasn’t said anything about buying a house, so I just don’t know. I bet she’s planning on going back to Paris or opening an art gallery in Maui or New York or something.”

  “She’d stay if we open the restaurant,” Doris said, wiping her glasses. “She’d have to.”

  “For a while, at least.” Cheryl nodded.

  “I wonder why she came back.” Doris folded Doug’s shirt and slid it under a pillow. “Have you asked her?”

  “I did,” Cheryl said. “And she gave me some line of bullshit. You know how she is. She’s so secretive. But if she’s a partner . . .”

  The idea hung between them. Finally, Cheryl stood up and stuck out her hand. Doris took it, lumbering to her feet. They looked at each other for a long moment, not letting go. Cheryl felt her eyes fill with tears. Quickly, she blinked them back.

  “Promise me we’ll never fight like that again,” Doris said.

  Cheryl nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The two shared a smile, then after a long moment, filed back out to the living room. Jackie was back out there, sitting on the couch Indian-style and fiddling with the clasp on her watch. Seeing them, she lit up and leaped to her feet. “Friends?” she beamed.

  Cheryl and Doris grinned, awkwardly putting their arms around each other. “Friends.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  CHERYL WAS ON A MISSION. NOW THAT THEY HAD THE MONEY they had to get the location for The Whole Package and fast. They planned to open the restaurant right around Thanksgiving. Even though Cheryl had never opened a restaurant before, she knew some things about the business from market research and others just from living in the world. For example, the days leading up to Christmas were the best for restaurants and the days after were the worst.

  Every Christmas, Cheryl saw friends and acquaintances race against the clock, trying to bake cookies, buy presents, and still look amazing at every social gathering. Women would band together for the shopping portion, hitting department stores with a hunger rarely seen throughout the year. For Cheryl, Christmas was the only time she really liked to shop. There was something about the Christmas tunes playing in the background, the smell of warm coffee and candied almonds, and the constant hum of energy through the stores that put her in the spirit.

  After shopping, there was nothing she loved more t
han stepping into a restaurant to exchange gifts with friends. Cheryl had always loved toasting Christmas bonuses with a starter of sparkling champagne and to keep the cheer up, ordering bottle after bottle of ruby red wine. After a hard day of shopping, feasting on a gorgonzola-encrusted filet or an overpriced piece of fish was the height of decadence, not to mention finishing off a meal with a piece of mixed-berry tart. Diving into its nutty crust and creamy center, she would giggle with whoever she was with and excuse the gluttony by saying, “Why not? It’s the holidays. It would be rude not to have dessert.” No, Cheryl had never seen a restaurant near the shopping district that wasn’t packed all through December. It was only after the holidays, when the credit card bills rolled in and the tax clock started ticking, that the waiters started peeking out windows, searching for anyone willing to spend money. Business people with expense accounts still showed up for ahi tuna salads and lamb chops but otherwise, the restaurants were empty until Valentine’s Day.

  Knowing all this, Cheryl was determined to get The Whole Package up and running as soon as possible. Finding the perfect location was step one. Thanks to the help of an overeager Realtor named Betsy, the right spot dropped into their lap like a gift from Santa Claus.

  “You need a place for a restaurant?” Betsy squealed, slamming a folder onto her already crowded desk. “The best spot opened up, right in the center of town. Old Millstines just closed.”

  Jackie, Cheryl, and Doris were all sitting in a row by Betsy’s desk, waiting to see the options she’d have available for them. They certainly had not expected this.

  Cheryl’s heart jumped. “You’re kidding,” she finally said.

  “This is fate,” Jackie agreed, nodding.

  Doris took off her glasses and wiped them nervously.

  “Good news, right?” Betsy said, beaming.

  It wasn’t good news, it was great news. Cheryl could not believe their luck. Millstines was smack dab in the middle of the downtown shopping district. This was one of the main parts of their sleepy little town, right in the center of everything. At Christmas-time, with the proximity of the mall and other theme restaurants like Medieval Times, the location for Millstines would pay for itself.