The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  Millstines had been around forever. It was an upscale, popular place—a mom and pop, but with style. There was a bar in the center, fireplaces to the side and plenty of room for big and small tables. The way it was set up, they wouldn’t even have to remodel for The Whole Package; they would just need to build a stage for their dancers. Even though Betsy’s high-pitched voice had already given her a headache, Cheryl almost leaped up and hugged her.

  “The Millstines want to retire, you know,” Betsy gushed. “They plan to head to Florida, just like all old people do. To be honest, I’ll probably do the same when I’m that age. Florida’s beautiful.”

  Betsy gestured at the calendar of tropical locations hanging over her desk as though to emphasize the point. The calendar hung next to magazine cutouts of male celebrities and a large sticker of a cartoon bunny. Jackie giggled.

  “They will be sooo excited to have another restaurant open. It’ll be like carrying on their legacy. Do you think your restaurant will be open by Thanksgiving?” Betsy pressed. “They can stop by before they leave for Florida.”

  “Um . . .” Doris hedged, looking around Betsy’s office as though there were video cameras recording the exchange.

  “Betsy, let’s just keep those little details under wraps,” Cheryl suggested, leaning forward in her chair. “We should make an offer and close first because our restaurant probably won’t be the Millstineses’ thing.”

  Betsy cocked her head and picked up a purple ink pen. She started clicking it. “Why? They’re not Kosher or anything.”

  Doris turned beet red, shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. “It’s a theme restaurant . . .” she tried.

  “Like a theme party? My friends and I just had an eighties theme party. I wore Electric Youth perfume and, like, a Cyndi Lauper wig. Blue and yellow. It was hilarious. What’s the theme?”

  “Betsy,” Jackie gushed, gesturing toward the celebrities on Betsy’s wall. “Imagine attractive men, partially clothed, serving your meals in style.”

  Betsy whipped her head back toward the pictures. “Really?” She was transfixed for a moment, as though imagining George Clooney swathed in a silky thong and feeding her bonbons. She turned back to the three women, grinning. “You really mean, like, half-naked?”

  Cheryl and Jackie nodded.

  “That’s so hot . . .” Betsy breathed. Her entire body relaxed, as though she’d had a massage.

  Doris ducked her head and opened her purse. She pulled out papers, tissues, and lipstick tubes. Mindlessly, she began sifting through them, dumping certain things in the tiny trash bin in front of the desk.

  “Whenever this place opens, I’m bringing all the girls and telling everyone,” Betsy promised, snapping back into action. “I’m gonna IM my best friend, Jenny, but I won’t give away the location or anything. Naked men . . . that’s so cool.” Betsy pulled out her keyboard and started typing away, repeating, “It’s just hot.”

  Cheryl shifted in her chair. The clock was ticking. “Let’s go ahead and . . .”

  The young Realtor nodded, giggling and pointing at her computer. “Jenny just wrote LOL.”

  Jackie and Doris looked at each other, confused.

  “Acronym,” Cheryl translated. “Laugh Out Loud. You guys seriously don’t know that?”

  When Jackie and Doris shook their heads, Cheryl groaned, “You guys are old. So, listen, Betsy. We want to make an offer . . .”

  “Wait.” Doris panicked. She shoved everything back in her purse and tossed it on the ground. In the process, she bumped into an organizer on Betsy’s desk and knocked it to the floor. As Doris scrambled to pick up the colored paper clips, Post-it notes, and staples, she said, “If we’re partners we have to decide together whether or not to make an offer.”

  Betsy watched them, hands poised but twitching over her keyboard.

  “Doris is right,” Jackie said, fluffing her cotton candy hair. “This is our first big decision as a group. If we’re partners, everything has to be thirty-three, thirty-three, thirty-three, oui?”

  Cheryl’s face flushed. After this, Betsy would know that they were amateurs and, therefore, suckers. Even though she wanted the location for Millstines more than anything, they were going to have to lowball whatever offer the Realtor gave them.

  “Exactly,” Doris said. She placed the organizer back on Betsy’s desk and leaned back in her chair. Folding her hands, she looked pointedly at Cheryl.

  Cheryl sighed. “Okay, great. Girls, are we gonna do this Millstines thing or ”—she shrugged to prove she could go either way—“shop around?”

  “Well,” Jackie said, fluffing her hair again, “the location’s darling. People associate it with a successful restaurant already but that could be a problem. What if people walk in wanting Millstines? What do you think, Doris?”

  Doris fiddled with her watch. “We need to look at it before we decide anything. We need inspections and appraisals before we even think about making an offer. What if the kitchen is a mess?”

  Cheryl hated to admit it, but Doris did have a point. The girls knew nothing about the condition of the inner workings of the place, even though they’d sat in the dining room countless times. Suddenly, she felt nervous. What if their dream location was a bust?

  Betsy nodded, her dark curling hair bouncing in the light from the window. “You’re absolutely right. Then, if everything’s to your satisfaction we could probably get the offer approved and papers signed within a week or two. The Millstines are super motivated.”

  Cheryl waited. “Any other objections?” she said but the girls were silent. “They’re super motivated,” she repeated. “We should get on this and figure it out.”

  “Sounds divine,” Jackie said. “Doris?”

  Even though Doris nodded, her face said she’d rather be doing just about anything other than opening a restaurant centered on a phallic symbol. “Sounds good,” she said weakly.

  “Should we start the inspections?” Betsy was suddenly total efficiency, pushing back her keyboard and hopping to her feet. “We’ll run down there and take a peep.”

  Cheryl burst out laughing. “Perfect phrasing, Betsy. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “JACKIE, I’M TIRED,” DORIS SAID, HANDING HER THE REMOTE CONTROL. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  Jackie looked at Doris in surprise. After they had checked out Millstines, Cheryl had gone home to do some paperwork and now it was just the two of them, camped out on the sofa. They had been watching reruns of Sex and the City. Another episode was about to start, Jackie giggling as she always did at Sarah Jessica Parker getting her tutu wet, staring at the bus that drenched her with loving chagrin.

  Before Jackie had left for Paris, the girls used to get together to watch the episodes every Sunday night. They’d snack on cheese and wine, arguing over who got to be what character, even though it was pretty obvious. Jackie was Carrie, Cheryl was Samantha, and Doris was Charlotte. The girls only bothered to claim Miranda if they were in a bad mood.

  “Doris, think it through,” Jackie said, grabbing the remote and pausing the television. “What would Charlotte do? Would she go to bed at eight thirty?”

  Doris was sprawled out at the end of the couch, stuffed into some atrocious flannel get-up and snacking on a box of chocolates. The box was empty, except for the raspberry ones Doris hated. Those were broken in half, mixed up with the paper candy holders. “If she was tired,” Doris said, “yes, she would.”

  “No wonder you’re tired,” Jackie said, indicating the candy scraps. “You need to start eating better.”

  “I know, but . . .” Doris waved her hands around, as if to say she wouldn’t know where to begin; they would betray her and grab for the candy anyway.

  “If you’re bored with this we can order a movie or something,” Jackie tried, clicking on the Menu button. Hundreds of channels popped up and Jackie laughed, clapping her hands and pointing at the list in delight. She was two years behind on American pop
culture, proving that exotic travel did not always come without consequence.

  “No,” Doris said softly. She had dark circles under her eyes. “I really need to go to bed.”

  “Then let’s just talk,” Jackie pleaded, switching off the television. The prospect of being alone with her thoughts and worries was not appealing. She needed Doris to stay up with her. “What do you think about the offer we made on Millstines? I hope it goes through. If it does, we can do something with our lives!”

  “I am doing something. I’m raising a daughter,” Doris recited, “and that’s enough for me.” She glanced at the clock above the mantel. “Speaking of, she’ll be home from volleyball practice soon. I want to be in bed before she gets here.”

  Jackie sighed. “You two still aren’t getting along?”

  “No,” Doris admitted. “And it just keeps getting worse.”

  Out of the three of them, Jackie had always thought Doris would make the best parent. She had such a close relationship with her mother that when they found out she was having a little girl, they had all assumed history would repeat itself, but it didn’t turn out that way. Probably because Doris hadn’t wanted to be a mother in the first place, but somehow, it just kept happening to her.

  The first time Doris had gotten pregnant, they were seniors. The night she found out, they were all supposed to go to a party at Casey McAvoy’s house. At first, Doris said she wasn’t feeling well and tried to cancel, but then she decided to be the designated driver instead. Once there, she spent the evening in the corner with Doug, whispering in his ear and clutching his hand. Neither of them drank a drop. On the ride home, Cheryl and Jackie were giggling and slurring that they should stop for snacks when Doris pulled her mother’s car over to the side of the road.

  “We can’t get snacks here,” Jackie had said, peering out the window. “I want some candy. Come on, let’s go.”

  “Doris, what are you doing?” Cheryl said, pulling down the lit passenger’s-side mirror and inexplicably applying fresh lipstick. “The cops might think we’re making out and, like, shine that vicious light on us so they can see some naked skin.”

  “I’ve gotta talk to you guys for a second,” Doris said, swiveling in her seat to face them. “I’m sick of secrets. It’s time to clear the air.”

  Jackie sobered up immediately, wondering how Doris had learned that Jackie’s father had a court date in the morning. Jackie had been so good at keeping her problems a secret that she couldn’t believe they were coming out now. Nervously, she tugged at her bustline. She was wearing a pretty little red-and-white gingham bra that gave her great cleavage. “I love this bra,” Jackie tried, desperate to change the subject. “We should go shopping this weekend and get some more. Okay, let’s go.”

  “Doris, come on,” Cheryl said. She rolled down the window and poked her head out. The night air floated into the backseat and Jackie thought it smelled like rain and tree frogs. The dark woods twisted above them, the trees creaking in the wind. “I bet there’s some serial killer in there,” Cheryl said, cringing, “just waiting to—”

  “I’m pregnant,” Doris said.

  All of the air seemed to leave the car.

  In a rush, Doris added, “That’s why I wanted to be the driver tonight and that’s why I wasn’t at school on Tuesday. I went to the clinic to be sure. I’m sorry I told you guys I had the flu. I didn’t want to lie but . . .”

  The news was too much for Jackie to process in her intoxicated state. She started to cry. It was a mixture of relief and despair. She couldn’t believe what Doris was saying.

  “You have to get an abortion,” Cheryl said, turning to Doris with wide eyes. “You have to.”

  Doris’s jawline set in the muted light of the moon. “No. Doug and I have to take responsibility. He proposed at the party.” She held up her left hand and showed them a tiny silver ring with a turquoise heart. “We’re getting married.”

  “You’re in high school,” Cheryl cried. “You can’t do that! Don’t fuck up your life.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Doris demanded. “Kill my baby?”

  “Be responsible,” Cheryl said. “What about your scholarship? You can tour with the soccer team after college. You can do something with your life.”

  “Not anymore,” Doris said, bowing her head. Her permed hair fell in a messy sheath, blocking her face. “I made a mistake and now I have to live with it.”

  In spite of how brave Doris was pretending to be, Jackie knew how much this mistake hurt her. Brushing blue mascara-ed tears off her face with one hand, Jackie had touched Doris’s hair with the other. The three friends sat in the car for an hour that night, silent, as the spring evening settled around them.

  Doris went forward with her plans. When the recruiters found out her situation, Doris lost her scholarship, just like they knew she would. As Jackie packed her bags for the Art Institute and Cheryl for the University of Michigan, Doris started buying items for a nursery and coordinating married housing. She and Doug got married at the courthouse.

  When the miscarriage happened, Doris had been devastated at first and then giddy with relief. She was up and out of the hospital bed within the day, back on the phone with recruiters, making plans to head to Florida State for the second semester. Jackie and Cheryl sat in the apartment she shared with Doug, watching as Doris packed her things.

  When Doug came home, he had looked at Doris in surprise. “What are you doing?” he asked. Without answering, Doris set down her bag, went into the bathroom and shut the door.

  A half hour later, the families arrived. Jackie and Cheryl left then, but not before realizing that Doris might have gotten herself into something she couldn’t get out of. Doug’s family had their son’s future mapped out. Whether Doris liked it or not, her name was on his marriage certificate and some accountability came with that.

  Later, Jackie learned that their perception had been all wrong. It hadn’t been Doug’s family who had made Doris stay in the marriage. Doris’s mother had convinced her to go through with it. Holding her sobbing daughter, she’d said, “Doug loves you and he wants to take care of you. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “I want to play soccer,” Doris had wailed, “and have a fun life.”

  Smoothing Doris’s hair, her mother had said, “You have to be smarter than that, Doris. Women get old. I know you don’t believe me now but you’ll get cellulite on your legs, and your breasts will sag and your face will get fat. Would you rather have five years of adventure or a lifetime of security?”

  “That’s the most old-fashioned crock of shit I’ve ever heard,” Cheryl cried when she heard the story. “A woman doesn’t just have to rely on looks. What about the brain in her head?”

  Either way, Doris’s bed was made. So she lay in it—with Doug—and was pregnant again by twenty-four. When they went shopping for baby stuff together, Doris seemed thrilled with her new life. She had grabbed for every cute decoration within reach: little ducky murals, a blue and silver star mobile and fuzzy white baby blankets. “After this we’re getting cheesecake,” Doris cried, arms full of baby paraphernalia.

  “Cheesecake?” Cheryl repeated, pulling up her own shirt and patting her tight stomach. “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” Doris said. “You two might get to have exciting lives, but I get to get really, really fat!”

  Now, Jackie sneaked a peek at her old friend and shook her head. Doris had achieved her goal. Even though she wore the weight well, she looked a lot older than her thirty-nine years. There were tiny grays peeking out from the areas around her ears and a worry wrinkle had set up shop right in the middle of her forehead. Jackie half-expected the glasses to fall forward and rest like grandma lenses on the tip of Doris’s nose.

  “Quel dommage,” Jackie said, giving it up. She stretched, adjusting her fluffy pink socks. “I can’t force you to have fun but just so you know, I’ll just be out here all night, sneaking sips from your liquor cabinet.”

  Doris gri
nned, nudging her with her foot. Jackie took the opportunity to leap across the couch and pull Doris into a hug. “Bonsoir,” she said affectionately. “And, darling, just let me know what I can do for you. I understand you might be mad that I left for so long but . . .”

  “No,” Doris’s body stiffened and she pulled back, grabbing Jackie’s hands. “I’m so happy you’re back. I just . . .” A key turned in the door.

  “Is that Mandy?” Jackie cried, leaping to her feet.

  Doris’s face fell. “Good night,” she said quickly, racing out of the room just as her daughter bounced in, red hair flying.

  “Look how fun you are,” Jackie said, admiring her. The child beamed and spun around. She was wearing a cute little blue T-shirt with tiny light blue horses scampering across it, accessorized with five different necklaces of assorted beads, charms, and colors. “Did you have fun at practice?”

  According to Doris, Mandy was on the volleyball team, a member of student council, debate club, Spanish club, forensics, theater, and who knew what else. Like mother, like daughter . . . like all three of them when they were her age.

  “Come, come.” Jackie pulled Mandy to the couch and plunked her down, grinning from ear to ear. Mandy was the closest thing to a child Jackie was ever going to get. She and Robert had considered having children once but figured there would always be time. “What were you listening to?”

  Mandy passed over her headset and Jackie pushed the silver buds into her ears. Since Mandy was watching her, Jackie made a big deal out of rocking out to the beat of the pulsing music. Mandy burst out laughing. After a minute, she reached over and pressed the Pause button, helping Jackie extract herself from the cord.

  “I’m going to take dance in the spring,” Mandy gushed, stretching out her long legs. “I can’t believe I haven’t done it before. Boys love dancers.”

  “Do all the boys love you?” Jackie teased.