The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  Carefully, she slid into the passenger’s side, pulling the door shut behind her. Gabe stood at the window for a moment, confused. Blushing, Doris realized why he was still standing there—she was supposed to let him close the door for her. When he loped around to the driver’s side and ducked into the car, she apologized, “I’m sorry. My husband hasn’t opened a car door for me in years. I forgot what to do.”

  Gabe laughed with her. He waggled the keys before putting them in the ignition. “You’re one of the first to have the honor . . .”

  “Is this your new car?” Doris squealed.

  As part of his contract, Gabe had negotiated a new car. The women had included a lease in his contract. Doris was pleased to see he had picked something so nice.

  “You have good taste,” she said.

  Gabe clapped his black leather gloves together, turning to her in excitement. “Yes, isn’t it marvelous?”

  It was a white Volvo, just like the one he’d driven to the interview. Gabe explained that, after years of borrowing his friend’s car, he knew exactly what he wanted. When Doris teased him softly about his lack of creativity, Gabe shook his head.

  “You’re right. I am a total creature of habit,” Gabe admitted, tucking his light blue scarf into his jacket. Doris admired the way his blond hair curled neatly around it. “But I love Carolyn’s car so why take a risk? Plus, look what it comes with—seat warmers.”

  Doris flipped them on, sighing in relief. Her bottom had been cold against these hard leather seats. “Gabe, I think I’m spoiled,” she admitted. “I haven’t been in a car without warmers for who knows how long.”

  “That’s okay,” Gabe said, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you like. Now, let’s put on some music. What do you listen to?”

  Doris beamed, settling back comfortably. “Oh, who knows? Whatever you like, Gabe.”

  His cell phone rang then, vibrating against the console. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the picture of a pretty woman show up on the caller ID. “Speak of the devil.” Gabe smiled, reaching over and sending it to voice mail. He turned to Doris and said conspiringly, “Carolyn would not be happy to learn that I am shopping with another woman.”

  “Is she your . . .” Doris’s tongue seemed to thicken on the word, “girlfriend?”

  Gabe grinned. “Well, she is a girl and she is my friend. Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, indicating a tall Starbucks cup perched in the coffee holder. “I got this for you. Do you like mocha?”

  Doris giggled, grabbing for it. “Somebody told you!”

  “No, just guessed.” He smiled, easily pulling out of the drive.

  A comfortable silence fell over them and Doris enjoyed the soothing smell of new car, cologne, and warmed chocolate. Gabe looked so handsome, bundled up to her left. Doris wasn’t sure how she felt about the way he’d avoided questions about this Carolyn, with her matching Volvo and pretty cell-phone ID, but Doris decided it was okay. If Gabe wasn’t comfortable sharing his romantic life, then it wasn’t her business. Besides, it wasn’t like she and Gabe were on a date—although Doris did wish she could give that impression, snapping a picture of the two of them and texting it to Doug. She laughed out loud, imagining the expression that would cross his chubby face.

  Gabe looked over and smiled. “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t know . . . ” Doris suddenly felt her palms go clammy. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Should I bore you to tears?” Gabe said. “Tell you all about me?”

  Doris nodded eagerly. After all, what would she tell him about her life? That she had a teenage daughter who treated her like a servant? A husband that thought he was a cowboy in some western, skipping town on a modern-day version of the horse? She looked at Gabe with appreciation, grateful that he was so good at making friends.

  As Doris listened to his story, she suddenly understood why. Gabe’s parents were diplomats, so he’d traveled from country to country as a child. He was raised in American embassies. “It was hard,” he admitted. Now that Gabe had made a life for himself here, he avoided travel at all costs. He rarely saw his parents, even if they were in the country. In a sense, he admitted, this had been ideal, as they had no idea he was a stripper. They would be absolutely scandalized. His mother would cry, his father would shout, and they would leave as quickly as they’d arrived.

  Gabe shook his head, navigating his car through the Schaumburg streets. “I don’t think it’s a big deal. The only time I do think it’s a big deal is when I start thinking what my parents would say if they walked into my club,” he admitted. “But they never would have, so it was a stupid worry.”

  “Will you miss . . . stripping?” Doris asked. She knew he and Anthony had turned in their notice on Friday. “You were . . .” She colored, then mumbled, “You were really good at it.”

  “Now, how could I miss stripping when I have the chance to spend every day with you, Cheryl, and Jackie?” Gabe asked, touching her arm with affection.

  Absently, Doris put her hand to the part of her body Gabe had touched. She wanted to fantasize that the handsome, model-esque man had used it as an opportunity to be near her but the truth was, the contact reminded her of how Cheryl’s brothers used to touch her—friendly and casual with no sexual intent whatsoever, except for that one night she’d seduced David. To this day, Cheryl still didn’t know about that.

  Maybe it was for the best if Gabe just saw her as a buddy. Reaching for her mocha, Doris took a long drink. She was still a married woman. There was absolutely no reason she should even wish Gabe saw her as anything else. It was just that . . . Doris sneaked a peek out of the corner of her eye. Gabe’s profile was beautiful, like an angel in the soft morning light. Adjusting her bottom in her heated seat, Doris felt a rush of attraction. Gabe was just so incredibly handsome.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  CHERYL CRACKED AN EYE OPEN AND PEEKED TO THE OTHER SIDE of the bed, where Andy was stretched out. The sheet was halfway down his chest and his eyes were closed, a slight smile lingering on his handsome face. While his eyes were still closed, Cheryl took the opportunity to study the soft trail of fuzz on his chest, that tiny mole just under his left arm, the stubble along his jaw. She yearned to reach out and run her tongue against it.

  Cheryl had been shameless the night before. What else could she do? There was something about seeing Andy in her home, in a position she’d imagined him in so many times, that was the height of eroticism. Having him against her blue-and-white-striped pillowcases was an image she never wanted to forget. She half wished she had a camera, imagining how funny it would be if Andy woke up to Cheryl and a tripod. “For the Christmas card, honey,” she’d say. Cheryl had a feeling Andy would grin at the joke, even striking hilarious poses for the camera, whereas Sean would have gotten crabby and buried himself under the sheets.

  As they got older, Sean had started to hate jokes of any kind, up to and including practical jokes, knock-knock jokes, wordplay, physical comedy . . . He started to become a very serious guy, only finding amusement in “stupid people.” Sean had defined “stupid people” as anyone entertained by Britney Spears, USA Today, or mindless daytime television—basically, everyone. Cheryl had eventually redefined “stupid people” as “Sean.” Just as she started breathing angrily at the memory, Andy eased open his green eyes and looked at her. Cheryl pulled the sheet up to her chin, immediately shy.

  Andy reached out his hand. Tenderly, he ran it across the soft skin on her face. “Good morning.”

  “Hi.” Cheryl squinted at him. “You stayed.”

  “Did you want me to go?” Andy said. “My wife might be really mad, you know.”

  Cheryl batted at him.

  “I can’t believe you thought I was married.” Andy grinned, stretching luxuriously. One hand slid under the sheet and started stroking her thigh.

  “Of course I thought you were married,” Cheryl said, leaning into his touch. “You didn’t even t
ry to kiss me after dinner.”

  With the other hand, Andy reached forward and poked her nose. “That’s because you were a nightmare. You needed to be punished.”

  “But I was wearing a very sexy dress,” Cheryl protested, grabbing his hand and kissing it. Andy ran his fingers over her lips, momentarily slipping through them into the warm wetness of her mouth. “I thought we had a nice time.”

  “Of course we did,” Andy said. “Right after I decided I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Really?” Cheryl smirked. “But would you touch me with a . . .”

  Andy raised himself up on one elbow, turning toward her. “You really gonna say that?”

  As he got closer, Cheryl breathed in his scent of earth and spice. Wrapped in the force of his gaze, her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Cheryl clutched the sheet in her hand, suddenly worried about her breath.

  Andy leaned forward, dangerously close. “Hmm?”

  Running his tongue down the length of her neck, he gave it a soft flicker right above her collarbone. The sensation was like a match to a stack of dry love letters—her entire body lit. Cheryl slid toward him. Entwining her legs in his, she took his mouth in hers.

  “I’ll say whatever you want,” she said.

  “Yeah?” Andy’s hands were everywhere.

  “Andy,” she begged, breathless.

  “That’s not very convincing.” Andy’s hands wandered farther below the sheets, finding her firm bottom and cupping it. His fingers slid between her thighs.

  “Fuck,” she gasped, bucking against him.

  With that sexy little wink, he ever so slowly ducked his head under the sheets.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  AFTER MUCH PERSUASION, GABE HAD ACCOMPLISHED WHAT Doug, Jackie, Cheryl, Mandy, and the entire state of Illinois could not and had not been able to do for years—he had convinced Doris to trade in her clunky glasses for soft contact lenses. This was a remarkable achievement, since the biggest style change Doris had ever experienced was back in 1986. She had gotten a spiral perm, which had given her a shaggy, wild mane.

  Gabe made his move the moment they got to the mall. Pretending it was an afterthought, he grabbed Doris’s hand as they walked by a contact store. Doris was so busy blushing at his touch and trying to figure out if her hand was clammy that she missed where they were headed until it was too late. “What are we . . . ?” Doris asked, looking around at the rows of glasses in confusion.

  Gently, Gabe slid off her glasses. “Your eyes are like something from a fairy tale,” he said. “Why are you keeping them hidden?” He was so close Doris could feel his breath on hers. Her mouth went dry, heart pounding at the idea of him moving in just another half inch, taking her lips in a kiss.

  “It might break my heart if you don’t buy contacts,” Gabe said, turning to a soft lenses display. “Maybe you could just try on a pair and see how they feel. If you hate it, we walk away.”

  It was hard to say no to a man who looked, even when he was blurry, like a supermodel. Dumbly, Doris nodded her head. If she passed out from the pain, maybe he would revive her.

  In spite of what everyone thought, Doris had tried contacts. Her mother had taken her to the mall at Cheryl’s urging. “If someone kicks a ball at your face,” Cheryl had said, “you’re gonna get all cut up. If you want to play soccer, you have to ditch the glasses.”

  Excited to try contacts, Doris was dismayed to find that the thin plastic felt like a razor slicing through her eye. She’d actually dropped to the floor in pain, ripping it out of her eye and throwing it across the room. That was the first and last time she tried them.

  At the memory, Doris trembled. Gabe stood by with fingers crossed, the optometrist moving forward with the thin contact rested innocently on the tip of his finger. Just as Doris flinched and tried to duck, the doctor slipped it in. If it wasn’t for the chart behind him suddenly sharpening into focus, Doris never would have known. She didn’t feel a thing.

  “When did you invent these?” Doris marveled, touching the thin skin around her eyes.

  The optometrist looked puzzled. “About forty years ago.”

  “But I tried them,” Doris said, glancing at Gabe. “They hurt.”

  “Hmm,” the optometrist said. “If you can feel them, there’s some sort of problem. Maybe there was a piece of dust caught in them or a tear.”

  “Well, they don’t hurt now,” Doris said, giggling. “These feel great.”

  “You look beautiful,” Gabe said. “Your eyes are your best feature.”

  Doris nodded, mesmerized by her reflection. It appeared slightly blank without the protection of her glasses. Gabe promised it would be fabulous after their makeup excursion.

  “I’m not going to Macy’s,” she practically shrieked.

  Confused, Gabe agreed that Nordstrom might be the better choice. As they headed for the department store on the opposite end of the mall from Macy’s—and Katherine Rigney—Doris felt foolish for her outburst. Silently, she perched in a chair and squeezed her eyes shut against her new lenses. A male makeup artist deftly brushed color on her lids and lashes. With every stroke of the powder brush against her face, Doris imagined it was Gabe’s lips. When the makeup artist finally spun her toward the mirror, Doris opened her eyes and they filled with tears.

  “Don’t let the mascara run,” he pleaded, hovering behind her.

  “See?” Gabe gushed. “What did I tell you?”

  Doris nodded, awestruck. Her skin had been smoothed with a light foundation, blending those harsh patches of red around her nose. The plump apples of her cheeks had been filled in with a soft coral. Around Doris’s upper lashes, a subtle brown liner drew attention to the suggestive, hooded arch of her bedroom eyes. A frosty pearl highlighted her brow bone and a smoky gray shimmered along the fold. Doris’s lips were lush and sparkling.

  Doris didn’t know if it was the gorgeous man whispering in her ear or the actual palette highlighting her face but she felt more beautiful than she had in her entire life. Insisting on adding some hand creams and cologne for Gabe, Doris laid down her worn Nordstrom card for everything the makeup artist recommended.

  “Time for clothes,” Gabe sang, swinging her bags. “Where shall we go? You are my project and you are shaping up nicely. We’re about to put you at one hundred ten.”

  Doris suddenly felt too hot in her heavy sweater. She stopped walking and fiddled with the handle on her bag.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabe asked, immediately noticing her expression. He put a warm hand on her shoulder.

  Doris squinted at the mall in confusion, as though not understanding how she had gotten there. “I don’t want to be your project,” she finally said, turning to him. “Did Cheryl and Jackie put you up to this?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Gabe said, grabbing her hands. “You’re stunning. Everyone in the mall keeps looking at you,” he practically whispered.

  Doris blushed, sneaking a glance around at the bustling shoppers, wanting to believe him.

  “Let’s just look for clothes here,” he suggested. “It’s probably the most efficient. I’m thinking more in the vein of what Jackie wears. Some nice cashmere, sleek skirts, something with flair . . .”

  “I don’t really like skirts,” Doris said, hating herself. She didn’t want to disappoint Gabe, but she’d been wearing slacks for thirty years. Getting rid of both slacks and glasses in one day would be too much. Her heart had started to pound, and suddenly she craved a Xanax. “I’m sorry,” Doris whispered. “I need . . . I need a minute.”

  Gabe got serious, looking around the store for a bench. There was one over by a large fake plant and a waterfall. Gabe led her there and sat her down. Doris took deep breaths, eyes darting around like a trapped animal. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice catching. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “No, no,” Gabe said, cracking his knuckles. “You’re having a panic attack, right? I used to have a problem with that, too.”

>   Doris reached in her purse and wrapped her fingers around her trusty bottle of pills. Absorbing his words, her grip softened. She looked at the gorgeous man sitting next to her. “You did?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Gabe bit his lip, then explained. When he was younger, traveling from country to country, he had struggled with anxiety all the time. “I literally felt like the walls were closing in on me,” he said. This didn’t go over very well in his parents’ straightlaced world. They had put him on medication. It had taken a year with the anxiety drugs for him to feel like himself again and another two for him to get weaned off. “In retrospect, I’m glad I went on the medication,” he said. “But at the time, I was really angry they made me do it.”

  “Wow,” Doris breathed, nodding. “Do you know why it happened in the first place?”

  “Yeah.” Gabe flopped into the seat next to her. “My therapist said it was triggered by stress. Jackie mentioned you’re going through a hard time right now?”

  Doris nodded. Absently, she picked at the fake wood on the bench. “My husband left me to ride a motorcycle across the country. He saw Wild Hogs.”

  “Well, I’d panic at that, too.” Gabe laughed, tapping his hands against the bench.

  “And my mother died a few years ago,” Doris blurted out.

  Gabe was silent. After a long moment, he said, “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah.” Doris nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Do you need some water or something? A soda?” Gabe put a comforting hand on her knee.

  Doris’s senses leaped to life. She half wished she had fainted dead away during her panic attack. That way, just like in the stories, Gabe would have had to kiss her to bring her back to life. Her heart pounded at the thought. After a long moment, Doris turned her attention to the pill bottle in her hand.

  “No, I don’t need any water,” she said, sliding the bottle back in her purse. “I think I’m okay now. Gabe . . . thanks for talking to me.”