“That’s not true,” Doris huffed. “I am perfectly willing to share him. It’s just that the dancers are so explicit. What if it’s too . . .”
“Doris, it’s okay,” Jackie said. “Every woman has sexual fantasies.”
“I know but I just hope our crowd sees it as something sexy, not something . . . sleazy.”
“It’s not sleazy,” Jackie said, sipping her tea. “Our restaurant is high-end. The men are gorgeous. It’s not like we’re serving bread-sticks and beer.”
“I know, but . . .”
“Doris, lighten up,” Jackie said. “People will love it. It’s a very European idea.”
“Well, Paris is a little more progressive than Schaumburg, as you’ve told me a million times. This could be a disaster.”
Jackie hopped up and started loading their dishes into the dishwasher. “Well, let’s just hope you’re wrong and we are fabulous enough to prevail, because I’ll tell you something. It’s a little too late now.”
Looking out the window at the long line of women, Doris swallowed hard. It was a little too late for second thoughts.
“Bonjour, Antonio Rico,” Jackie sang out, sweeping up behind Anthony and giving him a peck on the cheek. She had taken to calling him Antonio Rico after his Latino cocktail persona, from that one night in Chicago. The two pealed with laughter every time she said it.
“Mi chica bonita,” Anthony crooned in his best foreign accent. “You are so . . . scrumptulicious!” He giggled and pulled Jackie into his arms, making a big show of giving her a passionate kiss. She wiggled happily.
“Jackie,” Doris said, shaking a finger at her. “Why aren’t you wearing your headset?”
“Because I don’t care to look like Britney Spears, even if we’re pretending it’s her good years,” Jackie said. Reaching over Doris’s head, she slipped off the space-age contraption and threw it into the bottom of the host stand. “There,” she said, smoothing down a strand of Doris’s hair. “If Cheryl needs you, she can come find you. Now, let’s go ogle the crowd.” Jackie grabbed her elbow and led her to the window.
Since Doris last looked, the red carpet had been laid out and the spotlight turned on. The blinding white light shot across the Schaumburg sky, over the clock tower and past the shops of the town square. A news truck was now set up; a large purple cord hung out of the back like the rings of a very large Slinky and connected to a large transmitter. Cheryl was doing an on-camera interview, gesturing toward The Whole Package and grinning at the reporter like she had discovered the cure for cancer.
At the sight, Doris’s breathing quickened. She wondered if the news of The Whole Package was being broadcast to the world. Maybe it would find its way into whatever country-and-western bar Doug was in. Once he saw what a success his wife had become, he would cash in that motorcycle, get on the first plane back home, and rip up those divorce papers.
“Jackie and Doris, you two need to be out there,” Anthony told them, fanning his glistening abs with a menu. “I’ve got it under control in here. Go get your light.”
“Oh, no,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “That type of attention simply is not for me.”
“Like water’s not for a fish,” Anthony teased.
Glancing at the old-fashioned clock hanging in the entryway, Doris said, “Oh my gosh. We’re going to open in ten minutes.” At the thought, her heart started pounding and her palms got damp. Since that day at the mall with Gabe, Doris really hadn’t been taking that much Xanax. She prayed there was one floating around somewhere in her purse.
“All right, that’s all the convincing I need.” Jackie grinned. “Time to make an entrance.”
“In a . . . in a minute,” Doris said, walking over to the host stand and opening the reservation book. “Let me check something . . .” The last thing she wanted was for Jackie to notice the start of her panic attack. If she did, there was no way Doris would ever get to the Xanax.
“Hurry,” Jackie pressed, fluffing her hair. “You know what? I’m going to check my makeup in the bathroom. Back in a flash.”
The moment Jackie was out of sight, Doris gave up all pretense of flipping through the reservation book and instead, slumped against the host stand. Doris was suddenly very afraid she might hit the floor. “Oh, God,” she whispered, trying to fan herself with one hand.
“Doris, are you freaking out?” Anthony whispered, moving close to her. “’Cause I am, too. Please tell me not to pass out. I’d be so embarrassed.”
“You’re scared?” she said, surprised.
Anthony nodded. His pupils were small and his breath was shallow. Handsome or not, he suddenly seemed very vulnerable in his bow tie and tight spandex shorts.
“Don’t worry, everything will be all right,” she said, touching his arm. “Let’s take deep breaths.”
Doris started breathing in and out, like she’d learned to do so long ago in Lamaze class. Anthony copied her breath pattern. Soon, her heart rate slowed. After another minute, listening to their heavy breathing, she realized how ridiculous she and Anthony must look. Practically at the same time, they both looked at each other and burst out laughing. Anthony glanced over at the waiters lying in their Garden of Eden poses. Happily, they were too far out of earshot to have even noticed.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t get stage fright but tonight is . . . something different. It’s important.”
“Maybe we’ll be just fine,” Doris said. “Maybe it will be fun.”
“Amen,” Anthony whispered. Taking one more deep breath, he shouted over to the waiters, “We’ve got five minutes, boys.”
Jackie flew down the hallway toward them, her smile sparkling like fine champagne. “All right, Doris. Let’s go!”
“Now I have to use the restroom,” Doris said. At Jackie’s frustrated look, she giggled. “Go without me. I’ll be right there.”
Jackie blew her a kiss and Doris dashed over to the ladies room, determined to make it a fast trip. She was not about to miss the ribbon-cutting ceremony but she always had to go to the bathroom at the most inconvenient times. Concerts, graduations, movies . . . she was even in the bathroom when everyone else found out Bruce Willis was a ghost. Doug had teased her about that one for years.
Doris rushed through the process and barely glanced at her reflection on the way out. But when she rushed out of the bathroom doors, she stopped short. Gabe was once again standing in front of Anthony. Chest puffed out, skin shiny and golden, silky shorts majestically filled.
“I have something for you,” Gabe said, his face flushed. “I got you a present.”
Doris stepped back into the shadows.
Anthony put his hand to his chest. “You did?”
“It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.” Unfolding his fist, Gabe revealed a thin, gold necklace. It shimmered as he passed it over to Anthony. “Hold it up,” Gabe said.
Eyes still on Gabe, Anthony did. A tiny star dangled from the delicate chain.
Doris watched as his Adam’s apple worked up and down. She put her hand to her chest, secretly wishing that Gabe had also bought a lovely present for her. At the same time, she understood that Gabe was just extending an olive branch. He wanted to stop all the fighting and finally make friends with Anthony.
“I can’t wear this. It’s not uniform,” Anthony said, making a move to hand it back. “Can’t wear this.”
In spite of the moment Doris had shared with Anthony, her loyalty was still with Gabe. At Anthony’s protests, she wanted to leap out from the shadows and tell Anthony that he would wear it and he would like it. But she bit her tongue, curious to see what else would be said.
“I don’t expect you to wear it,” Gabe said, still flushed. “But maybe after and . . . you can just know that I . . . appreciate you. I admire you.”
Anthony stared at his feet.
“It’s time,” a voice crackled over Doris’s headset. She jumped a mile, hearing it all the way from the hostess stand.
“We’re
about to open,” Doris said, rushing out into the hall. Both Gabe and Anthony almost jumped out of their skin for the second time that night. Gabe gave her a quick nod, then practically ran to his post by the door.
“Doris, you need to get out there,” he said, gesturing toward the crowd.
Taking a deep breath, Doris gathered up her dress and stepped toward the entrance. Her heart leaped as Anthony cried, “Places, everyone, get in your places. It’s show time!”
CHERYL WAS AFRAID that if she took a deep enough breath of air, her body might inflate like a helium balloon and go dancing up and over the horizon. She was thrilled to appear in front of her contacts and investors as a success once again.
Everyone in the marketing world had heard about her dismissal, and although there had been a chorus of apologies and well wishes to her face, Cheryl knew that many of them were happy to see her fall. But she was back and this time, she wasn’t going anywhere. Cheryl almost wished stinking Stan and his henchman Andy were there to see it but they’d hear about The Whole Package soon enough on the local news. Cheryl had used just the right sound bites to guarantee the interview would air with all sorts of fanfare.
“The Whole Package is the utmost in male sensuality,” Cheryl had purred into the camera. “It’s a place where women can be women and men can be men, as men were meant to be . . .” At that, she had thrust a teaser photo of Gabe into the lens. He was blond, beautiful, and erotically posed, surrounded by the half-dressed waiters.
The cameraman had zoomed in on the shot but cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. Cheryl winked at him. “You’ll have to bring your wife in here.”
“Yup,” he said, lifting his baseball cap and running a hand over his head. “It seems like something she’d like.”
Giggling to herself at the memory, Cheryl looked out at the fevered crowd of estrogen. The line was long and surpassed even her wildest expectations. She wondered who from the crowd would be their radio winners.
To save money on advertising, Cheryl had decided to run an on-air contest. Nine contestants won dinner on the house and a signed T-shirt from The Whole Package dancers and one grand-prize winner won a girls’ trip to Las Vegas. The contest had gotten everyone excited. Practically every time Cheryl turned on the radio, she heard the rabid DJ screaming, “Grab The Whole Package—be the twentieth caller now.”
Thanks to that promotion and girls like Betsy giving them great word of mouth, not to mention the spectacle they were making with the red carpet and camera crews, even more women were bound to show up than were already here. Cheryl just hoped they’d have enough food for all of them to eat.
Briefly, she closed her eyes and ran through a mental checklist. There was enough food prepped to serve three hundred guests from the prix fixe menu. Leaving room for mistakes in the kitchen, that left about two hundred and seventy actual servings. Cheryl opened her eyes and considered the line. Before blinking, she counted at least eighty people, with even more on the horizon. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. There were worse problems to have. If they ran out of food, Greg could always get creative with salads. They had more than enough arugula; just that morning, she had seen bins of it lining the massive walk-in refrigerator.
“Excuse me, but can we go in yet?” asked a tiny woman with wire-rim glasses. She was with her mother, an older arthritic lady. They were both giddy with anticipation.
Cheryl laughed. Putting an arm around the older woman, she angled the two of them toward one of the photographers. He snapped a picture. Perfect.
“Almost.” Cheryl smiled. “The doors to The Whole Package are going to open in five minutes.”
Just then, Jackie walked outside and started blowing kisses at people she knew. “Amy,” she cried, bounding down the steps with her arms stretched wide. “Don’t you look smashing?! Sandy! And Trish . . . How are you?”
Cheryl laughed out loud. To the older woman that she still had her arm around, she confided, “I have loved that girl for over twenty-five years. She’s my best friend.”
“That’s lovely, dear,” the older lady said, tapping Cheryl’s face. “Now, when can we see the men?”
“Are you ready to find out what makes up The Whole Package?” Cheryl cried.
The crowd roared.
At Cheryl’s cue, Jackie bopped back up to the front doors. Doris pushed her way outside, giving a shy wave to the crowd and then taking her place next to Jackie. Cheryl scampered up the steps and linked arms with her friends, heart overflowing with happiness.
“This is amazing,” Doris gushed.
“Fabulous,” Jackie said.
“I love you girls,” Cheryl told them. “Money, work, and men may come and go, but we’ll always have each other.”
Doris’s face crumpled. For a minute, Cheryl was afraid she might burst into tears but at that moment, loud music cued and Gabe pirouetted out and onto the foyer. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Drums began to pound over the loudspeakers and Doris was struck dumb with adoration.
Cheryl took a good look at Gabe. She had to admit, the man was gorgeous. His body was lustrous, shining with an oil that highlighted every angle of his cut physique. Those arm muscles were perfectly designed for a woman to nestle her head against in times of passion or pain. His abs were the ultimate betrayal of modesty, with sharp lines that seemed to lead like a treasure map to his pelvis and there, his tight golden shorts revealed just enough to remind a woman of ancient battlefields and a fight for honor.
As Gabe posed for the crowd, his powerful thighs flexed and it was impossible not to imagine the force they would hold, wrapped around the female body. At the sight, every woman in that crowd was suddenly single, even if her husband had once been the man of her dreams.
Jackie, Cheryl, and Doris lifted their arms to the heavens. “The Whole Package!”
In unison, they stepped away from the front door. A red velvet ribbon was blocking the entrance and Gabe fell to his knees before it. Playfully, he teased the material with his tongue as raucous hoots and hollers sounded from the crowd. Ever so wickedly, Gabe untied the ribbon with his teeth. Leaping back to his feet, Gabe took a moment to stare out into the crowd as though appreciating the sight of each and every woman. Finally, he crossed his arms and gave a slow smile.
“Well, ladies?” he drawled. “What are you waiting for?”
After a brief moment of silent, orgasmic ecstasy, women of all shapes and sizes rushed inside. Doris bustled in behind them, plump hands already grabbing at thrown-off jackets, coats, and scarves for the coat check. When the women grabbed their coat check tickets, they would meet Christoph the German model. The women would probably linger and cause the area to get too crowded. It was Doris’s job to help move them along. Jackie would be on her way over to the host stand, to greet guests and serve as Anthony’s assistant. Cheryl was in charge of wrapping up loose ends outdoors, gifting thank-you vouchers to the press, and saying final good-byes. Even though camera crews were eager to get inside, Cheryl had decided to refuse entry to have better control over their media output. Only photographers and roving reporters would be allowed inside.
Just as the last guest was ushered in and Cheryl had thanked her final media contact, a new group of people approached. As they got closer, Cheryl stopped short. It was a group of men . . . led by Andy.
Before she had a chance to duck inside the restaurant and avoid him, Andy raised his hand and called, “Hey!” as though she were some train conductor who could hold the departure.
Andy was wearing his black overcoat and a pair of perfectly shined shoes. Cheryl knew this because as he strolled up to her, she made it a point to look anywhere but at him. Otherwise, she would have seen that soft hair flopping carelessly over his forehead or the guilt in those green eyes. Instead, she stared at his shoes. Once she realized the shoes next to his were even shinier, she looked up and found herself facing a group of well-dressed Japanese men.
“Well, hello,” Cheryl said, surprised.
&
nbsp; As one of the men nodded and returned the greeting, Andy said, “They can’t speak English. They’re my clients. I thought they’d be a perfect crowd for your grand opening.”
Like a blow to the stomach, Cheryl was pulled back to that moment in her kitchen, the day after she and Andy had made love. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, knees to her chest, insisting that she’d bring clients to The Whole Package. But Cheryl certainly hadn’t meant foreign ones. To them, custom was everything. If Stan knew Andy had pulled this stunt, he’d be furious. Cheryl had half a mind to pick up a phone and tell him.
“Sounds good,” Cheryl said, bowing at the men. “Go see the host, he’ll seat you.”
Andy said something in Japanese and they followed him in. Cheryl closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
A moment later, Doris came rushing out the front door, Andy’s coat in hand. Doris shook the coat like she wanted to strangle it. It wafted his familiar smell in Cheryl’s direction.
“Did you see?” Doris cried. “That guy from TurnKey is here.”
“Yup. And he speaks Japanese.” Cheryl nodded. “Un-fucking-believable.”
“I’m going to tell him to leave,” Doris said. She started to stomp back up the steps but Cheryl reached out a hand to stop her.
“Don’t.” Little specks of snow began to fall, spinning through the air in front of her. “Did you see those men with him? They’re clients. Unless they’re gay, it’ll be the quickest way for Andy to lose them.”
“Oh,” Doris said, folding the coat across her arm. “Good.”
Thanks to Andy’s arrival, Cheryl suddenly felt exhausted. All her euphoria seemed to drain to the bottom of her Louboutins, straight into the snow on the ground. “So,” she asked, voice dull. “How’s it going in there?”
“Well, we do have a little problem,” Doris said.
There was a member of the news crew lingering, still packing up his stuff. The last headline Cheryl wanted to read was THE WHOLE PACKAGE—A LITTLE PROBLEM? so Cheryl gave him a big smile, then ushered Doris toward the entrance.
The Whole Package Page 30
