The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  “Cheryl, she wanted me to give her a lap dance,” Eric protested, rushing over to her. “I wouldn’t do it. That’s why she’s leaving.”

  “You better pay for your meal,” Cheryl called, but the Russian was already gone.

  “Damn,” Cheryl said. Closing her eyes, she tried to regain control of the night. Mentally, she ran through another checklist. First, they needed to turn down the music. The bass was giving the night a frantic air. Second, they should get some of the more offensively dressed waiters off the floor. They could rethink the outfits tomorrow. Third . . . Someone tapped her hard on the arm and Cheryl’s eyes flew open. It was Doris, neck practically rubbed raw with worry. A breathless Anthony stood behind her.

  “We need your help,” Doris gasped.

  “It’s an emergency,” Anthony cried.

  “Calm down,” Cheryl said, forcing her voice to stay level. “Everything’s okay. Doris, why don’t you go turn down the music. Anthony, I need you to—”

  “There’s no time for that,” Anthony said. “The old lady is naked in the bathroom. Gabe’s guarding the door.”

  “And there are picketers outside,” Doris added, near tears. “My church is picketing us.”

  “Call the cops,” Cheryl ordered. “Now.”

  Anthony nodded and rushed for the phone. Cheryl beckoned to Jackie. Together, the three friends went to the front door and threw it open. Fifteen figures were on the lawn, waving signs and chanting. They were bullying a group of potential customers, preventing them from approaching the door. Cheryl wondered how many customers they had already scared away.

  “Go ahead, let them in,” Jackie called pleasantly, as though the picketers were just doormen guarding a secret club. She grinned at the potential customers like the Cheshire Cat. “Welcome.”

  The group pushed by the picketers and started to move up the steps, but a woman from Doris’s church group rolled a tight snowball and lobbed it at the crowd.

  “Carol Ann Gracie,” Doris shrieked. “That is not God-like!”

  Doris reached down with her bare hands and started to scoop up some snow to throw back.

  Jackie grabbed her by her hair. “Doris, no.”

  Gabe rushed up. “Are we cutting the dance numbers or continuing?”

  “Gabe, you were wonderful,” Doris gushed, scrambling to her feet and touching her lips.

  “Decency . . . Decency . . . Decency . . .” the picketers started chanting at the top of their lungs.

  “Can’t you people take a joke?” Cheryl shouted back.

  Sirens screamed down the block. Red and blue lights flashing, cop cars peeled to a stop on the front lawn, almost crushing the picketers. “Get ’em,” Jackie cheered, but the policemen jumped out of their cars and stormed the restaurant instead.

  “Hee-haw,” someone shouted from inside, “more strippers!”

  “What the hell are they doing?” Cheryl asked, watching the entire task force of Schaumburg tear past her. “The picketers are right there.”

  “I thought you wanted me to call them for the old lady,” Anthony wailed. He ran his hands through his hair, rushing after the cops.

  Andy and his Japanese clients came up behind her. Cheryl felt his presence before she even turned.

  “We’re going to go,” he said, putting a hand on Cheryl’s shoulder. She shook it off, refusing to even look at him.

  “Don’t leave,” Jackie entreated.

  “Stay,” Doris begged.

  Loud shrieks and male shouts were coming from indoors. Gabe came running out, still mostly naked. “The kitchen is on fire! The kitchen is on fire!”

  Panicked, Doris and Jackie rushed inside.

  “Why leave now?” Cheryl said. “The show has just begun.” Then, she turned and bowed graciously at his clients.

  They nodded. But they certainly didn’t bow back.

  Chapter Forty

  AFTER THE HANDSOME MEN WITH THE LONG HOSES SECURED THE smoky kitchen, The Whole Package was forced to close for the night.

  Greg was devastated, hunched over in his white chef’s uniform, rhythmically pounding Manhattans at the bar. Cheryl sidled up to him and put an arm around his stooped shoulders. “I need you lucid tomorrow,” she said gently.

  Slamming his drink onto the counter, Greg barreled for the front door as though he were going to throw himself through the plate glass. At what seemed like the last possible moment, he grabbed for the door handle and pushed his way outside.

  “Thanks for burning our kitchen down,” Jackie muttered.

  “What if he doesn’t ever come back?” Doris asked.

  “If we were on top of a high rise in Chicago, I’d worry,” Cheryl said, taking a seat with them at a tiny table. “But only because he’d jump. Since that’s not gonna happen, we’ll see him tomorrow.”

  Shell-shocked, the three women took in the interior of The Whole Package. The place looked like it had hosted a Greek wedding and the Italians, Russians, and entire soccer team of Brazil decided to show up, too. There were shattered plates littered across the floor, broken glasses tossed onto tables, and pieces of gold confetti on every surface imaginable. There was also a fine layer of soot covering everything.

  “It looks like a cremation,” Cheryl said, wiping up a bit of ash with her finger and burying her head in her hands. “How symbolic.”

  After the fire, everyone on staff had been sent home, as well as George, Betsy, and any other friends who were hanging around, trying to help.

  Jackie was pale and drawn, tugging at a strand of hair. “Maybe it wasn’t bad. Maybe it was just outrageous.” A piece of gold confetti winked from her upper lip.

  “It was bad,” Cheryl confirmed, forcing herself to sit up straight. “Anybody want to leave the country? I’m thinking Mexico, tonight. Margaritas, fresh fish . . .”

  “It’s not the end of the world,” Doris said, wringing her hands. “I had a really good time.”

  Jackie and Cheryl swiveled toward her in shock. Laughing, Cheryl said, “And how many Xanax were you on?”

  Doris blushed. “Well, it was more excitement than I’ve seen in a long time. We got the police and the fire department here. That’s impressive, don’t you think?”

  “And your gay boyfriend finally kissed you on the lips,” Jackie pointed out.

  Doris practically turned purple.

  Cheryl shook her head. Her disappointment was so weighted that she thought she was going to fall over. “We’re so screwed.”

  “But it was our first try,” Doris practically shouted, leaping up and pacing the bar area. She started picking up pieces of broken dishes and setting them on the counter. “It can’t be perfect.”

  “Doris, stop that,” Cheryl said firmly. “You just cut yourself.”

  Doris looked at her hands in surprise. There was a tiny bead of blood on her finger. She grabbed a cocktail napkin, wrapping it tightly around the wound.

  “They hated it.” Jackie shrugged. “They hated everything about it. We’ll be bankrupt within the month.”

  “No they did not and no we will not,” Doris insisted. She grabbed another champagne bottle and threw it full force on top of the trash. It made an exceptional crash and, involuntarily, everyone ducked.

  “Doris, stop,” Cheryl cried. “Look, maybe you’re right. It was opening night, we had high hopes and they . . .”

  “Were shattered,” Jackie said simply. “They were shattered.”

  The silence in the room was deafening. Then there was a slight sniffle. Now Doris was crying, her back leaning against the bar and her dress falling off her plump shoulder. “What are we going to do?” she wailed. “Doug’s divorcing me and he should. I spent so much of our savings. I cheated on him in front of the entire restaurant. How am I going to . . .”

  “Doris, after everything Doug put you through, you are insane if you think you don’t deserve a tiny kiss,” Cheryl said. “Those papers are a bluff. Everything’s going to work out.”

  “What papers?” Jac
kie demanded.

  “Divorce papers. They came before we left,” Cheryl said. “But he doesn’t mean it.”

  “You don’t know that.” Doris sniffled, tugging at the arm of her white dress. “How’s everything going to work out?”

  “Don’t sign them. Get him back here, talk about it—” Cheryl tried but Doris cut her off.

  “I mean about the restaurant.”

  Surprised, Cheryl took a moment to regroup. Then she explained that she’d been in marketing long enough to know that the first reaction didn’t always have to be the final one. The media was powerful and even though the evening had been crazy, the outcome really just depended on how the newspapers decided to spin it. If they said The Whole Package was a success, it would be. In spite of everything disastrous that had happened that night.

  “There’s no point in sitting around talking,” Cheryl finally said, standing up and grabbing her purse. “The paper will come out and . . . it’s like a horoscope. We’ll know our future in the morning.”

  “I’m a Cancer,” Doris muttered.

  “Great, Doris,” Jackie said. She grabbed Greg’s leftover Manhattan and finished it off. “And we’ll be hoping for the best with that.”

  ON THE WAY home from The Whole Package, Jackie was in a silent panic. She sat in the passenger’s seat of Doris’s car, breathing in the stifling scent of the Orangesicle air freshener and hating the way the seat belt cut into her down-filled coat. Way too hot, Jackie was afraid she might throw up. The scented satchel was only the first on a long list of things that might make it happen. Living a life of poverty and confessing her pathetic state to her friends were definitely second and third.

  Staring out the window as Doris drove, hands resting on the door, Jackie noticed the way the passing headlights reflected in her diamond rings. It would be one of the last times she could enjoy that image. One ring would be kept as a memento and to the rest . . . she watched the diamonds shimmer and glint . . . it was time to say good-bye.

  The rational part of her brain was trying to tell her to calm down, she could get a job or something, but Jackie shuddered at the thought. As much as she enjoyed a good fantasy where she was the CEO of a jewelry importing company or some high-powered travel agent or news reporter, the only thing she’d ever been good at was painting. Look how far that had gotten her. Her organizational skills were a disaster, her competitive edge was dull, and her financial sense? Puh-lease. The only job she could get would pay minimum wage, serving burnt espressos or decorating cupcakes until she got too frustrated and ran away.

  Jackie’s eyes smarted. She rubbed them quickly, before Doris could see. No need to freak Doris out, as if the poor thing needed any help with that. Doris was white-knuckling the steering wheel and peering through the windshield with complete focus, mumbling something about whether or not she should have taken a Breathalyzer. Jackie had brought up the divorce papers at the beginning of the drive but Doris had clammed up, as though not talking about it kept it from being true.

  “Honey, relax,” Jackie pleaded, as Doris slammed on the brakes for a squirrel at least a mile away. “You had one glass of champagne six hours ago. You’re fine. But if you keep driving like this you might just wrap us around a tree and I certainly have not invested in a life insurance policy, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

  “Maybe I should do that,” Doris moaned. “If I kill myself, Mandy and Doug might still have enough left to live on.”

  Jackie reached over and tried to take her hand. Doris immediately shook it off, indicating her ten and two position on the steering wheel.

  “Just being around you cheers me up.” Jackie chuckled. “Darling, Doug has more money than God. You’ll be fine.”

  “No.” Doris shook her head, lowering her speed by five miles. “His family has money and they’re going to hate me if Doug has to ask for it because of something I did. Thank God they’re in Florida. If they had seen this tonight . . .”

  “Doug made you live like a prisoner in that house,” Jackie said. “You deserve a little something—something for that.”

  And Doris would probably get it, Jackie thought.

  Yes, Doris would be just fine. Even if Doug’s family was upset about Doris’s financial failure, he’d had an affair. It didn’t take a divorce lawyer to see she’d be okay. And Cheryl still had a house, a car, and a professional reputation that would make it possible for her to try again and again. Nope, they were all set.

  Jackie bit her lip until she tasted blood. The only person she had looking out for her was George. He had already called six times since the firefighters came. Jackie couldn’t help but wonder. If push came to shove, would she take the life raft he was offering? Running diamond-encrusted fingers over her eyes, Jackie had to admit it was fitting. After all, it had certainly been a long time ago, but George had met her on his yacht.

  WHAT CHERYL SHOULD have been thinking of as she drove home from the disastrous opening night was the disastrous opening night. Instead, the only thing looping through her brain was the moment Andy had started spouting off Japanese like the words from a pop song. What was it about him that she always let get to her? When he’d touched her arm, she’d actually felt a twinge of physical pain. Touching the spot now, she rubbed it like a burn.

  When Cheryl pulled into her driveway, worn out to her core, she braked at the sight of a bundle lying on her front door. It looked like a baby dropped from a stork. The signs were everywhere. What was she going to do?

  The cravings had started two weeks ago. For the first time in twenty years, Cheryl had wanted fast food. She could not get the idea of a soft, slightly sweet hamburger bun out of her head. At the first drive-thru she came to, Cheryl put in an order for a burger and a thing of fries, and then decided to wash it all down with that drink she’d loved as a kid, a sticky orange concoction that had an aftertaste like lighter fluid.

  After polishing off the meal in the parking lot, Cheryl found herself wanting a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal. Even with the orange drink burning the back of her throat, the idea of letting a purple marshmallow melt on her tongue was unbeatable. When Cheryl pulled into the grocery store, mentally asking herself, Are you high? another part of her brain clicked in and said, Or are you pregnant?

  At the thought, her body was suddenly coated with panic sweat. Cheryl tried to think over the last two months but couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone on a tampon run. She’d never been one to keep track because her visits were always light and easy, generally showing up in the middle of every month. Since she’d been with Andy . . . the middle of the month had come and gone, without any sort of event. And she was way too young for menopause, wasn’t she?

  Instead of picking up sugary cereal, Cheryl slunk into a drugstore for a pregnancy test. She felt like a teenager buying that first box of condoms, ducking the eyes of the cashier by focusing on the latest issue of People magazine. Back in the car, she’d stared down at the bag and finally, threw it into the glove box like an overdue parking ticket. She vowed not to even think about it until after the grand opening of The Whole Package. Then, she’d have time to deal with the news, whatever it was.

  Now, Cheryl took a deep breath and pulled the bag out of its hiding spot. After slamming the car door, she breathed in the wet cement smell her garage always gave in the cold, then stomped through her house. Throwing the pregnancy test on the counter, she went straight for the Christmas tree and plugged in its white, twinkling lights.

  “I’ll just open the gift first, then I’ll take the test,” she promised.

  The package on the front doorstep was most likely from her family, either an early Christmas present or a good luck on the grand opening sort of thing. Cheryl threw open her front door. Her jaw dropped. The box on her front porch was not from her family. It was hand-delivered and topped off with a familiar red rose, wrapped in red paper from Bramble’s.

  Cheryl’s heart sank and leaped, tearing her in too many directions. She had feelings for him,
that much was obvious, but he had hurt her. Worse, he had betrayed her. Allowing herself to feel anything for him would just cause more pain. But it was too cold to stand outside, fighting him inside her mind.

  With a hearty sigh, she dragged the heavy box indoors. Cheryl cut her hand in her first attempt at opening the thick cardboard, but kept tearing at it until it finally peeled back. She peered inside. A red envelope rested on top of a bag of jumbo marshmallows, two roasting pokers, a Duraflame log, and a collection of Bing Crosby CDs. Hands shaking, Cheryl yanked open the fragile paper. His penmanship was messy—and so typically male.

  Dear Cheryl,

  I’m coming into the restaurant tonight to support you on your Grand Opening.

  Here’s a little good luck gift, in honor of the time we got to spend together before I blew any chance of a future with you. Regardless, you should know that the dinner I was paid to spend with you was one of the most interesting nights of my life. I should have made the right choice then, but it was too late and for that, all I can do is apologize. I hope one day you’ll consider me a friend.

  All the best,

  Andy

  Cheryl blinked, then read the letter again. And again. After the fourth read, she scooped up the entire box, stomped it out to her garage, and flung it into the trash bin. At the last second, she snatched out the bag of marshmallows and of course, the Bing Crosby CDs. After another moment of deliberation, she saved the roaster, too. Cheryl did love toasted marshmallows but they would have to cook over the stove, not the fire.

  Cheryl slammed the lid on the trash bin and took a deep, steadying breath. Running inside, she grabbed the pregnancy test and took the stairs two at a time. She felt a bit more confident now. There was no way she was the baby mama of some guy who didn’t even know her fire was a fake.

  Chapter Forty-one