The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  “I will come home when I am good and ready,” Doug had said. “Where do you—”

  “Doug,” she interrupted, voice like steel.

  Mandy was prostrate on the kitchen floor, sobbing as though her heart would break. If the weather had not been so cold, Doris was certain the kid would have bolted for the front door and ended up on the streets of Chicago somewhere.

  “You need to come home immediately,” Doris said. “Or I will call your parents and tell them their granddaughter is having a nervous breakdown because she’s sleeping with her teenage boyfriend and got caught, then find out what they suggest I do about a son of theirs that doesn’t care.”

  Doug was quiet on the other end, the hotel ice machine clinking behind him.

  “I’ll sign your papers,” she said softly, clutching the receiver. “Just come home.”

  “I’m in Texas,” Doug said. “It would take about five days. Weather’s tricky.”

  “Then get on a plane,” she said. “Trust me when I say this”—she lowered her voice—“if I don’t see you here tomorrow, I will take you for everything you’ve got—including your daughter.”

  Mandy heard the threat and screamed, rolling on the floor like a drug addict.

  At that, Doris hung up, her hand shaking. She marveled at whatever strength she’d found to speak to her husband that way but she had done it. And why not? Cheryl ordered around everyone within earshot, including her friends. Jackie demanded whatever she wanted and, apparently, got it. No wonder Doris’s life had so little of what she needed these days. She had stopped putting her foot down years ago. That’s when Doug—and everybody—started mowing her over.

  People did that, Doris suddenly realized. They take advantage of the weak. That’s the way history had always read. How on earth could she have been too blind to see it?

  Mandy used to be a cute little kid with cute little pigtails and admiration for her mother. But after Doris had a hard time handling the death of her mother, Mandy recognized that her mother was human. And weak. Mandy had taken advantage of the situation. Whatever Mandy wanted, Mandy got. Her husband slowly followed suit.

  Even Jackie had taken advantage of her. That day Jackie had ordered breakfast from her just like Mandy always did should have been a warning. Doris vividly remembered the look of surprise when Doris actually stood up and started rummaging for eggs.

  “Your father will be home tomorrow,” Doris said now, holding herself up with the kitchen counter. “Go to your room and stay there. After school, skip practice and come straight home.”

  “No,” Mandy said, getting to her feet and wiping her eyes. “If I miss practice, I can’t play in the game.”

  “Mandy,” Doris’s voice was quiet. “If you don’t come home tomorrow after school, I will contact the principal and revoke permission for you to participate in any school-sponsored extracurricular activities. I mean it.”

  “I have to participate in extracurriculars,” Mandy spat, hands on her hips. “It’s the only way I can get into a good college. You and Dad would be pissed if that didn’t happen.”

  “Oh, you’d be just fine,” Doris said calmly, picking at a piece of lint that had settled on her silk sweater. “I didn’t go to college. And I turned out okay.”

  “That’s because you weren’t smart enough to get in.” Mandy sneered.

  Doris’s eyebrows shot up. Even though it was as if this entire exchange were a movie, it was still a film whose twists and turns surprised her. Was this really how little her daughter knew about her? She thought it through. Why would Mandy know the truth? The wedding pictures she and Doug had gave no indication of the year they were married. Why would Mandy notice her mother had been married in high school?

  “I had a full scholarship to Florida State,” Doris said, pressing her hands to her eyes. “But your father’s family and my family thought it was better for me to stay here.” Mandy gawked. “I got pregnant in high school, Mandy.”

  “I was a mistake?!” she shrieked, eyes filling with tears. “Why would you tell me I’m a mist—”

  “Oh, would you shut up,” Doris said, hitting the table with all her might. She knew the blow would hurt and that’s why she did it. She needed to do something to keep her from lunging forward and wringing her child’s neck.

  Mandy jumped, suddenly scared.

  “I lost the first baby,” Doris said. Her daughter was watching her with tense concentration. “But by that time, your father and I had already gotten married. Instead of separating and going off to college like I’d planned, I made the choice to stay with him. You were not a mistake, you were a choice. But sometimes, Mandy, choices have consequences. It’s time you learned that.”

  Doris swept by her daughter, past the guest bedroom where her former friend had stayed, and past the photo of the three of them on the wall. Doris hesitated, looking at it for a brief moment. She, Jackie, and Cheryl all stared from a silver frame, dressed in cheer-leading outfits. Their arms were in the air, eyes bright and optimistic. Doris had pushed her way to the front, hip cocked out like a runway model, a seductive grin on her face. Cheryl’s arm was around her shoulders, the other pumped toward the sky. Jackie was in motion as always, head poked playfully between them, legs bent into a long leap.

  Doris pursed her lips and continued on toward her bedroom. With all her might, she slammed the door, just like Mandy would have. With satisfaction, she listened as the picture crashed to the floor and smashed into a million little pieces.

  THE GLASS FROM the frame was still on the floor when Gabe came over the next morning. “Why don’t I clean that up?” he suggested.

  “Nah.” Doris brought him a mug of coffee. “I finally ordered maid service. I just want you to teach me how to deal with my husband.”

  Gabe hesitated, “You really want him back?”

  Doris looked over at him with shy blue eyes. The sun was bouncing off his golden curls and in that moment, Doris was convinced he was an angel. She looked down at the floor. “I miss him, Gabe. Do you . . . do you think you can forgive me for the kiss we shared?”

  Gabe coughed, covering his mouth, but Doris could see he was doing it to hide a smile. She smiled back, bravely sinking through the thick carpet on her way to a seat on the couch next to him.

  “I really regret it,” she said. “I’m married and I . . . I have had a crush on you since we met. It’s embarrassing, because I know I remind you of your mother and that’s probably why you like hanging out with me, but I wanted to confess that to you so I can let it go.”

  Kindness scrolled across Gabe’s face, as Doris read all the things he could have said, but didn’t. Instead, he adjusted the light blue scarf he was wearing around his neck and opened his arms. Doris fell into them.

  “You are a wonderful woman,” Gabe told her, gently kissing the top of her head. “That’s why I like hanging out with you. The kiss we shared was part of my performance in the restaurant so you have no reason to feel guilty about it. But I think it was special for both of us. From now on, though, I’m perfectly happy to just be your friend.”

  Doris nodded, feeling the soft material of his sweater caress her face. She missed the hard material of Doug’s starched shirts. Sitting up, she said, “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Gabe said. “Now, are you ready to win your husband back?”

  Doris nodded eagerly. Gabe spent hours coaching Doris on how to act. He explained she was a different person from when her husband left and in order to keep him, she was going to have to prove it.

  Later that day, when Doug’s key turned in the lock, Doris smoothed her hair, then ran to the phone, quickly dialing an 800 number, where she was certain to be put on hold. Gabe had told her to do this to “Show Doug you are not at his beck and call.”

  Two seconds into the call, Doug burst through the front door. He was wearing a soft tan leather satchel with a single strap down the middle, tossed over his shoulder like a purse. It was perfectly coordinated with his men’s biker jacket, a bl
ack number with silver studs, accented with matching tan leather. His chubby cheeks were tanned from sun and wind. If Doris had not sat through her three-hour instructional with Gabe, she would have raced forward and forced her way into a hug, kissing his soft lips like a drowning woman. Instead, she turned her back on him and focused on her call.

  Doug stared at her in confusion. Gabe had specifically dressed her in a sleek, long-sleeved V-necked black sweater that showed off her ample cleavage, partnered with straight-legged, slimming black pants. Doug would witness her from behind first. After a minute, Doris turned slightly to let Doug have his first glimpse of her without glasses. As her husband’s jaw dropped in surprise, Doris turned back to the dining room window and gave her complete focus to the phone call.

  “Yes, I’ll hold,” she said calmly.

  Doug let out a loud sigh and stomped up the stairs. She could hear him throwing his bag onto their bed and unpacking. A few moments later, he stomped back down the stairs and into the kitchen. He opened the door and started to reach for a deliberately staged box of pastries.

  “Doug, don’t eat those,” Doris said, putting her hand over the receiver. “Those are for my bridge club.” She had bought them for Marjorie McClemens, to make up for the grand opening of The Whole Package. Just as Doug’s face fell, she added, “There’s a salami sandwich in there. I picked it up for you from the deli.”

  If Gabe were in the room, which he had begged to be, he would have applauded at the efficient way Doris turned her back on her husband for the third and final time.

  Half an hour later, when Doug settled into his chair in front of the television, Doris finally went down to talk with him. By that time, her husband was absolutely befuddled. When she bent forward and kissed his cheek, he said, “Hello.”

  “Welcome home,” Doris said kindly, pulling back and settling calmly into a chair across the room. “Your daughter will be here after school. I need you to think of an appropriate punishment for what she did. That is, unless you just came to pick up the divorce papers.”

  Doug was watching Doris, a tiny crinkle forming in between his warm eyes, obviously confused about what to do or say next. Gabe had said Doug would expect tears and drama. When he’d left, Doris was curled up on the ground sobbing. Now, she was standing on her own two feet.

  “Where’s my wife?” Doug finally demanded, trying to laugh.

  “She’s right in front of you,” Doris said. “Doug, if you want a divorce,” she continued, “I will need to know by tomorrow. If not, we’re starting therapy on Saturday. I have to go to work now, so I’ll expect to hear your answer in the morning.”

  Doris got up and started to walk toward the stairs. As though an afterthought, she added, “I kicked Jackie out. So, I guess the guest bedroom is all yours.” As she climbed up the stairs, Doris noticed her legs were trembling. Once out of Doug’s sight, she let out a shaky breath and slid down to the floor.

  Doug hadn’t said he wanted to leave her, which he could have done. Maybe, just maybe . . .

  Doris gave herself a hopeful hug, marveling at the way her heart was jackhammering in her chest. Maybe her life hadn’t been such a waste after all.

  Chapter Forty-four

  THE NEXT NIGHT, JACKIE ONCE AGAIN KEYED INTO THE WHOLE Package. She had called in to the restaurant at three o’clock to let Anthony know she wouldn’t be at work. He begged to know what was going on. Cheryl had come in at noon and Doris was the only one planning to show up for the evening shift. Jackie had kindly told him to mind his business and hung up.

  Now, she listened carefully once she opened the door. Nothing. The place was silent as a tomb. She sneaked back to the kitchen area and pulled open the jumbo-sized fridge. The motor hummed in tandem with the cheap fluorescent light.

  Thankfully, there were batches of leftover food, including something that appeared to be pumpkin ravioli. She grabbed a few squares of that and put it on a plate. There wasn’t a microwave in the place so she’d have to eat the pasta cold. She slunk over to the salad area, yanking open the stainless steel refrigerator found below the cutting boards, hunting for vegetables. She selected several ripe tomato slices and a handful of mixed greens and breathed a sigh of relief. For now, this wasn’t a bad system. She just prayed Anthony was lax on this part of the inventory and wouldn’t notice.

  Grabbing a fork, she felt her way through the dining room, then opened the door to her new bedroom. She almost dropped her plate in surprise at the sight of Anthony, curled up and crying on what should have been her bed. Jackie wracked her brain, trying to quickly think of a good excuse to be here at such a late hour.

  “This pasta looks five-star,” she finally gushed, coming into the tiny room. “It was the special tonight, right? I couldn’t sleep—I was just dying to know how we did.” She flopped down next to him, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong.

  “You’re so busted.” Anthony sniffled. “That was your suitcase hiding out in the dumbwaiter, wasn’t it?” He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

  Jackie stared down at her plate, face on fire. Finally, she nodded.

  “I love your suitcase,” Anthony said, lip trembling. “You have beautiful taste. You have such good taste.”

  Jackie popped a piece of ravioli into her mouth, enjoying the tender texture of the pasta against her tongue. She tried to ignore the fact that Anthony was crying. He was embarrassed, she was embarrassed . . . their best bet was to pretend as though the situation wasn’t happening and get out of it as soon as possible.

  “This is scrumptious,” she said. “Everyone should wait until midnight to eat, shouldn’t they? There must have been a crowd tonight, after Cheryl’s letter to the editor. Were women just beating down the doors?” Jackie tried to keep the note of sarcasm out of her voice.

  Anthony shook his head, glum.

  Jackie moved her fork toward the frizzy edges of a lettuce leaf. This food really was a delight. It was unfortunate that no one had shown up to enjoy it.

  “When are you going to ask what I’m doing in the office, crying?” Anthony finally demanded, turning to her with wounded eyes.

  “I’m not.” Jackie shook her blond curls. “You didn’t ask me why Doris kicked me out. I figured we were respecting each other’s privacy.”

  Mournfully, Anthony regarded a crumpled bunch of papers he had in his hand. He lifted them up as though he was going to throw them across the room, then his hand fell back into his lap. The motion made a whiff of something good waft in Jackie’s direction. It smelled like that new cologne that was out. When she mentioned this, Anthony burst into a fresh batch of tears.

  Jackie stared at him, amazed. “What did I say?”

  “These pages smell good,” Anthony moaned. “Not me. They’re scented. The pages are scented. Why does he have to be so cruel?”

  “Antonio Rico, you are ridiculous,” Jackie scolded. His drama was really starting to cheer her up. “Just tell me why you’re crying, for heaven’s sake.”

  At that, her manager let out yet another heartfelt sigh. Jackie set her empty plate on the floor and patted her lap. Gratefully, Anthony hopped on the couch and laid his head in her lap. As she stroked the fine black stubble covering his head, Anthony told her everything. Gabe had written a play. Anthony was the lead. It was one of the best things he had ever read.

  “Impossible.” Jackie said. She leaned forward, intrigued. “Gabe can’t be good-looking and talented, too.”

  “That’s what I said,” Anthony squealed, half sitting up and batting at her hand. “That’s exactly what I said. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told me he was with the FBI and investigating Doris for smuggling babies in and out of the country.”

  Jackie burst out laughing. Then she stopped suddenly, remembering that Doris was never going to speak to her again.

  “Sorry,” Anthony said. He cracked his knuckles. “Anyway, I told Gabe he was too attractive to be a writer. Just too attractive. This was when we were unpacking all this inventory stuff.
So he started taking boxes out to the Dumpster and pretending like he hadn’t said anything about it at all. But I told him, I lived in New York. I know a good play. I can see a good play. So, he gave it to me and voila.” He slapped the script. “It’s brilliant.”

  Jackie lunged for the wad of pages. Anthony had crumpled them in his hand, but held them out of reach. “Darling, please . . .” she begged.

  “I’m not supposed to show anyone,” he said. “Jackie, I . . . I think I love him. It’s like he knows and teases me with it and I . . . I just don’t want to get my heart broken again!” The poor man’s body shook with sobs. His eyes were squeezed shut, unable to stop the tears that pushed through like water gushing from a crack in a ceiling.

  “He doesn’t love you back?” Jackie asked.

  Anthony shook his head. “He tries to tell me he’s straight but then he’ll . . . He’s not straight. We all know he’s not straight,” Anthony said, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you listen to me.”

  “It’s okay, honey,” Jackie said. “You’re not the only one with a confused heart.”

  That morning, she had opened the mystery box Robert left for her. Jackie wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was waking up in an icy room with a pinched nerve in her neck, right next to the racket of the garbage trucks clanking the Dumpsters in the alley. Not sure what had prompted the decision, Jackie got up and went straight for her suitcase. In the dim morning light, she ripped open the box before she had time to reconsider. Inside was a beautifully framed picture of her, Robert, and George.

  Frustrated, Jackie stared at the picture. The three of them were at some party and the photographer captured that moment just after George made one of his dumb jokes. Jackie was hanging on his arm, gazing up at him with dancing eyes. Robert was standing to the side, hands in pockets. On the front of the silver frame, her husband had inscribed, TO MY DARLING, SO FULL OF LIFE. THIS PICTURE CAPTURES YOU MORE THAN MY WORDS EVER COULD. MAY YOUR SPARKLE GLISTEN FOR ETERNITY.