Cheesecake and Teardrops

by Faye Thompson

  “I know that’s right,” Heather agreed. “So what’s new?”

  “Blade and I celebrate our two-year anniversary next week.” Tangie smiled.

  “I’m not sure if I should congratulate you or offer my condolences. The minute he gave you that recycled Valentine’s Day teddy bear with some other chick’s name on it, you should have kicked him to the curb. It’s October, and you’re still seeing him?” Heather shook her head.

  “Cut him loose,” Charisma agreed, biting into a biscuit.

  “I will. Eventually,” Tangie promised.

  “Who is she kidding?” Heather looked at Charisma. “Tangie, he’s not the only man out there.”

  “I know, but he’s got some sweet meat,” Tangie admitted.

  “Then suffer the consequences. You know how he is.” Heather stirred her seltzer with a straw.

  Tangie shook her head. “All I wanna know is, who let the dogs out?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Why do you keep letting them in?” Charisma asked.

  Finally, their appetizers came—mozzarella sticks and stuffed mushrooms. They dived right in, all except for Heather.

  “Heather, you’re not eating. What’s up?” Charisma asked.

  “I’m skipping the appetizers. I’m on a new diet. I’m supposed to lose ten pounds in two weeks,” Heather admitted.

  “Eating what?” Charisma asked.

  “Mostly broiled seafood, baked chicken, salad, and I take a supplement before every meal. I gotta get this weight off. The holidays are coming.” Heather took another sip of seltzer.

  Tangie quickly said grace and bit into a cheese stick. “How much are you trying to lose?”

  “I’m about two-twenty now, but I would love to get down to one-sixty,” Heather said.

  “One-sixty on a five-foot-seven-inch frame? You’d be hot. You should come to the gym and work out. You’d lose the weight in no time,” Tangie suggested.

  “As huge as I am? Imagine me waddling around the gym. It’s not a pretty sight,” Heather admitted.

  “Heather, the average woman is a size fourteen,” Charisma reminded her.

  “Please,” Tangie told her. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You have flawless, creamy skin, beautiful almond-shaped eyes, and a head of hair most women would die for. Count your blessings. So you’re a little overweight. You can lose it. Lots of women have lost more. And what’s in those pills you’re taking, anyway? Are they safe?”

  “I bought them from the health food store. They’re fine,” Heather said. “Where’s our dinner? I’m starving.”

  “Have a mushroom. One can’t hurt,” Charisma said.

  “No, I’ll pass,” Heather decided.

  “If you change your mind and wanna hit the gym, let me know. I can get you a really good deal. Just say the word.”

  Tangie, who worked at Canyon’s Club, told her.

  “Okay, enough about me. Did you get that promotion, Charisma?” Heather asked.

  “No, I didn’t get this one, either,” Charisma said. “Guess who did?”

  “Who?” Tangie and Heather both asked.

  “Chase Martini. Miss Crappuccino strikes again.” Charisma shook her head.

  “What excuse did they give this time?” Tangie asked.

  “My boss claimed that she was better qualified and that she had completed more extensive special assignments than me. Who’s he kidding? She’s a part-timer who spends half of her day on her cell.” Charisma grabbed another mozzarella stick. “The only special assignments she’s been on lately have been in somebody’s bed, probably his. Thank goodness he’s history. Come to think of it, the last three promotions were filled by whites. I’m sick of it. It’s almost like they belong to a sect. Who do they think they are, the privileged sect? I’m ready to file a discrimination complaint.”

  “Sometimes that can hurt your career,” Heather said.

  “I just want some answers,” Charisma admitted. “Oh, they just hired a new manager in my department.”

  “White?” Tangie asked.

  “No, a brother, actually,” Charisma said.

  “Interesting. What’s he like?” Tangie asked.

  Charisma smiled, recalling how she had beat him out of a parking space that first day. “I was so embarrassed.”

  “Well, at least he knows you can maneuver your way into a tight spot,” Tangie said. “Men like that kind of information.”

  “A few days later he asked me to show him some of the city’s hot spots.” Charisma grinned.

  “See, I told you,” Tangie said. “But we all know which hot spot he was really talking about. What’s he like?”

  “He’s tall, nice build, pretty brown skin,” Charisma said.

  “Just your type.” Heather smiled.

  “Does he have tight sugar buns?” Tangie asked

  “I wasn’t looking there,” Charisma exclaimed.

  “Well, you should have been, ’cause you know he was scoping yours. As much as you’re packing back there? Please, you could run the Big Apple from your back pocket,” Tangie told her.

  “And you could light the city with your DD headlights, honey. No need for Con Ed,” Charisma said, referring to the utility giant.

  “You two are so bad.” Heather laughed.

  The waitress returned with their entrées: Charisma’s shrimp scampi, Tangie’s creamy crabmeat Alfredo, and Heather’s broiled salmon. Charisma and Tangie dug right in.

  Heather downed a diet pill first.

  “I bet your boss’ll ask you out,” Tangie said.

  “I bet he will too,” Heather agreed. “It’s just a matter of time.” She cut into her salmon and chewed slowly, savoring every bite.

  “And you know what they say. The woman decides when a relationship will begin,” Tangie said.

  “I know. And the man usually decides when it’ll end. But in this case there’ll be no end ’cause there’ll be no beginning,” Charisma insisted.

  “But Charisma, you could have so much fun,” Tangie said, swirling her pasta.

  “How do you know? You haven’t even met the man,” Charisma said.

  “Don’t have to. Imagine dating your boss. It’s the forbidden fruit thing,” Tangie told her.

  “Forbidden fruit? I’m not trying to get in a jam. You know, I make my phone call first thing every payday morning to make sure my direct deposit is there,” Charisma said, referring to what they called their single-girl call. “I need my job. And besides, you know I’m seeing Dex.”

  “See them both,” Tangie insisted.

  “And divide the pie?” Charisma asked, enjoying her shrimp scampi. “Uh-uh.”

  “Well, it’s not like they don’t do it to us,” Tangie said, rolling her eyes.

  “You wanna know something?” Heather asked without waiting for an answer. “Dex is nice and all, and I know he suits your needs, but you’re settling.”

  “And you think I should give my boss a shot?” Charisma asked.

  “Why not? What have you got to lose?” Heather shrugged.

  “You’re both crazy.” Charisma shook her head.

  “We just want to see you get swept off your feet,” Tangie said. “One of us deserves it.”

  “You’re all business,” Heather told Charisma. “So what could be better than meeting the man of your dreams at work?”

  “Haven’t you heard that working girls should keep their legs shut and their eyes and ears open? Anyway, who says he’s even available? A man like him probably has them lined up around the block,” Charisma said as she sipped her drink.

  “Maybe. But if he were available, would you be interested?” Tangie asked.

  Charisma thought for a moment before speaking. “Nope.”

  2

  Heather

  Heather Grey drove down Merrick Boulevard to her favorite cosmetics and skin-care shop, When We Were Queens. Her atrocious eyebrows looked like two bushy caterpillars plastered to her forehead in need of waxing. She was more than overdue.

 
; Thank God Cinderella was in, and they were delighted to see one another. As usual, Cinderella greeted her with a warm embrace, kissing both cheeks. “Now queens,” she said to her other clients. “Say hello to Queen Heather.”

  “Hi,” they all said in unison.

  “You look fantastic, my darling,” Cinderella told her.

  “I lost five pounds,” Heather whispered.

  “That’s wonderful. Call the cops!” Cinderella smiled. “Let me guess.” She laughed. “You need your eyebrows done.”

  Heather nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “Let me finish Anita’s, start Queen Ethel’s, and then put wax on yours,” she told Heather, keeping track of everyone.

  It was well-known that Cinderella did the best makeup and eyebrows in Queens, and she was the premier choice for many a brides. By this time, four more customers had walked in and all for their brows. Cinderella’s assistant helped out. Heather was glad she came when she did. Cinderella worked her magic and handed Heather a hand mirror to review her work. Heather glanced at her reflection, pleased with what she saw until her eyes landed smack-dab on her nose. How could she miss it? She hated the sight of it, from its hideous bump to its flaring nostrils. It was probably the only thing standing in the way of her lifelong dream of becoming a model. That, and the extra pounds that enveloped her girth prevented her from even being a plus-sized model. She quickly looked away and returned the mirror to Cinderella. She was stuck with that curse until she hit the lottery or at least until she saved up enough money for a nose job. All her extra funds were being saved for her plastic surgery. In the meantime, she’d just have to deal with what she called her bowlegged nose. She spent another hour with Cinderella and left with a bagful of much-needed cosmetics.

  “Without God and you we truly could not survive,” Cinderella told her as she headed out the door.

  Heather rented the basement apartment of her mother’s Laurelton home. She headed home, anxious to get out of her tight clothes. She always slipped into something more comfortable after she came in from work as a librarian at the main branch of the Queens Library off of Jamaica Avenue.

  It was funny. Heather Grey loved heather gray. She had a drawer full of heather gray T-shirts, leggings, and sweats. She practically lived in them during her downtime.

  It also amused her that she was a little black, a little white, and a Grey. Could she be any more colorful?

  Heather surveyed herself in the full-length bedroom.

  There goes that nose again. No amount of makeup could camouflage it. Lord knows she had tried. If she ever hit the lottery, look out, world. Between a nose job and liposuction, she’d reinvent herself. Why diet and exercise for months when a skilled surgeon could whittle her down in a matter of hours? She’d save herself a lot of stomach growling.

  That’s for sure. Yet, she still got hit on by the fellas. Some men just liked ’em extra thick. Or maybe they were just greedy. They wanted their share and someone else’s too.

  Heather headed for the kitchen. It was Thursday evening, and she didn’t feel like cooking. She popped a frozen dinner into the microwave and poured herself a glass of diet 7UP. It was starting to drizzle outside, and her warm, toasty home was the perfect place to be on a damp, chilly night. She popped a diet pill, ate dinner, and cleaned up her kitchen. It was seven-fifteen. Good. She had finished eating before seven-thirty. She wouldn’t be sleeping on a full stomach.

  Heather plopped down on her living room couch and reached for the remote. There was nothing interesting on TV, just a bunch of half-naked skinny girls shaking their behinds on some music videos. She switched to another station. Two-bone thin heifers walking down the street stopping traffic. Why couldn’t she be one of them? How long did she have to be miserable? Life wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She tried so hard, and she was still a whopper.

  There was a pint of butter pecan ice cream in her freezer calling her name. She tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on some DVD’s Charisma had dropped off the other day. The ice cream called her louder. She was doing so well on her diet that a little reward shouldn’t hurt. She debated for a few moments and then headed for the kitchen, knowing fully well that each step toward the Häagen-Dazs was a step in the wrong direction. If she turned back now, her dignity would remain intact.

  Too late, she had passed over the threshold. There might as well be a sign saying Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here. Heather took a deep breath and reached for the refrigerator door handle. The ice cream was right where she usually hid it behind the vegetables. If she got out now, she could still save herself. If she didn’t, she was a goner.

  She took another deep breath, reached for the pint of ice cream, and quickly closed the door to the fridge. She removed the lid and liner, and microwaved the pint for twenty seconds. She had it down to a science. Perfect. She grabbed a spoon and let the sweet concoction slide down her throat, enjoying its creaminess. It was sinfully delicious, her guilty pleasure. She had entered the twilight zone, sucking down one spoonful after another until it was gone.

  Moments later, the guilt began to seep in. No wonder she had a body by Häagen-Dazs. If only she had stopped herself after a spoonful or two, but no, she had allowed herself to get caught up in the moment. It had been so easy, too easy. When would she learn?

  Feeling defeated, Heather inspected her full face closely in the bathroom mirror. She was still five pounds lighter.

  “Right?” she said weakly. But she knew that if she stepped on the scales the next morning, it would register a different tune. The pride she had felt an hour earlier had now been replaced by shame. She had been doing so well. Please, God, don’t let me blow it. I’m so sick and tired of being fat, she silently prayed. As a tear ran down the side of her hooked nose and cheek, she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The damage was done. She’d get back on point tomorrow.

  The next morning, Heather gulped down a cup of coffee and half a slice of whole wheat toast after popping two of her diet pills. The hunger pangs in her stomach were not satisfied, but she told herself that it was a small price to pay for the new body she envisioned. The end would definitely justify the means. No doubt about it. If she could lose ten pounds in two weeks, there was no reason she couldn’t lose forty pounds in eight. Who knows, maybe she’d be svelte by Christmas if she played her cards right.

  She hopped into her hooptie, a dark blue, late-model Chrysler with a fresh paint job, backed out of the driveway, and drove down Merrick Boulevard. She was tempted to stop by the Pathmark supermarket on the way for some frozen dinners since they were on sale but decided against it. She didn’t want to be late for work again this week. It was hard getting up in the morning when the bed was holding you hostage.

  Heather quickly found parking along Eighty-ninth Avenue, and thus avoided having to pay the municipal parking lot fee. With minutes to spare, she was behind the desk in the language and literature section, and her workday began. She spent most of the morning helping college students find books for their research projects. Thank goodness those days were behind her.

  Before she knew it, it was lunchtime, and boy, was she starved. She microwaved her Lean Cuisine and headed for the lounge to join her coworkers. Most were watching soaps and greasing back. She slid a pill in her mouth and washed it down with diet 7UP. She tried to ignore the Popeyes chicken, Margarita Pizza, and burger aroma that permeated the room and concentrate on her roasted turkey and vegetables, but it was hard. Really hard.

  “You sure you don’t want some of this Popeyes, Heather?” Delta asked.

  “No, thanks,” Heather told her.

  “Of course she doesn’t,” Wanda said. “She’d rather have pizza. She knows I have an extra slice right here with her name on it.” Wanda was the fattest in the bunch. Everytime she sat down her knees spread like a wildfire, but she was as sweet as they come. “You’re not trying to go Beyoncé on us now, are you?” she asked.

  “Only if she can have the money to go with it,” Delta shot ba
ck, and they all laughed.

  Heather didn’t answer. She realized that she’d have to distance herself from them if she wanted to stay on track.

  Otherwise, her efforts would be sabotaged. She finished eating and decided to get some air to clear her head.

  Jamaica Avenue was usually crowded around lunchtime and today was no exception. She window-shopped as she strolled down to Canyon’s Health and Fitness Club, where Tangie worked. She was tempted to stop and inquire about a gym membership, but lost her nerve. Maybe one day she’d let Tangie talk her into it. It was a beautiful, Indian summer day, and secretly she envied all the skinny women floating around with their bare midriffs and piercings. Not that she wanted to expose her belly button. It just would have been nice to have that option.

  A homeless man approached her for a quarter. She reached in her pocket. All she felt were bills. She gave him a dollar.

  Becoming winded, she stopped in a little rinky-dink store for some water. They wanted three dollars for one sixteen ounce bottle. Her throat was parched. She plopped down three bucks and headed back to work, her face glistening ever so slightly from perspiration.

  Later that evening she arrived home to find her mother barbecuing in the backyard. It was a nice surprise seeing Leola Grey at that time of day since she usually worked the four-to-twelve shift as a neonatal nurse at Jamaica Hospital.

  “Hi, boobie,” Leola Grey said, kissing her only child. Newly divorced and unable to bear children of her own, Leola had adopted Heather when she was just one month old. She told Heather the truth as soon as her young mind could understand.

  Heather remembered the days when her mother worked two jobs to keep a roof over her head. Leola insisted it was well worth the sacrifice.

  “Hi, boobie,” Heather said. “No work today?”

  “I’ve been working four weeks straight without a day off, and those double shifts are killing me. Today seemed like the perfect day to exhale. So here I am. Want a burger?” Leola asked.