Cheesecake and Teardrops

by Faye Thompson

  And now look what happened. Twenty pounds. Twenty freakin’ pounds. Why couldn’t their paths have crossed last week? Was life fair or what? She drove to Red Lobster and ordered a dozen cheddar biscuits to take out. Unfortunately, they didn’t make it home. That night as she stared at her reflection in the mirror—nose and all—she made a decision.

  Slowly, she leaned over the toilet and stuck three fingers down her throat. The rest was easy. It would be her little secret.

  Later that week, Heather dialed Charisma and Tangie for a threeway about getting together that night.

  “Let’s have dinner at Cabana,” Charisma suggested.

  “Cabana?” Heather whined. “They have to practically roll us out the door every time we eat there. Thanksgiving’ll be here before you know it. How about Manhattan Proper for drinks?”

  “Okay, Heather. We’ll do Manhattan Proper,” Tangie said.

  “You need me to pick you up?”

  “No, I’m good,” Heather reassured her.

  “Meet you guys there at seven?” Charisma asked.

  “Seven’s good,” Heather agreed before hanging up.

  Apparently, it wasn’t. Tangie and Charisma waited over half an hour for Heather to show that night.

  “That damned car,” Tangie said. “I knew one of us should’ve picked her up.”

  “I’ll call her cell phone.” Charisma dialed Heather’s cell phone. “I’m just getting her voice mail.” Charisma shook her head.

  “I hope she’s not stranded somewhere.” Tangie reached for her wineglass.

  “Let me call her house. Maybe she hasn’t left yet. It’s ringing,” she told Tangie. “Heather, we’re at Manhattan Proper waiting for you. It’s something to eight. Call us when you get this message.”

  “Hello?” Heather yawned.

  “Heather?” Charisma said. “What’s wrong? Were you sleeping?”

  “What time is it?” Heather asked her.

  “It’s a quarter to eight.”

  “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. I came home and took some cold medicine, and I guess it knocked me out.”

  “Well, stay home and get some rest, Heather. We’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Charisma. Bye.”

  “What happened?” Tangie asked Charisma.

  “She’s all right. She was asleep. She took some cold medicine, and it made her drowsy.” Charisma popped a couple of peanuts in her mouth.

  “Oh, okay. I’m starving. Let’s eat something and call it a night,” Tangie said.

  “Good idea. I have an early meeting tomorrow. You wanna hear something funny?” she asked without waiting for an answer. “I’ve been debating whether I should invite Nate over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Are you cooking?” Tangie asked.

  “No, my mother’s having Thanksgiving dinner, and I thought that maybe if he didn’t have plans he could have dinner with us.”

  “Do it,” Tangie pleaded. “The holidays are the perfect time to get together. Wait a minute. Didn’t you say he has a son?”

  “Yeah, he has a teenaged son. Maybe he’s already made plans to spend Thanksgiving with him,” Charisma said.

  “Ask him anyway,” Tangie insisted. “Plans change.”

  “I don’t know. You know Dex always comes by.”

  “So, the more the merrier. Wait a minute, Charisma. Don’t forget,” Tangie said, raising her glass. “Behind every successful woman is herself.”

  “I must be crazy to let you talk me into this.” Charisma shook her head.

  Heather spent the following Monday at the main branch of the New York Public Library in Manhattan. She took the E train to Times Square and walked a few blocks to Fifth Avenue.

  She had stood all the way from Jamaica Center Parsons Archer to Forty-second Street, and no matter how comfortable her shoes had started out, the low-heeled leather sling pump was rubbing against the corn on her right pinkie toe. She double-checked her purse to make sure she hadn’t forgotten her toothbrush and whitening toothpaste. She had done a lot of research lately on bulimia, and the advice was all the same: Take special care of your teeth to prevent gray or yellow teeth from tooth erosion.

  Also, stomach acids in vomit eat away at tooth enamel and cause bad breath. The last thing Heather wanted to do was to offend anyone with her breath.

  Compared to the Queens Library in Jamaica, where she worked, the Manhattan Library was like a universe of knowledge.

  From the moment she hurried up the stairs guarded on either side by statues of the landmark lions, she felt like she was entering the halls of wisdom.

  Heather removed her coat and draped it over her left arm. As instructed, she signed in at the front desk. Her ID badge, clearly displayed, hung around her neck. She road the elevator to the fifth floor and found room 503.

  The class was mandatory for all library personnel, and though most employees were fortunate enough to be taught in their home branch, Heather was unlucky enough to have to schlep to Manhattan that day. There were approximately one hundred people in the class and after introducing herself the lecturer asked everyone to move up as close to the front as possible, filling in all empty seats.

  Heather chose an aisle seat.

  The lecture lasted for three hours and then they broke for lunch. She walked to the nearest bank of elevators and waited along with the others. Four elevators passed before she would get one, and even that elevator was packed to the gills. Heather left the building and walked around the corner to the Bryant Park Grill.

  She didn’t beat the lunch crowd and had to wait fifteen minutes for a table. The waitress brought her a glass of water, with which Heather washed down her diet pills. When she returned to take Heather’s order, she took one look at the menu and ordered a slice of chocolate-layer cake and coffee.

  She checked out her surroundings. The skinny minis, as she called them, were in rare form, looking as though they had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue. Then again, considering that she was in Bryant Park, home of New York’s Fashion Week, some of them probably had.

  Heather didn’t know what made her eyes widen more—the sight of Black Enterprise’s Ed Gordon walking past her table or the arrival of her lunch. In either case, presentation was everything and the combination nearly took her breath away. Certain that she’d never sample his succulently full, juicy lips, she resolved to enjoy her meal in between stealing glances at his impressive form. The cake, which sat a full five inches high, was simply mouth-watering with chocolate shavings galore. Heather cleaned the last morsel of chocolate from her plate like it was the most precious commodity on earth. So much for saving some for manners.

  She left the restaurant, straining her neck for one last glimpse of Ed Gordon, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was just as well. He’d probably never give someone like her a second thought anyway.

  She took one last backward glance as she left the establishment and ran smack into a passerby on the sidewalk.

  She was more startled than he was.

  “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she said as they both got their bearings.

  “Wait a minute. I know you. We met in the Green Acres Mall, right?” he asked. “I’m from the modeling agency.”

  “That’s right,” Heather agreed.

  “My name’s Don.”

  “I’m Heather,” she said simply.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, just running a little late.”

  “Here, take another card,” he said, extending his arm.

  “And don’t forget to give me a call when your’re ready for a career change. It’s all up to you.”

  She took the card and hurried back to the library.

  Against her better judgment, Heather spent Tuesday night grocery shopping. Pathmark was open twenty-four hours a day, and apparently half of Springfield Gardens was there too in preparation for Thanksgiving. A cute-looking guy followed her up and down the aisles, trying to make eye contact.

&nbs
p; When he got up the nerve, he introduced himself as Jamal and gave her his home number. She took his number, promising nothing. His eyes lit up nonetheless. In the frozen food department two women were fighting over the last thirty-pound turkey, even though management assured them that more would be delivered the next day. From the looks of the checkout lines, you’d think they were giving food away. Heather made certain that she stuck to her grocery list. By the time she walked out the door, the thought of a hot bubble bath was the only think that kept her sane. That and the box of chocolate chip cookies she’d be devouring later that night before she embarked on her secret ritual.

  Her mother was working a double shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be home until Wednesday evening. Since Heather was only working half a day, she agreed to start the cooking. Thanksgiving was easily her favorite holiday. The thought of turkey and dressing, macroni and cheese, greens, mashed potatoes and gravy—not to mention a slew of delectable desserts—always put a smile on her face.

  They were expecting ten for dinner. She looked forward to seeing her family. Even though Heather was adopted, she never thought of them as anything less than that. Heather never told another living soul except Charisma and Tangie about her birth. They were the closest she had to sisters. It was nobody else’s business.

  By the time she got to bed that night, it was after midnight.

  She tossed and turned and barely made it to work on time. It was a quiet day at work since most people were home cooking and baking. The four hours that she worked crept by like a centipede crawling against a windstorm. Her zebra-print slingpumps hurt so badly that she felt like her feet were dying a slow death. Now she remembered why she hadn’t worn them in years. It was a relief when noon came and she could wish her coworkers a happy Thanksgiving—especially since she wasn’t due back until Monday.

  Feeling like steak knives were eating away at her feet, Heather crept to Hillside Avenue where her car was parked.

  She slipped off her shoes and exhaled. Thankfully, the car started right up, but traffic was a nightmare. Everybody and their mother must have left work early that day.

  The minute she arrived home, she threw her shoes in the hamper. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to wear them again. At least not anytime soon. She handled her business in the bathroom, making certain to brush and rinse thoroughly with mouthwash. She examined her teeth carefully in the mirror. Thank goodness, they still looked the same.

  Then she walked upstairs. Her mother was already in the kitchen making the dressing.

  “Hey, Mom.” Heather grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and plopped down at the kitchen table. Her mother was busy chopping green peppers, onions, and celery. The sweet potatoes and cornbread were already baking. Even though the food processor sat right in the cabinet above her head, Leola chose to cook the old-fashioned way.

  “Hi, boobie.” Leola stopped just long enough to lean over and exchange a kiss with her daughter before returning to the tasks at hand.

  “How was your day?” Heather asked.

  “Those double shifts are a killer.” Leola shook her head.

  “Thank God I’m off the next couple days. I just may sleep all day Friday. I’m exhausted.”

  “Here, I’ll take over. You go get some rest.” Heather shooed her mother away.

  “Boobie, you’re tired too,” Leola said.

  “I can handle it. You taught me well, remember?”

  “Okay,” Leola said. “I’m just going to take a quick nap. Call me if you need me.”

  “Okay, Ma. Go get some rest. Everything’s under control.”

  “Call me if you need me.” she said again, yawning as she retired to her bedroom.

  Heather finished chopping up the veggies and took a skillet out of the bottom cabinet. She put a small amount of oil in the pan and proceeded to cook them until they were tender. She checked the cornbread to make certain it was browning nicely. When the sweet potatoes were done, she pulled out the mixer and added all the ingredients for the four pies. After washing the greens several times, she added them to the pot of smoked turkey to cook.

  Heather took a quick break before starting on the cakes.

  She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled up a chair upon which to elevate her slightly swollen ankles. It would be a long night, but at least she could save the macroni and cheese and mashed potatoes until the morning. That way they wouldn’t dry out. Heather got up, went to the fridge and then the cupboard. She placed all the ingredients for the cakes on the table and the counter. Next, she oiled and floured the pans. She mixed the batter for both cakes and poured it into the pans, saving just enough batter on the spoon for a double reward. She loved licking the spoon as a little girl. Some things never changed. Once the cakes were in the oven, Heather busied herself cleaning up the kitchen. Her mother taught her to clean up as she went along so there really wasn’t much left to do.

  Next, she dusted and vacuumed the living room and dining room. She also cleaned the bathroom. The aroma of the cakes baking in the oven put a smile on her face, and she was able to finish mopping the kitchen floor. By the time she finished cleaning her mother’s house, it was after 1:00 A.M. Sweating, she eased herself down the basement steps to her apartment, her knees creaking from the household workout. She took a two-minute shower and passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  Heather woke up Thanksgiving morning to the aroma of roasting in the oven. She made a quick call to Charisma before getting up. She was still upset about the twenty pounds.

  She could have been halfway to a modeling contract. She could kick herself. Charisma assured her that if she did it once, she could do it again. The world wasn’t over. Heather had to laugh at that one. She hung up, comforted. Charisma would make a good mother one day. She got up, put on her robe, and headed upstairs to her mother’s kitchen. Leola was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning, sweetie. Want some coffee?” she asked her daughter.

  “Sure,” she said. “You’re up early.”

  “I got up around five and put the turkey in the oven. It feels so good to have the day off.” She handed Heather her coffee then opened the oven door to check on the turkey.

  Heather added milk from the fridge and sweet-ner to her coffee before sitting down at the kitchen table. “Looks like everything’s under control.”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s see, all I have to do is make the mashed potatoes and gravy and macroni and cheese, and I think that’s it. You’ve been a big help, Heather. I tasted the stuffing. It’s delicious. I couldn’t have done a better job myself, and the cakes and pies look scrumptious.”

  “Where are they anyway?” Heather asked, looking around.

  “Oh, they’re all on the dining room table.” Heather got up to view her handiwork. Her mouth watered at the sight of the pies and cakes. “Was that one of Grandma’s tablecloths?” she asked as she sat back down.

  “Um-hmm.” Leola was peeling white potatoes.

  “Wow, it’s in great shape. How old is it, anyway?”

  “Let’s see. Mama must have bought that when I was in junior high. So we’re talking a good forty years.”

  “A family heirloom,” Heather added.

  “You’ll treasure the things your mother’s given you. Especially when she’s gone,” Leola said simply.

  By three o’clock the guests started arriving at the Greys’ house. Heather’s Uncle Frank and Aunt Joan were the first to arrive, followed by her cousins and their husbands and kids. Bored with the adults, the kids quickly decided to camp out in the den and play video games. When dinner was served, the kids had their own little table while the adults had theirs.

  Heather enjoyed turkey and all the trimmings and cut herself some cake and pie for later. She was headed over to Charisma’s parents’ house and would probably have dessert with them. There was no way she could pass up all these homemade goodies.

  “Sissy, you got any ice cream to go with this sweet potato pie?” Heather’s
Aunt Joan asked her mother.

  “I’ll get it,” Heather said, heading for the kitchen. She returned with three gallons of ice cream—butter pecan, chocolate, and good ole vanilla.

  Aunt Joan grabbed an ice cream scoop and dug right in, heaping several scoops on top of her sweet potato pie.

  “Aren’t you having any, Heather?” she asked her niece.

  “Maybe later,” Heather told her as she checked her watch.

  “I’m headed out to see some friends. You remember my friends Charisma and Tangie?”

  “From college? Of course. Well, in case we’re gone when you get back, give me my sugar now.” She hugged and kissed her niece.

  Heather headed downstairs to rid herself of the Thanksgiving dinner. She evaded the mirror, unable to look herself in the eye. She hated having succumbed to this. It was humiliating.

  Then again, maybe if she had thought of this sooner, she’d have more control over her weight problem. She took a deep breath and leaned over the commode.

  Then she changed her mind. She might as well wait until after she returned from the Dearborn’s. That way she could kill two birds with one stone.

  9

  Charisma

  “So how’d your date go with Nate?” Tangie asked Charisma over drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

  Charisma opened her mouth to protest, then shut it.

  “Thank you,” Tangie said. “At least you’re no longer in denial.”

  Charisma gave her a quick rundown of that night, including his candid remark over dinner about possibly wearing her out in the bedroom and being Mr. Right.

  “Girl, I bet if you gave him a piece it would blow his mind.” Tangie laughed.

  “I’ve looked at this from every angle and the bottom line is the same. When an office romance is good, it’s very good. But when it’s bad, it’s extremely bad. And I can’t afford to take that chance. I need my job.” Charisma shrugged.