Dear Emily

by Fern Michaels

  When the count was final, Emily stared at her roommates. “It’s a princely sum. In case any of you are really interested, I’ve decided not to get my face-lift. I sold the furs so that money, combined with yours, will go a long way toward what I propose. Okay, here’s the plan.”

  “Wait, wait, I want to get the brandy bottle. I think this is a momentous announcement and I think we should be prepared to toast it.” Zoë was up and out to the kitchen as the words tumbled from her mouth. She poured generously into their coffee cups. “Now, Emily, tell us.”

  “Wait a minute, I thought you wanted that face-lift. You said you needed it. If it’s going to make you feel better about yourself, you shouldn’t give it up. You said it would build your self-esteem, give you confidence,” Lena said.

  “So I lied. You guys make me feel good. Look at us. You’re all willing to put your last dime into this venture. I don’t need a face-lift. I might want one. Therein lies the difference. Maybe someday, and then again, maybe not. Look at this face, all of you. Do I have character or what? I earned every goddamn wrinkle and I’m not sure I want to part with them. Me. You aren’t making this decision for me. Neither is Ben, who by the way said, ‘What’s wrong with your face?’ He meant it—you should have seen the strange look on his face when he said that. So, let’s put my face-lift behind us and move on to the matters at hand,” Emily said. Seven pairs of hands stretched out. Emily grabbed Lena and Zoë’s hand.

  “To us, win or lose,” Martina said happily.

  “Okay, this is my plan so listen up. I have a video I think we should have copied and given away for free. It’s going to cost a bundle of money to do that. Volume might get us a break. We’ll saturate Plainfield and that covers South Plainfield, Edison Township, Metuchen, Wood-bridge Township, and the Brunswicks, and that covers north, south, and east. I propose we hire people the way the phone company does when they give out the new telephone directories. We put the videos in little plastic bags and hang them on doorknobs. In the end, and I’m not sure about this, it will probably be cheaper than mailing them out, and we don’t have mailing lists to cover all the areas. You have to pay for mailing lists. Christmas break is coming up so we should be able to hire college kids and seniors from the local high schools to help us.”

  She paused. “Now, I have all the information on the freeze-dried food. We’re going to start selling it. That’s where the money is, ladies. It will be perfectly proportioned, no fuss, no mess. Just take a minute to think about this. If you’re serious about weight loss and an exercise program and you work or if you’re a busy housewife and mother, wouldn’t it be great to just pop something on the table for yourself and know it’s been measured, is nutritious, and gives a guarantee that you will reach that goal you’re striving for? I understand it’s actually pretty tasty and looks good on the plate. That’s important. There’s a good selection. Variety is important too. No one wants to eat the same thing all the time. I have to be honest with you, I now hate tuna fish. We’ve all eaten a ton of that stuff these past few months, and if I have to eat one more piece of broiled chicken, I’m going to start clucking.”

  “When are we going to start?”

  “Soon. Somehow or other we lost sight of the target we were after, which is middle-aged women like ourselves. I have no idea how that happened. I guess we were too busy with Charley and quick fixes. Anyway, women our age with midriffs like ours don’t go to workout places and clubs, for a reason. We’re ashamed of our bodies, at the extra pounds around our middles, our saddlebags, our drooping butts. Who do you see in those commercials? Eighteen- and twenty-year-old girls who say they need to lose a pound. One pound. They work out to lose one stinking pound. I believe in my heart they go there to meet men so men can see how cute they look in their spandex outfits. What forty-year-old woman who is fifteen to twenty pounds overweight is going to set herself up for something like that? It’s easier to do nothing and hide your fat under the kinds of clothes we’ve all worn. That’s why I think this new idea of mine might do it for us. If this doesn’t work, then we’re out of business. Understand one thing here: we’re going to be paying for and giving away a lot of free videos that aren’t going to our targeted audience, but we have to take the good with the bad. Do any of you disagree with anything I’ve just said?”

  “When are we going to start this new project?” Lena asked. “We all agree, don’t we ladies?” The others nodded.

  “Okay, I’m going to show you the video,” Emily said. “This, if we decide to go ahead with it, is going to take mega work. Ben will help, but he’s just one person. By the way, we have a date on Saturday. I asked him out, and on Sunday he’s going with us to pick out the Christmas tree. I invited him for Christmas Eve too. I hope you don’t mind.” Emily flushed at the looks of approval on the women’s faces.

  “Okay, here goes. It’s not complete; I still have to do part three. I have a favor to ask all of you. Please don’t say anything until you’ve seen it all.”

  Emily leaned back against the sofa and pressed the Play button. She closed her eyes for a second. She listened to her voice, watched herself, tried to imagine what the women on the floor were thinking, what they would say when she pressed the Rewind button.

  Emily’s thumb pressed downward. She wanted to look away, but she didn’t. What were they going to say? She waited.

  “Exactly what kind of underwear were you wearing?” Lena asked.

  “Extra large, one hundred percent cotton. It wasn’t big enough.”

  “You’re telling me,” Zoë quipped.

  Emily burst out laughing.

  “I like underwear that has the days of the week on it,” Martina giggled.

  “What’s part three?”

  “Like I said, I’ll show one of the clinics, maybe have a few customers say something. I’ll mention the food, maybe the herbs. I’d like your feedback on that. Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “About what?” the Demster twins asked.

  Emily squirmed. “You know, about the way I looked.”

  Martha laughed. “I understand you being squeamish about letting it all hang out like that, but Emily, do you have any idea how many women look like you did back then? I never used to look in the mirror when I got out of the shower. If you’re comfortable with this, then we’re behind you one hundred percent and I think I speak for everyone.”

  Emily looked at her friends. She didn’t see pity or shame. She saw friendship mirrored in their eyes, support and a let’s-go-for-it attitude. “I’m comfortable with it,” Emily said quietly.

  “Now we can make our toast,” Martha said, holding her coffee cup high in the air. “We need to say something meaningful.” Her face puckered into a frown as she sought for just the right words.

  “How about to Emily’s coming of age,” Lena said.

  “How about to the greatest group of women in the state, women who are going to succeed because we’re sharing and working together for a cause that will help other women and at the same time secure our futures?” Emily said, clinking her cup against the others.

  “Perfect,” the others said in union.

  “Okay, now, down to work. Pads and pencils, phone books, our ledgers, our bank books, and more coffee,” Emily said.

  The women scattered to return with everything Emily had suggested. The coffeepot was filled and refilled throughout the long night. They were still at it at dawn when they called a halt, pleased with the progress they’d made over the past hours. They split up to shower and head off to their respective clinics with the promise they’d close up shop at five o’clock, order Chinese, and pick up where they left off.

  Two days later they had a concrete plan of action that allowed for every screw-up known to man, a work schedule, a buying schedule, a plan to hire more people, mega expansion complete with maps garnered from the local Chamber of Commerce offices listing locations for additional clinics, distributors for the videos. A commitment to air commercials on the local cable c
hannel was a day away from signing on the proverbial dotted line.

  The possibility of failure was never mentioned, nor was it alluded to in any way.

  Emily called an estate jeweler and made arrangements to sell her triple-strand pearl choker, her twenty-one-inch pearl necklace, her twelve-inch strand, two pairs of pearl earrings, and the diamond studs she’d worn three times. The Rolex watch, the three diamond bracelets, the diamond pendant, and the three lapel pins would be held in reserve to be sold if needed.

  The last piece of business they agreed on was Emily would, after the first of the year, travel around the local area to all the large corporations to try and offer management a program designed for employees to be conducted on the premises and called Lunch Hour Physical Fitness. Emily’s Fitness Centers would take full responsibility for maintaining and renting all exercise equipment to be installed on the premises. The fee was outrageously high, but as Emily put it to the girls, “We need to hire the best and that means a high salary. It will be a write-off for the company and those guys will get their pictures in the paper. All we have to do is sign up a company like Johnson and Johnson and the others will follow. I feel it. I smell our success,” Emily said, excitement ringing in her voice.

  The women toasted the moment with cups of Celestial Seasonings Lemon Zinger tea.

  The holidays passed in a blur, with a promise that next year they’d have a real, bang-up Christmas and a truly boisterous New Year.

  Seventeen months later, Emily’s Fitness Centers were a household word. They opened a corporate office in Raritan Center, hired people to manage the original eight clinics, plus nineteen now in total. They had nine corporations they serviced, advertised on cable as well as the Fox Network, and were working out a deal for the three major networks. The freeze-dried meals were netting them more money than they had ever dreamed possible.

  By November, four months later, Emily was approached by a team of lawyers asking them if they’d consider franchising Emily’s Fitness Centers. The women huddled, said no, took down names and phone numbers, and toasted that particular moment with a batch of Alabama Slammers in the middle of the day.

  “We’re on a roll, ladies,” Emily said, throwing the empty pitcher against the wall. The women threw their empty glasses against the wall. “Call maintenance to clean up this mess, or better yet, let’s not call. We’ll put a note on the door. Our days of cleaning up are long gone,” Emily said breezily as she shooed the women out to the hall. “We’re going home, take our shoes off, and do absolutely nothing. Or we can start to plan for Christmas. We promised ourselves, remember?”

  At home with a batch of Fuzzy Navels, the women settled themselves in the living room with their shoes off, their faces elated and happy. “Ben should be here,” Lena said. “Let’s call him.”

  “Can’t. He’s on the road. Our roving ambassador is busy from morning till night. I haven’t really talked to him in almost two weeks. He’s doing a wonderful job. If we lose him, we’re in trouble. He’s like a…cohesive that keeps it all together.” Emily made a sour face.

  “You guys are getting on pretty good, huh?” Zoë asked slyly.

  “Pretty good,” Emily said honestly. “I really like him, but I don’t think I’m in love with him. I don’t think he’s in love with me either. We’re kind of like a ham and cheese sandwich; we go together. For now.

  “We need to talk, ladies. Today we were paid, as far as I’m concerned, the ultimate compliment—we were made an offer to franchise. I don’t think it gets any better than that. By spring we’re all going to be paid back the monies we advanced. It’s my considered opinion that we are now set. I think we should look into the franchising bit, find out all we can. Those guys, I don’t know, I didn’t like them for some reason. I think they thought they were dealing with a dizzy, greedy bunch of women who would jump at their offer. If we’re going to go that route, we need to be prepared, on our terms. Think of it like this: every single franchise has to buy their equipment, the videos, the freeze-dried food from us. That’s all profit after we pay for it wholesale. Then we get the up-front buy-in money. Even if we franchised just eight clinics, that’s our nest egg for the future. Invested right, it will grow to a healthy sum. Our yearly contributions will be the icing on the cake. We did damn well, ladies. I am so proud of us I could just…bust.”

  “Does that mean we have to move, get our own place?” Helen Demster asked.

  Emily stared at the twin. “Why would you ask me something like that, Helen? Of course not. If you want to move to have more privacy or if…if you don’t want to be a part of…our family, and to me you all are my family, I understand.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to move, and neither does Rose. I just thought that now that we’re successful and have money we…you…all of you…might want to change things.”

  “Families don’t split up. I like things just the way they are. We need to take a vote here,” Emily said, her voice as anxious sounding as she looked.

  “See,” she said moments later, relieved, “everyone voted to keep things just the way they are. God, Helen, you scared the hell out of me. I can’t imagine life without all of you.”

  “How about some Singapore slings?” Lena asked.

  “You make ’em, I’ll drink ’em,” Rose said sprightly.

  “We’re becoming regular lushes,” Martha said happily.

  “Yeah, right, twice-a-year drinkers,” Lena snorted. “Toasts don’t count. We only drink when we toast something.”

  “Yeah, like Christmas, Easter, the Fourth of July, Memorial Day, Labor Day, everyone’s birthday, everyone’s personal day, our anniversary, the day we moved in here, the day we officially became a success,” Nancy said.

  “None of that counts.” Lena trotted out to the kitchen.

  “Our workout suits are great, but we have to find a way to have them made cheaper. We’re not going overseas to have it done either. We make and buy American. Who wants to check into the cottage industry and see if we can’t come up with something better than we’re paying now?”

  “We’ll do it,” the Demster twins said.

  “Great,” Emily said. “You know, somewhere in this house is a book Ian had with names of people who gave him good prices on things. It seems to me there were two ladies in Perth Amboy who made white lab coats for almost nothing. The place where he got the material was in the book too. I’ll look for it tomorrow. I bet we could cut some kind of deal with a sneaker company, too, if we really tried. Anyone want to give that a try?”

  “I will,” Martina said. “You know, we never really did make a decision about giving away those tote bags with our name on them. Maybe we can get the person who does the suits to make the bags. It really is good advertising. Rose, Helen, what do you think?”

  “We’ll check it out. I like giveaways,” Helen said, “and it’s a write-off.”

  “Here we are, ladies. What are we toasting this time?” Lena said, placing the tray in the middle of the circle on the floor.

  “Who cares? Let’s just drink this ambrosia and plan on what we’re going to try next. We need to be more worldly. I used to order white wine when I was out because I didn’t know anything about liquor,” Zoë said.

  “Harvey Wallbangers,” Kelly said. “We’ll just taste them so Zoë gets an idea of what they’re like.”

  “A Mimosa.”

  “That’s a sissy drink like a Shirley Temple. You drink those at brunch or for breakfast,” Martha said.

  “Well, this isn’t brunch or breakfast so we aren’t drinking them. The Harvey Wallbangers are next,” Lena said.

  Hours later, when they were finishing the pitcher of Bahama Mamas, Emily looked up to see a figure in the doorway. She pointed a finger and said, “Look!”

  “You’re drunk. All of you! Your back door was wide open. What if I was an ax murderer?” Ben said, his face registering disgust.

  “Don’t scare us,” the Demster twins giggled.

  “They’re right,�
�� Emily chimed in, then hiccupped. “Why are you scaring us? We said such nice things about you tonight. We found a way for you to get a real big bunch of money so you can send Ted to a fancy Ivy League college.”

  “What?”

  “What what?” Emily demanded.

  “What did you come up with?”

  “I can’t remember,” Emily said, doubling over with laughter.

  “What are you celebrating?”

  “Something. Something stupendous,” Emily said, flopping about on the floor.

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t remember. Tomorrow I’ll remember. You look mad. Are you mad, Ben? Do we care if he’s mad?” Emily asked the others.

  “Only if he quits,” Zoë muttered.

  “Is this going to go on our resumés?” Martha asked in a squeaky voice.

  “What resumés?” Ben demanded. “How long have you been drinking?”

  Emily’s arms flopped in the air. “Thirty minutes,” she said defiantly.

  “In your dreams. Come on, ladies, up and to bed. Tomorrow is another day, one you are probably all going to regret.”

  “We’re going to sleep here tonight. We do that sometimes when we’re discussing important things. Isn’t that right, Emily?” Lena said.

  “That is absolutely right. Lock the door when you leave, Mr. Jackson.” She was slurring her words so she had to be drunk. It annoyed her that Ben was right. She narrowed her eyes in order to get a clearer vision of him. He’s angry. Why, she wondered. “We’re home. So what if we had a few drinks to celebrate. I never had a Bahama Mama before. It sure beats Lemon Zinger. Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.” Emily made a beeline for the stairs, Ben on her heels.

  “Leave me alone…I can throw up by myself…why do you want to watch?” Emily yelped between heaves. Her eyes watered, her stomach muscles pulled and protested the violent spasms. She was on her knees, her head in the bowl. “Go home, Ben. I don’t want you to see me like this,” Emily pleaded. “Don’t you ever listen? I’d like to be alone with my misery.”

  “You’ll never make a drunk, Emily,” Ben said cheerfully.