Bikini Season

by Sheila Roberts

  Suddenly, she felt an almost overwhelming need for a doughnut.

  You paid a lot of money for that wedding dress.

  Who was this? It sounded suspiciously like Adam. Oh, no. No more voices. It was already way too crowded in her head. She didn’t need to add an inner Adam. She already heard enough from him as it was.

  Eggs. She’d have eggs for breakfast. Eggs were great. She loved eggs. And she was going to fit into her wedding dress. “Don’t anybody worry.”

  The voices all kept quiet.

  Kizzy left Lionel sleeping and got up early Saturday, determined to go for a walk around the lake before going in to work in the shop. She pulled on some sweats, then slipped out to the kitchen where she boiled herself an egg. That, along with a piece of whole wheat toast and half a grapefruit, made up her breakfast. Very satisfying.

  She wished she could say the same for being up early on a Saturday morning. But Oprah got up with the birds every day and exercised. If Oprah, who was the world’s busiest woman, could squeeze in morning exercise, then Kizzy guessed she could, too.

  She had just loaded her dishes in the dishwasher when Lionel walked into the kitchen wearing his old University of Washington Huskies sweatshirt and his tattered gray sweatpants. “What are you doing up so early?” she asked him.

  “I’m going walking with you and Gus,” he said, pathing the dog’s head.

  If she’d had a hearing aid she’d have checked to see if it was working. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Lion, you are a changed man.”

  “I am.”

  She put a hand on her hip and shook her head at him, smiling. “Well, what do you know? He can be taught.”

  “We’ll see who’s teaching who when we start that lap around the lake.” He gave her butt a playful smack. “Come on, Kizzy girl, let’s get this fitness train out of the station.”

  “How was everyone’s Valentine’s Day?” Kizzy asked the next time the Bikinis met at her house.

  “I cheated on Valentine’s Day. I had champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries,” Angela confessed. “And Brad,” she added with a self-satisfied smile.

  “I take it your debut as a pole dancer went well,” Kizzy said.

  Angela surveyed her new, hot-pink nails. “Brad is not going anywhere now.”

  “He never was,” said Erin.

  “How was your Valentine’s Day?” Kizzy asked her.

  “It was great.”

  Erin’s lips were smiling, and her voice almost matched them, but not quite. There was an insistence about the way she talked that a woman in love didn’t need. Something was not right, and if you asked Kizzy something hadn’t been right for a long time. “So, tell us about it.”

  “Adam took me to the Two Turtledoves for dinner. And he brought me a single red rose.”

  “Wow,” breathed Angela.

  “And a DVD. And then he took me to the Last Resort.”

  “I heard they were having a big Valentine thing,” Angela said. “How was it? Who all was there?”

  “Most of Heart Lake,” Erin said.

  “Did a lot of people wear costumes?” Megan wanted to know.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I was half tempted to go,” Megan admitted. “Were there any singles there?”

  “A few. Dan Rockwell was there.”

  There it was, the something that Kizzy had been looking for, hiding behind an attempt to act casual. “Your brother’s old friend?”

  “He was there dressed as Zorro. Pathetic,” Erin added, and almost succeeded in looking disgusted.

  “I think Zorro is sexy,” Angela said dreamily.

  “You’re thinking of Antonio Banderas,” Erin informed her.

  “So,” Angela said, nudging Erin, “did you make Adam jealous and dance with Zorro?”

  Erin rolled her eyes, but Kizzy noticed that she didn’t answer yes or no. And her cheeks were suddenly looking sunburned.

  “Isn’t that the guy who checks over at Safeway?” asked Megan. “The one you almost ran over at the gym?”

  Erin nodded and the blush spread.

  “He is hot,” Megan said.

  Erin shrugged. “He’s okay.”

  Kizzy waited for Erin to offer to introduce him to Megan. She didn’t. Very interesting. “So, how are the wedding plans coming?” she asked.

  “Fine,” Erin said brightly. “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.”

  But, Kizzy wondered, was it going to be to the right man?

  “I’m just glad I have a couple more months before I have to make my maid of honor dress,” said Angela.

  “You’re married. That makes you the matron of honor,” Megan informed her.

  Angela made a face. “Matron, yuck. That sounds old.”

  “Well, you are,” teased Erin. “The big three-oh is right around the corner.”

  Angela made a face. “Are you trying to drive me to chocolate?”

  Erin gave her a bottled water from Kizzy’s counter. “Here, have this instead. And remember, it could be worse.” She turned to Kizzy. “How was your big love day?”

  Kizzy couldn’t help smiling. “Speaking of old?”

  Now Erin’s face turned crimson. “Nobody thinks of you as old.”

  Kizzy shrugged. “Well, compared to you babies, I’m ancient. But, let me tell you, I like where I am. Fifty is great.”

  “Fifty is the new thirty,” said Angela. “So,” she added with a grin, “did you and Lionel go at it like you were thirty?”

  Kizzy pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you go thinking we couldn’t,” and the others giggled. “But we did encounter a slight problem.”

  “You should have pole-danced for him,” said Angela.

  Kizzy couldn’t help smiling. “Poor Lionel. He wouldn’t have cared even if Beyoncé had pole-danced for him. He threw away his junk food stash and wound up eating half the sugar-free chocolates he got me. Let me tell you, by the time those got done doing a number on his insides, he was one miserable man.”

  “Not very romantic,” Angela observed. “Poor Kizzy.”

  “Actually, I’m happy with the way things turned out. Lionel’s finally on board with us eating right and getting fit, and to me that is about the sexiest thing on earth. And I lost three pounds this week.”

  “All right.” Erin made a fist and bumped knuckles with her. “You’re our hero. How are you doing, Megan?”

  Megan smiled. “Great. I ate sugar free. And I got something for Valentine’s Day, something really cool.”

  Kizzy looked at her in surprise. Had Megan found romance?

  “Okay, so spill,” commanded Erin. “We want details.”

  “You met a man,” guessed Angela.

  “Better than that. I got a client.”

  The others burst into excited congratulations.

  “Who, and where’d you find him?” Angela asked.

  “It’s a her, and I found her at the gym,” Megan said, beaming. “She owns it, and she needs nuisance-suit protection, which I am going to give her.”

  “I bet you write a mean cease-and-desist letter,” said Erin.

  Megan smiled. “As a matter of fact I do.”

  “This should get you in good at the firm,” Erin predicted.

  “A toast,” said Angela, raising her bottle of water. “To Megan making partner.”

  The others echoed the sentiment and Megan smiled. “Life is good,” she said.

  Was it good for Erin? Kizzy had hoped for an opportunity to talk to her a little more about her Valentine encounter with Dan Rockwell, but the women moved on from the subject of Valentine’s Day to diets and jobs, and no opportunity presented itself which was frustrating, because Kizzy was really getting concerned now. Erin didn’t have a mom to advise her. Every woman needed an older, wiser woman in her corner to offer advice. Who was doing that for Erin? Hopefully, her aunt was. Kizzy wondered if Erin had told her aunt about her encounter with Zorro.

  “Okay,” sai
d Megan, when they’d finished her lemon parfaits. “It’s time for the No-belly award. Who did the best this week?”

  “I’m not even in the running,” said Erin with a frown.

  “Me, either,” said Angela, licking her spoon. “But I’ll do better next week.”

  So it was up to Kizzy and Megan to compare weight loss numbers. And Megan came in the winner.

  “Way to go,” Erin told her. “You’re making us all look like slackers. So, drum roll, please, while I go get the trophy.”

  She disappeared into the hallway while the other women drummed a tattoo on Kizzy’s dining room table with their fingers. Then she bounded back into the dining room, holding a golden lady body builder trophy and crying, “Ta-da! And now, let me present this symbol of achievement to this week’s keeper of the No-belly. Way to go, Megan,” she finished, and they all applauded.

  “Speaking of no bellies, I have something for us,” Angela said. “Come on.”

  They followed her into the living room where she produced a Dancing With the Stars workout DVD.

  “Oh, you got it!” cried Erin.

  “I’ve heard this is hard,” Megan said, looking suspiciously at it.

  “No balking from you, Twinkle Toes, not after the way you danced at the pole-dancing party,” Kizzy said to her.

  “This will really make us hot,” Angela promised.

  After stumbling around trying to follow the fast steps of the professional dancers, everyone was literally hot in a matter of minutes. “Okay, just shoot me now,” Kizzy said, and flopped on the couch.

  “Water,” croaked Angela.

  That sounded like a great idea to everyone, and soon they were enjoying one last drink before breaking up for the night. This would be as good a time as any to try an amateur shrink session, Kizzy decided. But how to start? She supposed the wedding was a good ploy.

  “You never did tell us the latest on the wedding plans,” she said to Erin. “Anything new?”

  “I’ve got the flowers picked out,” Erin said.

  She’d chosen the flowers for her wedding since they last met and she hadn’t even brought up the subject?

  “You did! Why didn’t you tell us?” Angela accused.

  “We got busy talking about Valentine’s Day and I forgot,” said Erin.

  A woman didn’t forget to talk about picking out the flowers for her wedding. This was not a good sign. “Tell us now,” Kizzy urged.

  “Well, I’m going to use Changing Seasons. Hope Walker, the woman who owns it, is a genius. They’re going to be gorgeous.”

  “And you’re getting everything you want?” Kizzy asked, trying not to sound like she was playing romantic detective.

  “Pretty much.”

  “How does Adam like what you picked?” Angela asked.

  Erin shrugged. “We didn’t go into too many details. He’s not that into flowers.”

  He wasn’t that into much of anything, if you asked Kizzy. “Having your flowers picked, that really makes it all feel real, doesn’t it?”

  “It will feel more real when I can zip up my wedding dress,” Erin said.

  “Are you getting close?” asked Angela.

  “Closer,” Erin replied vaguely.

  “Maybe you should postpone the wedding.” There, it was out. Now maybe they could talk about this.

  “There’s no need for that,” Erin said, her voice sharp. “If worse comes to worst, my aunt will alter the dress for me.” She checked her watch. “I’d better go. Adam’s probably already at the house.”

  The others decided to leave, too, and collected their leftovers. Erin and Megan left, but Angela lingered by the door. “Do you think Erin’s worried about something more than her wedding dress?” she asked Kizzy.

  “You see it, too?”

  “Maybe it’s just me, but when Brad and I got married I wanted to talk about everything with my friends. I mean, who doesn’t want to talk about her wedding flowers? That’s like a sign or something, isn’t it?”

  “I think so,” Kizzy said. “How well do you know Adam?”

  “Not real well. He seems like a nice guy,” she added. Dubiously.

  “But?” prompted Kizzy.

  Angela shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to put your finger on.”

  “Try.”

  “Well, he’s kind of controlling. We went out with them a couple of times, but the guys didn’t hit it off.”

  There was a red flag. Brad got along with everyone. “Why?” Kizzy asked.

  “Adam had this way of deciding what everybody wanted to do and what restaurant we should all go to that bugged Brad.” She shrugged. “He just likes to have his way. I guess when it comes down to it, most guys are like that.”

  “Not to his extent,” said Kizzy. She shook her head. “I’d sure hate to see our girl end up with the wrong man. It’s no fun.”

  “Were you ever with the wrong man?” Angela asked her.

  Kizzy nodded slowly, remembering the loser she’d been with when she was young and just too dumb to look beyond a great body and a smooth line.

  “What happened?”

  “I caught him in bed with my best friend.”

  Angela grimaced. “What did you do?”

  “I let her have him,” Kizzy said with a grim smile. “That way they both got what they deserved.”

  “Men,” Angela said in disgust.

  “Thank God they’re not all like that. Lionel’s the sweetest man on the planet. I’d like to see Erin end up with someone great, too.”

  “So, what are we going to do?” Angela asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kizzy said with a sigh.

  “Well, at least we still have four months left to think of something. Anything can happen in four months.”

  “Let’s hope something does,” said Kizzy. Erin deserved to be happy.

  “You know what they say,” Angela said in parting. “The path to true love is a long and winding road. Or something like that.”

  “Something like that,” Kizzy agreed. Love was never easy, but it should at least feel right.

  Feelings. Of course, that was the problem. Erin hadn’t been feeling when she picked this man. She’d gone through a lot emotionally, first with her mom’s illness, then her death, and it had left the poor girl numb. She picked Mr. Wonderful not because she was crazy wild about him, but because he was solid. He was a wheelchair for her crippled heart, a way for her to get someplace where she could be happy.

  How on earth could she get Erin to see that?

  Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe this called for more wisdom, more power, more influence than she had. She did the only thing she could think of, she sent up a prayer. Lord, this girl needs to be cured of her blindness. Now!

  Sixteeen

  Saturday morning the gray clouds parted their skirts to show the blue sky hiding behind. It was now or never.

  Megan stepped out of the front door of her condo in her north Seattle suburb into the sharp February air wearing sweats and the oversized tee that made her look like a baby whale. There was nothing attractive about the sweatshirt she’d zipped over it, either. She couldn’t believe she was going out in public dressed like this. But if she wanted to start running, she had to show her fat butt sometime. She got in her Saturn and drove to the nearby high school track and parked her car. Then she sat for a few minutes studying her opponent: that big, long track.

  A middle-aged woman in a pink sweat suit was already on it, walking briskly and swinging her arms. The last thing Erin wanted was an audience. Oh, boy.

  That woman is too busy fighting her own fat to watch you battle yours, she told herself firmly. Right.

  She took a deep breath, then opened the car door and got out. She’d be lucky if she could make it halfway around that track. She should wait to do this until she’d lost more weight. Otherwise she was going to look like a fool, a big, fat fool.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she told herself. “No more excuses. Ever.” She pressed her lips fi
rmly together and locked her purse in the trunk, then put the keys in her sweatpants pocket and marched to the track. She’d start walking to get warmed up; then she’d run a little way and see what happened.

  The walking went fine, and the sun, warm on her shoulders, felt like an encouraging hand. She smiled and picked up her pace a little. She’d been walking on her lunch breaks. The only difference between this track and her downtown route was the absence of stores and office buildings. She could do this. Okay, time to pick up the pace. She started to jog. All right! She was doing it. She flashed on a mental image of herself in shorts; her hair caught up in a ponytail and swinging behind her. With every step she was moving closer to being fit. Every step was exciting. This was exciting!

  Okay, this was also work. She could feel her heart pumping. She was starting to sweat in spite of the crisp temperature. She kept her feet moving. Don’t give up yet. But her heart was going to explode. Her lungs were burning. She slowed down. Her legs felt shaky, so she let herself grind to a stop, putting her hands on her thighs and bending over for a deep breath. She hadn’t even jogged a quarter of the way around the track. She was a slug.

  The other woman on the track walked past her and called, “Don’t give up. You’re doing great.”

  Megan straightened and took a deep breath. She was doing great. Winning cases were built slowly, over time. So were great bodies.

  One of her stepfather’s favorite complaints came back to kick her in the butt and get her moving. “The kid is a tub. If you don’t do something she’s going to have problems all her life.”

  Do something. She set her jaw and started walking again. You can do this.

  She walked around the track twice and managed to get in another little spurt of jogging, too. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning, a good beginning. You’re going to succeed. One day you’ll be wearing cute, little shorts and running like you’re lighter than air.

  She was smiling like she’d just won a landmark case when she finally walked off the track.

  Then she saw the snazzy silver Jaguar parked next to her car and the fit-looking man in the black running shorts and black T-shirt striding toward her and her smile faded. Oh, no. Wasn’t it bad enough that he tortured her all during the week? Did he have to come to the same track, as well? Why wasn’t he on a treadmill at some pricey gym?