Slashing Mona Lisa
Page 28
She took a long sip of water. “Sounds to me like you never personally hurt anyone,” she said. “You never shared any corporate secrets. You just helped people find jobs and then supplemented their incomes. Isn’t that right?”
“That would be a generous way of looking at it, yes.”
“And now you own a vehicle to make a real difference in people’s lives.”
“That’s true. With your help, that is.”
“Then I’m satisfied that all you did was give Lehming Brothers a taste of their own medicine.” She smiled, her look of joy matching his own. “There’s just one other question I’d like you to clear up.” She pierced her last morsel of beef Wellington with her fork. “Those boys in boarding school. The ones that were bullying Hans. He said you disposed of them. Exactly what did you do to them?”
“Ah, he told you about that? Wow. Well, nothing particularly heroic, I’m afraid. My father was one of the board of trustees at Greendale Hall. One of the reasons I was even able to get into that school, to be honest. I gave him a call and mentioned those boys’ names and what they’d done to poor Hans. I guess he called the headmaster, because the next thing we knew, they were gone. What can I say? Sometimes it helps to have connections.”
“Especially ones who have conveniently left town for the weekend, so you could have the whole apartment to yourself.” She winked.
He downed the last of his wine. “Are you hinting that you’d like to go back to my place?”
“I am.”
“You know I’m injured, not myself. And turning forty next week. I can’t promise you the type of jaw-dropping, fireworks-filled ecstasy you’ve come to expect from this herculean specimen of a body.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, playfully waving him off with a grin on her face. “Stop fishing for compliments or looking for excuses. I’m sure we’ll make out just fine.”
“As long as we make out,” he agreed.
They grabbed a cab for the short ride to Wynan and Austin’s midtown apartment. He reached for her in the back seat, but she held him off, refusing to even kiss him, teasing, “I’m saving myself for the right man.”
She continued her standoffish routine, even as he tried to paw her in the elevator and at the apartment door as he fished through his pockets for the key.
“I don’t say yes to just anyone, you know. I’m very selective.”
By the time he got her inside, her aloof persona was driving him insane, and his cock was so stiff he could barely walk. He grabbed her with his good arm and pushed her against the back of the door.
“A little haughty tonight, aren’t we, missy?”
“Maybe so,” she answered, her breathing fast and shallow, her eyes dancing with his. “But I need a man who can take me in his arms and know what to do with me. A guy pushing forty, with an injured wing...I’m just not sure you can do the job.”
“I’ll take that as a dare.”
“I don’t care how you take it, as long as you can manage to take me.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”
With his good hand, he grabbed a handful of hair and pulled it so high above her head, she had to stand on tiptoe to avoid succumbing to the pain of the tug. He watched her struggle to balance, hoping she’d note the wicked gleam in his eye.
“Ms. Torres?”
“Yes, sir?” she answered, straining to maintain the pose.
“I must warn you, I plan to assign you projects like this on a regular basis.”
“Will overtime be required, sir?
“Absolutely,” he said, pulling her hair just an inch higher and causing her to emit a gasp. “As long as my heart doesn’t give out first.”
Chapter 43
A year later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon in July, Camarin and Rachel were chatting excitedly on the platform of the White Plains train station, waiting for the 4:03 back to Manhattan. Camarin was bogged down with shopping bags from Sandel’s, the snazziest bridal shop outside Manhattan, and about half the price of the city boutiques. One package contained a pair of Christian Louboutin white-lace pumps and Oscar de la Renta crystal earrings. The dress she’d left behind for altering—a Sottero and Midgely classic A-line gown of Shavon organza, with a sweetheart neckline, and delicate spaghetti straps accented in Swarovski crystals—was everything she’d ever dreamed of. She wondered if Lyle would regret giving her a blank check in terms of a wedding budget.
“You’re losing something there,” she said to Rachel, pointing with her chin to the package that had fallen halfway from her equally stuffed bag of goodies, though hers was from an upscale lingerie boutique, not a bridal salon.
“Ah, thank you, luv. My feet are killing me. What I wouldn’t give for a Tony right now.”
“Blair, chair. You’ll sit on the train. It should be here in a few minutes—I hope.”
“I think Dee’s really going to enjoy this one,” said the receptionist, setting the bags down and pulling a leopard-print negligee from the one on the left. “He likes to play Tarzan and Jane.”
Camarin winced. “Please, you promised you wouldn’t make me listen to the gory details. He’s my former roommate and one of my closest friends, after all.”
“Yeah, well, you’re living with one of my favorite bosses, so keep your naughty bits to yourself as well.” She stuck her nose up in the air before breaking into giggles.
“Excuse me, isn’t your name Camarin?”
Oh God. Not another autograph seeker. The Mangel thing has been over for a year now.
She looked over at the heavyset woman smiling at her. She wore a low-cut dress that hugged her ample hips, and she stood confidently, waiting for Camarin to respond. There was something so familiar about the woman, but Cam couldn’t place the face.
“It’s me, Lexie. You remember...you ran after the woman who stole my Kit Kat bar.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Lexie. How are you, honey? This is my friend, Rachel.”
“Friend, coworker, bridesmaid supreme, you pick.” Rachel reached out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“It’s been like a hundred years. So much has changed. That guy who bought us the replacement chocolate? The plumber?”
Camarin nodded though the memory was vague at best. What she did remember was how Lexie had cowered in an oversized raincoat on that sunny day a year back, hiding her body from the world. Those days were clearly way behind her.
“His name is Ben. We’re engaged!”
She beamed as she held up a tiny ring on her fourth finger. Camarin kept her own hand by her side, secretly maneuvering her ring so the diamond was hidden from view. She didn’t want her five-carat rock to show up Lexie’s.
“It’s beautiful, Lexie. I’m so happy for you.”
“What’s new with you since we met?”
Camarin just grinned. What wasn’t new? Lyle had decided that Wynan was right—you can’t be something you’re not. So he sold Trend to his childhood friend and launched BAT, or Body Acceptance Today, and named Cam as developmental editor. The content, which promoted people of all sizes accomplishing their dreams and ambitions, had struck a nerve with a burgeoning circulation of readers, liberated from worry over society’s opinions of their looks or their life choices. She was engaged to the man of her dreams, living in a two-bedroom apartment he’d purchased for them in the Village. And with Dr. Eisenstodt’s help, she’d managed to put the guilt over Monaeka’s death aside and finally felt whole, as if she and her twin had melded into one stable, happy, well-adjusted woman. No flame tree or Two Lovers Point tragic ending for her. Nothing was going to keep her from the man or the future she deserved.
“Same old, same old,” answered Camarin, refusing to say anything that might upstage Lexie’s happiness.
“You like dueling-piano bars, Lexie?” asked Rachel. “My boyfriend is one of the headliners at Benji’s, and it’s a fine place for some Britneys and a Lilley. You should join us tonight. Bring Ben. We’ll make it a triple date.”
&nbs
p; The Manhattan-bound train thundered into the station, and the three women grabbed a set of four seats, two facing two. They piled their packages onto the empty place by the window.
“It all sounds great. I’d love to, and I’m sure Ben would too. Except for one thing. What’s a Britney and a Lilley?”
“Welcome to my world,” Camarin said with a laugh. “Just go with it. It seems to all work out in the end.”
Lexie gave her a quizzical look and then shrugged.
“Why not? The best things in life are the things that drop into your life that you never expected. Like a brave woman standing up for your honor on a train platform. One minute, life is one way. And in the next, everything’s different.”
Camarin nodded, impressed by Lexie’s astute observation and so proud of how far they both had come. She sat back, closed her eyes, and remembered an old proverb that her mother used to recite when she was younger. She couldn’t recall the actual Chamorro, but she’d memorized the translation.
There is no death without an illness. There is no brightness without darkness. There is no body without a shadow. There is no death without suffering. There is no action without a reason.
This past year God had seen fit to show her the reasons for his actions. She’d learned. She’d endured. She’d come out stronger. She’d mended her relationship with her mother, and more importantly, another with herself. She’d helped Lyle come to terms with his guilt over Margaret’s suicide and its aftermath, and had led him to a different, more loving and productive path. But this was only the beginning. She grinned, picturing herself married, graduating from law school, and then devoting herself to a lifetime of delivering those lost in darkness into the light.
Further Reading
The information on fat politics and body acceptance found in this book might strike a nerve with some who would like to read more. Here are some books I’d recommend, but this is not an inclusive list by any means:
MENTIONED IN Slashing Mona Lisa:
Poulton, Terry. No Fat Chicks: How Big Business Profits Making Women Hate Their Bodies-How to Fight Back. Birch Lane Press, 1997.
Solovay, Sondra. Tipping the Scales of Justice: Fighting Weight-Based Discrimination. Prometheus Books, 2011.
OTHERS, IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER BY AUTHOR’S NAME:
Bacon, Linda. Health at Every Size: The Surprising Truth about Your Weight. BenBella Books, 2010.
Chastain, Ragen. The Politics of Size (2 Volumes): Perspectives from the Fat Acceptance Movement, Praeger, 2014.
Cooper, Charlotte. Fat and Proud: The Politics of Size. Woman’s Press, 1999.
Couret, Rene. Fat or Fad: The Struggle to Choose Between Fat Acceptance and Weight Loss, 2015.
Farrell, Amy. Fat Shame: Stigma and the Fat Body in American Culture. NYU Press, 2011.
Greenhalgh, Susan. Fat-Talk Nation: The Human Costs of America’s War on Fat. Cornell University Press, 2015.
Harding, Kate and Kirby, Marianne. Lessons from the Fat-o-sphere: Quit Dieting and Declare a Truce with Your Body. TarcherPerigree, 2009.
Kulick, Don and Meneley, Ann. Fat: The Anthropology of an Obsession. Tarcher, 2005.
Orbach, Susie. Fat is a Feminist Issue. Random House. Berkley, 1987, newest edition: Random House, 2016.
Rothblum, Esther and Solovay, Sondra. The Fat Studies Reader. NYU Press, 2009.
Wann, Marilyn. Fat! So? Because You Don’t Have to Apologize for Your Size. Ten Speed Press, 1998.
About D.M. Barr
By day, I’m a mild-mannered salesperson, wife, mother, author groupie, competitive trivia player, and rescuer of senior shelter dogs, happily living just north of New York City. By night, I’m an author of sex, suspense, and satire.
My background includes stints in travel marketing, travel journalism, meeting planning, public relations, financial services, and real estate. I was, for a long and happy time, an award-winning magazine writer and editor. Then kids happened. And I needed to actually make money. Now they’re off doing whatever it is they do (of which I have no idea since they won’t friend me on Facebook) and I can spend my spare time weaving tales of debauchery and whatever else tickles my fancy.
The main thing to remember about my work is that I am NOT one of my characters, though I will admit to being a yo-yo dieter with an unhealthy addiction to chocolate and cream sauce. I have felt and experienced much of what I have written herein. They say that the best books result from slicing open a vein and pouring the blood onto the page. Here’s mine. Be kind.
D.M. Barr’s Website:
www.dmbarr.com
Reader eMail:
authordmbarr@yahoo.com