by Laura Levine
Creeping along in my sweatsocks to muffle any possible footsteps, I made my way past the lobby and into the dining room, where the smell of steamed fish lingered unpleasantly in the air. The room was lit with shafts of moonlight, so I easily made my way past the empty tables to the swinging door leading to the kitchen.
Checking underneath the door, I smiled to see that the kitchen light was off—which meant Operation Raid the Refrigerator could continue as planned.
I pushed open the door, my heart full of hope. Surely Olga kept normal food on hand for her aerobics staff. Maybe I’d find some bananas or dinner rolls or possibly even some peanut butter. Lost in thoughts of a peanut butter and banana sandwich on a dinner roll, possibly washed down with a Chocolate Yoo Hoo, I was suddenly jerked from my reverie by the sight of someone sitting in the shadows at the big kitchen table.
Clearly one of my fellow inmates had beaten me to the refrigerator. Just when I was wondering who it could be (my money was on Chatty Cathy), I heard:
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Good heavens. It was Olga. I’d recognize that drill sergeant bark anywhere.
I flipped on the light, and sure enough it was the Diet Nazi, sitting fork in hand, with a Sara Lee cheesecake and a bottle of tequila.
And get this. She was eating the cheesecake straight from the tin!
Not that I haven’t done the same thing myself, but I don’t pass myself off as some kind of calorie crusader.
“I repeat,” Olga said, her steely eyes boring into me. “What are you doing here?”
Time to put on the old tap shoes.
“I . . . um . . . was thirsty, so I came for a Diet Coke.”
“Oh, please,” she sneered. “I know your type. You came to raid the refrigerator.”
“So what if I did?” I snapped, grouchy from hunger. “I’m starving. The last time I had a three hundred calorie dinner I happened to be in diapers. What’s your excuse?”
I shot a withering glance at the glob of cheesecake on her fork.
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “So I’m cheating. If I let you share the cheesecake, will you promise to keep your mouth shut?”
“Absolutely!” I assured the darling woman.
My salivary glands sprang into action as she got me a fork and shoved the pie tin in my direction.
“Your half, my half,” she said, cutting into it, and giving me what was most decidedly the smaller half.
But I didn’t care. Much. It was cheesecake!
I wasted no time plowing into the creamy concoction, slathered—just the way I like it—with a thick layer of cherry goo on top.
“Want some tequila?” Olga asked, holding out the bottle.
“Er . . . no thanks. But if you’ve any got any Chocolate Yoo Hoo, I’ll take that.”
“No, I don’t have any Chocolate Yoo Hoo! This is a diet spa!”
“So I see,” I said, lobbing another meaningful glance at the cheesecake.
Her shoulders crumpled in defeat.
“Look, I know you think I’m a hypocrite, but you’d cheat, too, if you were as stressed out as I am.”
I didn’t bother to tell her I was fully capable of scarfing down a cheesecake, with or without stress in my life.
“Every year that bitch comes to The Haven and drives me crazy.”
I assumed the bitch in question was Mallory.
“Making snide cracks about how I need plastic surgery. Complaining about the towels. Sending back her food every five minutes. And those damn mangoes! The woman is obsessed with the things. She’s convinced they’re both an aphrodisiac and a diuretic. If they’re not on the set of her movies, she won’t perform. Honest. She has it written into her contracts. It’s the No Mangoes, No Mallory clause. Can you believe it?”
Indeed, it was hard to believe, I thought, sneaking a hunk of cheesecake from her side of the tin.
“I swear, if she asks me one more time if the mangoes are fresh, I’m going to strangle her.”
She slapped my hand, as I reached for some of her cherry topping.
“Of course, when we were working together, she was lucky to get a stick of gum, let alone a fresh mango.”
“You used to work together?” I asked.
“Years ago. We were both struggling actresses starting out at the same time. For a while, we even roomed together. But then Mallory made it big,” she sighed. “And I didn’t.”
She paused for a healthy slug of tequila.
“So I took the only part I could get. Trophy wife to a mega millionaire. Just my luck, by the time my husband died, he’d lost all his millions. Left me saddled with debt.”
As she sat there, clinging to her tequila bottle, worry lines etched in her brow, I couldn’t help feeling a tad sorry for her.
“All I had was the house and my jewelry. So I sold the jewelry, paid off the debt, and started The Haven. I did well for a while, too.” She smiled at the memory. “But I’m afraid I don’t have a good head for business. And after a while, the spa butterflies flitted off to other spas.
“Which is why,” she said, popping two of her vitamins, “I have to put up with the Mango Monster each year.”
By now, we’d polished off the cheesecake, leaving the pie tin Cascade Clean.
“I’m so sorry, Olga.” And I meant it. “I hope everything works out for you.”
“It will, if I can just hang on to the few customers I have left. Which reminds me. You’d better get out of here, before someone sees the light on.”
“Well,” I said, getting up to go, “thanks so much for the cheesecake.”
“I hope you realize,” she said, her gaze suddenly turning steely again, “it’s the last piece you’ll be seeing all week.”
“Of course,” I lied, fully intending to make frequent afterhours refrigerator raids. Lord only knew how many of those cheesecakes Olga kept stashed away. Only next time, I’d wait until I was sure she’d gone to bed.
But now I had to throw myself on her mercy just one more time.
“I don’t suppose you could spare a teensy piece of fish for my cat,” I said, doing my best impersonation of Prozac’s Starving Orphan look. “She’s so very hungry.”
“Oh, please. That cat could live for a month off the fat in her belly.”
“Honestly, Olga,” I said, ignoring her zinger, “you can’t imagine how the poor thing is suffering.”
“Oh, all right,” she said. “Just this once. But after tonight, the party’s over. Everything will be under lock and key.”
And as she walked over to get the fish, I saw that indeed there was a padlock on the refrigerator door. As there were on all the cabinets. So engrossed had I been in scarfing down my cheesecake, I hadn’t noticed the place was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
So much for Operation Raid the Refrigerator.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Exciting News!
Exciting news, honey! I’m going back to school! Well, not full-time. I’m actually just taking one course: History of the Aztec and Incan Civilizations. My dear friend Lydia Pinkus arranged for a retired professor to teach the course one afternoon a week. And not only that, Lydia has been gracious enough to offer her own house as a meeting place.
(You remember, Lydia, don’t you, our local librarian and long-time president of the homeowners association? An amazing woman; we’re so lucky to have her here at Tampa Vistas.)
Anyhow, Lydia arranged for this absolutely marvelous course, and I decided to sign up. I asked Daddy if he wanted to do it, but he said if he wanted to study ancient civilization all he had to do was hang around the clubhouse.
Well, he can scoff all he wants; I’m enjoying the class to pieces, although I must admit, I keep getting the Aztecs confused with the Incans. Did you know that the Aztecs (or possibly the Incans) invented popcorn and chocolate? Isn’t that exciting?
Must run. Daddy just came home from the hardware
store and is honking his horn in the driveway. He must have forgotten his house keys again.
More later, sweetheart—
XXX
Mom
PS. Omigod. I just took a look out the window. I think I may faint. It’s all too horrible. Will explain later.
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Bargain of the Century!
Hi, Lambchop!
You’ll never guess what I just bought. A complete set of garden gnomes. They were on sale—75% off! The bargain of the century! Gosh, those little guys are cute. I’ve got them all over the lawn, and they’re quite a sight. I bet our property values will skyrocket.
You’d think your mother would be grateful for a little gnome home improvement, but noooo. For some insane reason, she finds them unattractive. She actually called them “eyesores”! This from the woman who orders sequinned capri sets from the shopping channel. She actually wanted me to return them, and when I said, “Over my dead body,” she had the nerve to say, “Don’t tempt me.”
Naturally I’m leaving my little gnome buddies right where they are. As soon as the raves start coming in from the neighbors, I know she’ll change her mind.
Love & kisses,
Daddy
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Village of the Damned
I suppose Daddy told you about those ghastly gnomes he bought for our front lawn? I can’t believe it. The man goes to the hardware store for a simple hose nozzle and comes home with The Village of the Damned.
I took one look, and thought I’d go blind. The phone has been positively ringing off the hook with complaints from the neighbors.
Oh, dear. There’s the doorbell. I just hope it’s not the police.
XXX
Mom
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Outraged!
You’ll never guess who just stopped by. That godawful battleaxe, Lydia Pinkus—the woman who almost had me arrested just because I refused to pay an unfair library fine.
There she was, standing on our doorstep, her lips all pursed and pruny.
“As president of the Tampa Vistas Homeowners Association,” she said, “I’m here to ask you to take down those hideous lawn creatures.”
With that she handed me a piece of paper, some nonsense about me being in violation of the Tampa Vistas landscaping code, and giving me thirty days to take down my gnomes.
Well, if she thinks I’m going to be intimidated by a silly slip of paper, she’s got another think coming. Those gnomes aren’t going anywhere. And the only “hideous creature” I intend to keep off my property is Lydia Pinkus!
Love ’n hugs from
Your outraged,
Daddy
Chapter 7
The next morning the true torture began. I was in the middle of a heavenly dream starring me, George Clooney, and a cherry cheesecake, when someone started pounding on my door with what sounded like a sledgehammer.
Bolting awake, I checked the clock on my nightstand.
Good heavens. It was only 5:45 A.M.! Even the roosters were still wiping sleep from their eyes.
I staggered out of bed to get the door and found Olga in drill sergeant mode, a whistle hanging from a lanyard around her neck.
“Nature Walk in fifteen minutes!” she announced.
Nature Walk? Was she kidding? What about breakfast??
“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Start getting dressed. We’re meeting in the lobby.”
With that she moved down the hall and resumed her sledge-hammer act.
Fifteen minutes later, I left Prozac yowling in protest over the diet glop I’d sloshed in her bowl and headed for the lobby, where I found all my fellow inmates.
All except Mallory.
“Hurry up, Mallory!” Olga called up to the second floor where Mallory’s digs were apparently located.
“Be right down, sweetie,” Mallory trilled from above.
But she did not come right down. On the contrary. Our resident prima donna kept us waiting a good twenty minutes—twenty minutes I could’ve been snuggled in bed, dreaming of G. Clooney and cherry cheesecakes.
Meanwhile the rest of us just hung around, cooling our heels.
Kendra, her pout in full bloom, sat cross-legged on the floor, tapping her feet impatiently.
Harvy made himself comfy on the bottom steps of the staircase, busily texting a message on his cell. Somehow, in the short time we’d been given to get dressed, he’d managed not only to mousse his hair to perfection, but to put together an outfit straight out of a Ralph Lauren photo shoot.
Nearby, Clint passed the time with a series of steroid-enhanced hamstring stretches while Cathy yammered in Olga’s ear about how wonderful she felt on her new diet regime.
“Honestly,” she was gushing, “I think I’ve lost weight already!”
Olga nodded absently, glaring up at the staircase, her jaw clenched tighter with each passing minute.
Finally, Mallory came sailing down the stairs with Armani in her arms. Both wore matching turquoise jog suits, Mallory’s hoodie unzipped low enough to reveal a honker emerald pendant nestled in her cleavage.
Interesting accessory choice for a nature hike, I thought, staring down at my own Dudley Do-Right wristwatch.
“So sorry we’re late,” she trilled. “Armani didn’t like his outfit. So I had to change him three times.”
She tsked at her little charge, who graced her with a petulant yip.
“Here, Kendra,” she said, shoving the dog into her assistant’s arms. “You take him. He doesn’t feel like walking today, so I promised you’d carry him.”
“If he didn’t feel like walking,” Kendra scowled, “why didn’t you leave him in your room?”
“Don’t be silly. You know Armani doesn’t wike to be awone. Do you, snoogums?” Mallory cooed.
Puh-leese. There’s only so much a person can take on an empty stomach.
“Okay, everybody,” Olga said, with a shrill blast of her whistle. “Let’s move it.”
She led the way out beyond the pool area to the wooded hills behind her property.
“Now start walking,” she commanded.
“Up the hill?” I blinked in dismay at the incline in front of us. It looked awfully steep.
“Yes, up the hill! Get cracking.”
Another blast of that dratted whistle and the trek began.
I regret to inform you that the slope was every bit as steep as it looked.
Within minutes, I was gasping for air, my face bathed in a fine mist of sweat.
I am, after all, a woman who gets winded running to the 7-11 for Oreos.
Trudging upward, I noticed that once again, The Haven’s caste system was in effect. Mallory, Clint, and Harvy followed directly behind Olga—Harvy chattering about how fabulous Mallory looked in turquoise, and Mallory strolling down memory lane with Clint, reliving their good old days shooting Revenge of the Lust Busters.
Kendra tagged behind with the irascible Armani, who persisted in barking at every bird that had the temerity to cross his path.
And bringing up the rear were the Cellulite Twins, me and Cathy.
Cathy was still blathering about how happy she was to be at The Penitentiary (I mean, The Haven) and how she could practically feel the pounds melting away. Soon I had tuned her out, wondering instead exactly how long it would take before my lungs collapsed.
In the midst of my musings I heard Cathy say, “So what do you think, Jaine?”
Oh, hell. She’d asked me a question.
“What do I think?”
“About us being diet buddies. You know. Watching out for each other in case either of us is tempted to cheat.”
Please. The only thing tempting me right then were thoughts of suicide.
“Er, sure,” I found myself saying.
Oh, Lord. What had I just done? The last thing I wanted was a diet buddy. Due to a lack
of oxygen to my brain, however, I’d obviously lost my powers of reasoning.
By now my heart was pounding like a bongo and sweat was gushing from every pore. Just when I thought I could not take another step without an oxygen tent, Olga gave another blast of her dratted whistle.
“Pick up the pace, you two!”
Damn. She was talking to me and Cathy. And she actually expected us to walk faster! Clearly the woman had spent her formative years training at the Marquis de Sade Military Academy.
Gasping for air like a beached guppy, I forced myself to go faster, and somehow Cathy and I managed to catch up with Kendra.
Thank heavens the exertion had shut Cathy up. It was during this blessed silence, broken only by the occasional yip from Armani, that Mallory turned back to Kendra and said, “Don’t forget. We have to call Daddy today and wish him a happy birthday.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Kendra snipped in reply. “He’s my father, too, you know.”
Hello! That just about stopped me in my tracks.
“You two are sisters?” I managed to gasp.
Kendra nodded glumly, clearly the designated doormat in that relationship.
Poor Kendra, with her limp hair and grim American Gothic lips. Except for her eyes, which I now saw were a rather lovely green, she bore little resemblance to her glam sister.
Lucky Mallory got all the pretty genes.
I spent the rest of the hike simultaneously pondering the fickle nature of heredity and praying for the torture to end.
At last it did.
We finally reached the top of the hill.
Below us was an unobstructed view of the small coastal town where The Haven was located. And beyond that, the majestic Pacific. White-crested waves crashed to the shore in the silvery light of the morning sun.
