I gulped another swallow of the rich Merlot. I didn’t need to
relive the next hours or days. I had already done that way too
many times.
Okay, so back to the world of the living and what I
was going to do about my disintegrating good looks. Was I
still the beauty I once was under all the neglect and misery
of the last few years? I turned my head back and forth and
continued my appraisal.
I focused on my best asset, my eyes. Despite the pain
I had endured since that fateful day, they were still bright and clear—an unusual shade of blue. They drew one’s attention and held it. I had always known that and had played to it. As an insurance investigator, I had used it to my advantage. No one could look someone in the eye like I could and convey so much. They were the animation that made my face come alive. My smile was a killer, too. But I hadn’t done much of that lately. I leaned into the mirror and pantomimed a big smile. My lips framed teeth that were even, straight and white. Even on the very worst days, I had always managed to dig in the bathroom drawer for my toothbrush both morning and night. And I wasn’t ashamed to admit that a few times I had purposely found and used Stephen’s. But I could not remember my last visit to the dentist. I vaguely remembered canceling an appointment though, and not bothering to return
the call when they’d called back to reschedule.
I turned my body and assessed the rest of me. I was
wearing a bathrobe, so I let it fall open. Okay, so I needed some
toning, I needed to build back some muscle. But for fortyfour I was in very good shape. The showstopper here was my
breasts. They were unique in that while they weren’t exactly
huge, they appeared that way. They were full and round,
jutting proudly from my chest. Ursula “Undress” Stephen
would jokingly call me. The odd thing, and the part that had
delighted Stephen and a few men before him, was that they
were full and round all the way to mid-underarm. When I
wasn’t wearing a bra or a carefully constructed bathing suit,
they looked quite nice, plump and high on my chest with no
drooping since the weight of them was so evenly distributed.
But when I wore any kind of bra or structured top, the mass
from the sides joined what was already out front and I became
plentiful. Well, much more than plentiful. The double takes
and blatant ogling I had received over the years attested to
the fact that I was definitely well endowed. “Showstopper
tits” Stephen had said when we were honeymooning in
Tahiti, walking arm-in-arm on the beach, me in a skimpy bikini. Men noticed, and the women beside them frowned
when they did.
I closed my eyes and remembered Stephen touching
me, hefting my breasts, stroking the upper swells, and
caressing the fullness, then thumbing my nipples until I
became liquid in his arms. Tears leaked out of my eyes and fell
down my cheeks as I stood in my mother’s guest bathroom. I
wanted that feeling again. I wanted it desperately. But all my wanting and naked yearning was not going
to bring Stephen back to my bed and into my arms. It was
time to move on, time to see if I could find that feeling again,
or something as close as I could get to it with someone else. Briefly, I wondered if the tables had been turned
what Stephen would do, would he think he was ready yet?
I had read in a grief guide that men often remarried sooner
than women. The reason they cited was that if the grieving
widower had been happily married, that he would soon focus
all his efforts so he could recapture that feeling. A woman
was more apt to be concerned with appearances. My logical
mind figured that as Stephen had been happily married,
surely he would have remarried long before now. So I should
be good to go.
If I was going to do this I knew that I had to honestly
assess my appearance and make the most of what I had going
for me. I took another sip of wine. It was good, a balm to my
spirit. I enjoyed the tingle it was giving me so I raised my
glass to the reflection. “Here’s to you kid, let’s join the living
and see how well we can put ourselves back together, shall
we?”
I swallowed the rest of the wine in one gulp, set
the glass down and let my robe fall to the floor, time for a
shower and then it was off to the stores with mom. Tomorrow
I would head south to my home at Sunset Beach and to Sea
Trail Plantation, the resort community where I lived. I would
call Karen at Totally Chic and arrange for the works. Head to toe, I would do a complete makeover. I would go back to my aerobics classes, I would walk on the beach, I would golf with Tessa and Viv whenever they wanted, I would kayak, I would bicycle, I would go shagging and line dancing, and I would find a man. A man who could make me feel good
about myself again.
I stepped into the shower and as I did, I looked down
at my leg. Oh my God, were those wrinkles on the side of
my knee? Where had they come from? Shit! This was going
to be harder than I thought. How did one get rid of those?
Chapter Two
When You Least Expect It Mom wanted to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods to see if she could find a jacket for her granddaughter—my daughter, Stephanie, who was in Italy finishing her last year of college at an interior design school. I kept telling Mom that they had jackets in Italy, lots of them, probably better ones, cheaper ones, and ones that wouldn’t cost her a fortune to ship. But she wouldn’t listen. She had six grandchildren and she spoiled each one in any way that she possibly could. Stephanie had mentioned this jacket in an e-mail and by God, my mother was going to get it for her. My poor father, at seventy-six, was still working to pay down the charges accrued each year for the enormous Christmas celebrations that had become my mother’s obsession. Of course, Daddy loved his work and wouldn’t have quit his job anyway, even if Momma wasn’t spending all his money as fast as he could make it.
When we got to Dick’s we couldn’t find Steph’s size on the rack, but did that deter Mom? No, she had to speak with the manager, just to make sure there wasn’t one hidden in the warehouse out back. Odd thing was that more often than not, she came out of the stores with exactly what she went in for despite the fact that everyone else in front and behind her in line was looking for the exact same thing.
I decided to leave her in the customer service line by herself so I wouldn’t jinx her and went to find the ladies room. There was no man in my life, and no chance of my becoming pregnant, but could God see fit to end this monthly exercise in futility—ovulation followed by menstruation? No, of course not and it was time to make sure things were copasetic as I was wearing white capris due to the Easter holiday. As usual, I had completely forgotten the temperature difference up north and packed inappropriately.
I walked down the long center aisle looking at all the workout clothing hanging on the racks, wondering where I had put my own workout clothes when I’d cleaned out the master closet last fall. I would need them for the aerobics and Pilates classes I was going to resume when I got home tomorrow.
Spotting a man with the signature green vest and the accompanying nametag walking toward me I decided I had better ask for directions to the ladies room as this was a pretty big place. A tall man came from a side aisle and intercepted the salesperson before I could approach him, so I stopped a few feet away to wait my turn. I admired his profile while I pretended I wasn’t listening to their conversation. The man had a silky
-looking mane of hair that brushed against the collar of his coat, it was graying at the temples and I thought he looked distinguished, positively elegant in fact. He was asking the employee if he would accompany him to the weight section so he could ask about a particular machine when he noticed me standing off to the side. He indicated with his hand that I should go first, that I should avail myself of the man’s help before he took him away to another part of the store.
Stunning silver eyes pierced mine and I had to blink as if a gust of wind had suddenly been blown into my face. His eyes mesmerized me for a moment as they were so intense and penetrating that I literally wanted to fall into them. He was unusually tall and wore a long black overcoat that fit him impeccably. It looked to be made of cashmere and he wore it over a black suit set off by a snowy white shirt with a red striped tie. I thought him over dressed for a Sunday afternoon until I remembered that it was Easter Sunday. He must have just come from church, or Sunday brunch, I thought.
Man, he was tall. And lean. With rugged good looks. His light brown waves streaked with gray were so thick that I couldn’t help but think how they would feel sliding between my fingers. He sported a tan so golden that it was easy to picture him perpetually outdoors, either skiing in Vail or parasailing in the Bahamas. My eyes focused on his full lips where I found a wide smile. He was waiting for me to ask my question of the man that we had both corralled for assistance. He was being patient but I had a sense of unease. I had lost my confidence in these types of encounters. I no longer felt I could hold a man’s interest, so I didn’t even bother to try.
I wished that I had a less personal question to ask, but I didn’t, so in a low voice I asked where the ladies room was. I was told to keep heading the way I was going, to turn left at the last aisle and then to go to the far-left corner of the store. Meekly, I nodded, and smiled at the wonderfully built man with the devilishly handsome face and sensuous smile who at that moment had just awakened the woman in me.
I walked off to accomplish my mission. I wanted so badly to turn around and take another look at the first man who had garnered my attention in a physical way since I had lost Stephen. But I didn’t. What reason would I have had to turn back? It would have been obvious why I was doing a double take, and he was probably already used to women doing just that.
The whole time I was in the restroom I wondered about him. He was too good looking not be attached, and I was actually envying the woman he was probably going home to. I pictured him in skimpy workout clothes doing pull downs and chest presses on the exercise machine he was buying, muscles flexing and sweat glistening on his skin.
Then as I was washing up I took a look at myself in the mirror. I groaned out loud. Yes, actually out loud. Well, he certainly couldn’t have been impressed with me. I was wearing one of my brother’s old discarded knit caps, one I had found on the top shelf of Mom’s hall closet—a Redskin’s hat that had seen better days. It had the absolute worst colors I could possibly wear for my skin tone—maroon and orange, ugh! Added to that, I was wearing a coat I had left in mom’s closet so many years ago that I couldn’t even remember when it had been fashionable—an old, quilted, puffed up parka that made me look twice my size. I had bothered to put some makeup on after my shower, odds and ends I had pilfered from my mother’s vanity table, but I looked a sight with that stupid cap on my head. I pulled it off, bent over to fluff my hair and groaned again. The static fanned it around my head and the fluorescent lights picked up every thread of gray and made the red highlights look rust-colored. I couldn’t have looked older if I’d tried. I shoved the hat back on my head, more determined than ever to cut, dye and restyle my hair as soon as I could get an appointment with Karen.
On the way back to the front of the store, I looked around for Mr. Gorgeous-as-all-get-out, but he either didn’t buy the machine he’d been looking at or he was in another part of the store. Just who the heck was he, all sure and confident in his impeccable Sunday-going-to-dinner clothes?
I met Mom at the front of the store, and sure enough, she had the jacket she had come in to buy in a bag by her side. She held it high and jiggled it. I laughed as I approached her, leaned in to kiss her and took the bag from her.
“You are spoiling my daughter rotten! Now can we go home and start making dinner? Everyone will be there when we get back and I still have the raisin sauce to make for the ham.”
My brother and his wife, and my aunts and uncles and their families were coming from Maryland for our traditional Easter celebration. I was anxious to see everyone, but now I was also anxious to get home and start my self-improvement project. Seeing that man at Dick’s had awakened something in me. It was fitting since Easter was all about resurrection. I was feeling new and born again, and incredibly excited about discovering a new life. I knew God had plans for me. He wasn’t finished with me. Even with the newly discovered knee wrinkles, and ear lobe crinkles, I was optimistic that there was a man he had selected especially for me. Someone who would not try to make me forget Stephen and all that we’d had together, but who would relish the idea of finding a mature woman who had made her way and now wanted someone to share some of the life experiences the world still had to offer.
Chapter Three
The Makeover As soon as I got home I started working on what I was referring to as the “Great Transformation.” Starting with Karen, who somehow managed to squeeze me in, I made appointments for just about every day for two weeks. I had my hair done—highlighted, and lowlighted, deep conditioned and drastically cut to just below my shoulders, I had a Peppermint Twist Manicure, an Oatmeal Apple Lavender Pedicure, a Green Coffee Cellulite Body Treatment, a Luminous “C” and “Sea” Facial, then I had my teeth cleaned and whitened. In Myrtle Beach I pampered myself with a sports massage and got talked into thermage treatments for tighter thighs and abs. I even went to Perfect Makeup in Calabash and had the bare spots in my eyebrows permanently filled in by Johnnie, who does amazing work.
I was leaving no stone unturned. Myrtle Beach had a lot to offer in the way of spas and I was gullible enough to believe every treatment was vital and necessary to my cause. But when one enthusiastic aesthetician suggested I see her brother, a cosmetic surgeon, I shut her down. I might need it one day, I told her, but I certainly did not need a facelift, not yet at least!
Wearing bangs to cover thinning eyebrows, capris to hide those new knee wrinkles, using shading tricks with eye shadows and highlighters to mask the shadows that shouldn’t be there, I felt like a fraud. It was as if I was playing a game of camouflage—charades with cosmetics. I was realizing that dating in your forties sucked. It was nothing like being a teenager when you were just starting out; it wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t thrilling—it was terrifying.
Where had all my confidence gone? As I concentrated on all the negatives, I had to chide myself. My body wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be. Sure my youth had somehow escaped me, but it hadn’t left in its place an old hag. Yes, I was showing some flaws, but really, one had to look awfully hard to see what I was seeing. Most people who looked at me wouldn’t believe that I was forty-four, I was still very attractive. But like Jane Seymour, who is in her fifties now, and truly looks amazing, and is certainly very desirable to millions of men, she’s still not the woman she was at twenty-four. I had to remember that women improve in ways that don’t show. While our looks, however nice, continue to decline each and every day, we grow spiritually and wondrously inside. Even as new, albeit minor tragedies constantly occur and take their toll on our bodies that aphahydroxy and retinol can’t hide, we continue to improve on the inside.
It just so happened that my day of reckoning was coming at a time when I didn’t have anyone by my side to say that they didn’t notice the eye crinkles, or if they did, that they didn’t matter. So here I was having to gear up to meet strange men, men who like me, would be on the prowl. Unfortunately, I had to impress them with my looks before they could get to know me and become impressed with the “improved�
� me that was on the inside. I reached for the mascara and gave my lashes another coat. Hey, it couldn’t hurt to enhance one of my better assets.
During the times that I was being “worked” on I kept asking myself if I was going a bit overboard. But I knew the odds. A woman’s body was her bargaining chip—she has to dazzle a man to attract him. Oh sure, after she gets his attention, she can intrigue him with her brain. But if she can’t get him to notice her, she’s never going to be able to impress him with her wit.
The hair, the lips, the eyes, they are all crucial, unless you have something else that could make their eyes pop and grow stalks like they do in the comics. Fortunately I had that too. But still, there were an awful lot of young and beautiful women competing for the eligible men in our area. I mean, hey, this is a beach town. Regardless, in any retirement community the widows are sure to outnumber the widowers, I told myself as I shelled out yet another hundred dollars for the latest and greatest collagen stimulating face cream that promised noticeably smoother and tighter skin.
My aerobics and Pilate’s classes at the Pink Palace were making up for the exercise I’d missed and the line dancing class at the Village of Calabash was getting my rhythm and coordination back. I was bicycling in the evening and taking Gimlet for long walks on the beach in the mornings.
It occurred to me that I was beginning to look at this transformation as if it was my job. Get in shape, bounce back, be all you can be. I had come to realize that this was probably going to be my last chance to not be alone, my last chance to secure a life partner, someone who could keep me from envying all the couples I saw each time I dined or shopped.
Being single kept me from doing a lot of things that I used to love to do just because I didn’t want to do them alone now. I really never had been the type to do things on my own. I hadn’t been able to talk myself into going to the movies, kayaking, or taking in a show due to my single status. So I had to give this everything I had, because I was afraid if I didn’t, I would end up alone, and that scared me more than anything else right now.
The Widows of Sea Trail (The Widows of Sea Trail Trilogy) Page 3
