Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) (18 page)

He was sincere. This buffoon thought that after a fourth time of not
recognizing me, I would fall all over myself to go to lunch with him.

I kept it to the point. “No.”

He turned back toward the elevator doors and we rode the rest of the way
in silence. Finally, the doors opened on our floor and we stepped out. As I
rounded the corner toward my desk, Carl called out, “If you change your mind!
…”

I pretended not to hear him.

“What’s that douche want?” Rox asked through a mouthful of apple.

“To have lunch with me, if you can imagine that,” I told her.

Roxanne arched an eyebrow.

“He asked me to go to lunch with him, after I had to remind him in the
elevator that we’ve already met four times,” I explained.

“What a piece of work!” Rox was bent over with her hand over her mouth,
cackling hysterically.

“Seriously,” I said, shaking my head. “The ego on that guy.”

Rox wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Although, as you said yourself, he
might be good for a quick lay.”

A shudder ran up my spine and I looked Rox’s way guiltily. She narrowed
her eyes at me. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just … I may have already … taken care of that
problem.”

Rox’s mouth flew open in shock. I spent a few minutes filling her in on
the hookup with Junior, concluding with, “I’m sure that was a one-time deal. I
don’t expect to hear from him.”

Rox looked pensive, her lips pursed and head cocked to the side.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well,” she began. “I suppose it can’t hurt anything now. I wasn’t going
to tell you, but … Chuck is seeing someone.”

So that’s what getting hit in the gut feels like. I was shocked and hurt
that he was pursuing some other woman, but what right did I have to feel that
way? I’d just spent an evening naked with a man I barely knew.

“Who is it?” I asked.

She didn’t have to say a word; she just gave me that disapproving “you
know who” look.

“Not Candace …”

Rox blinked slowly in the affirmative, and my heart dropped into my
stomach.

Candace – the exotic-looking editor with the long dark hair and cat
eyes. They’d worked together for years, and she’d had a crush on him the whole
time. Well, now she was finally getting her hands on him, quite literally, I
assumed.

I had a short, nightmarish fantasy of Chuck brushing a thick lock of
Candace’s hair behind her ear and gazing into her cat eyes. He’d lean in to
kiss her perfect, pink, plump mouth. The thought was more than I could bear.
Tears had filled my eyes, so I started searching through my desk drawers for a
napkin.

“Oh, Nic!” Rox looked horrified. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said
anything.”

I just shook my head, embarrassed, wiping quickly at the tears that were
pouring unhindered from my eyes.

“It’s OK,” I managed to say. “It’s not your fault. It just caught me by
surprise.”

I recovered several minutes later in the restroom, after a desperate few
minutes leaning up against the cold tile wall in the last stall, sobbing as
quietly as I could.

Waiting until I was sure the bathroom was empty, I crept out of the stall
and toward the sinks where I confirmed there was no mistaking that I’d been on
a crying jag – my entire face was red and puffy. I splashed cold water on
my cheeks and dabbed at my eyes with a cold, wet paper towel, finally deciding
I could probably get away with telling people I had allergies, if they asked.

I looked for a moment into my own eyes questioningly.
What had happened
? I wanted to know. My
empty eyes said,
It’s over
. Chuck had
moved on and it was really over. It didn’t matter whether I believed it or
liked it or could understand it – it was over, and the best thing I could
do was to move on with my life and try to be happy with someone else.

EIGHT

Junior called a couple nights later, shocking the hell out of me.

“Hey,” he said casually when I answered the phone, as though he were
always calling me and saying “hey.”

“Hello…” I answered, not even really sure who was calling.

“It’s Junior,” he cleared it up for me confidently.

My entire body involuntarily tingled in remembrance.

“Oh, hi!” I said. “You remembered my phone number … I’m surprised.”

“Well, like I said, I have a mind like a steel trap. I just remember shit
like that.”

“Apparently you do,” I said.

“So what’re you doing?” he asked.

“Right now? Um… I just got out of the shower.”

Which was true. I’d been at the track that evening, pounding out at least
part of my lifetime’s worth of frustration, and had come home drenched in
sweat. I’d been finishing up a small plate of reheated chicken and vegetables
when my phone rang. I was wearing stretch pants and an oversized T-shirt and my
hair was wet and stringy.

“Wanna hang out?” he asked.

“Right now?” I asked. It was a Thursday night and I didn’t look anywhere
near presentable, but if we were just talking about a booty call, the more I
thought about it the more my full-body tingle was saying Yes.

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No, uh … I just need to get dressed.”

“Cool. You want to come over and watch a movie?”

That sounded relaxed and unassuming, and not like something I’d need to
dress up for.

“Sure!” I agreed.

We hung up and I raced around, throwing on my newest pair of dark-wash
jeans and a flowing jersey knit top that dipped low in the chest area,
hopefully low enough to distract from the fact that I would not be wearing a
full face of makeup.

I brushed on a couple coats of mascara, smeared my lips with gloss and
tossed a piece of gum in my mouth before breezing out the door.

Pulling into the parking lot at Junior’s apartment complex, I was
realizing just how dingy the place was – not really a great part of town
and definitely not well-kept. Giant chunks of paint were flaking off the
building and railings along the stairs and balconies were bent and rusted in
areas. It made no sense for a real estate agent to be living here. I made my
way up the stairs to Junior’s apartment and knocked quietly.

I heard some shuffling around inside and a moment later the door swung
open to reveal Junior, looking fit in a white cotton T-shirt and jeans. He was
barefoot and holding a sandwich in one hand.

“Hey,” he grinned.

“Hi!” I stepped into the apartment and he moved aside, shutting the door
behind me and then heading into the kitchen. I stood awkwardly in the entryway
as he rooted around in his fridge, eventually removing a beer and then
sauntering back into the living room.

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten dinner,” Junior explained, taking a bite out of
his sandwich, which I was noticing by its odor was tuna. He fell heavily onto
the couch and looked at me questioningly.

“Want to watch a movie?”

He actually wanted to watch a movie? I thought I was here for naughty
spanky sex, but apparently Junior had called me out of the blue on a Thursday
night to come sit on his couch while he ate a tuna fish sandwich and we watched
a movie. And he hadn’t offered me a drink. And maybe
I
wanted a tuna fish sandwich, too.

But I could play along, put in a couple hours of movie time if that’s how
this sort of booty call was going to play out.

I sat down a safe distance away from Junior in order to avoid the smell
of the sandwich, which I found nauseating. He picked up the remote control and
asked, “Do you like beautiful girls?”

“You mean, like, in general?” I asked, confused.

“No, the movie. ‘Beautiful Girls.’”

“Oh, sure, yeah. I saw it a long time ago,” I said.

“It’s my favorite,” he was talking with his mouth full.

I nodded agreeably and wondered if I should be offended at all, and if
so, why? Watching ‘Beautiful Girls’ with a girl who was … bigger. Was he trying
to tell me something? If so, couldn’t he have done that by simply not calling
me?

I decided he was probably just a little bit dumb, and ‘Beautiful Girls’
was really probably his favorite movie.

“I think this is the movie Natalie Portman looks the hottest in,” Junior
elaborated.

I cocked my head, recalling what I remembered of the movie and what
Natalie Portman had looked like in it.

“Wasn’t she, like, twelve years old in this movie?” I asked.

“Something like that,” he said. “But, just watch – you’ll see.
She’s seriously hotter here than she’s ever been.”

A distant alarm bell began ringing in my brain.

Then, a knock on the door. Junior hauled himself up to answer it.

“Hey, man,” he greeted the visitor, who strolled into the living room. He
was dressed in a dark coat and had greasy, long hair. He nodded his chin in my
direction in greeting.

“This is Dan,” Junior informed me, as Dan grabbed himself a beer from the
fridge and then made himself comfortable on an adjacent love seat.

“Hi,” I said, confused.

“‘Sup,” he answered.

“You down for a movie?” Junior checked with his new guest. “This is the
one Natalie Portman looks the hottest in.”

“Totally,” Dan agreed.

This had turned into something altogether different from what I’d been
expecting. I checked my watch for the time and began calculating my strategic
and swift exit from this apartment. Unfortunately, it didn’t come swiftly
enough. I sat rigidly for about half the movie before Junior paused it.

“Gotta take a leak,” he announced. As he walked toward the bathroom, I
stood and grabbed my purse, stationing myself near the front door.

I heard the toilet flush and Junior came back into the room, stopping
short when he saw me standing near the door.

“Hey, I gotta go,” I said.

“Oh, all right.” He looked a little surprised. “Let me walk you out to
your car.”

What was it with this guy? One minute he was doing the exact wrong thing
and the next he was doing the exact right thing.

I didn’t bother saying goodbye to Dan.

Junior hurried into a pair of sneakers and then followed me out to my
car. I hopped in the driver’s seat and rolled my window down as he stood
staring down at me with a knowing look on his face.

Junior leaned down, resting his elbows on the window ledge and looking at
me as though he’d just figured me all out.

“I know what’s going on here,” he said. “You’re thinking, ‘I wish he’d
just kiss me.’”

I wasn’t sure who this was more embarrassing for – me or him.

“No, actually, that’s not what I’m thinking,” I answered. I turned the
ignition to start the car.

“Yes it is,” he said.

I just stared at him.

He leaned in to kiss me and I froze. His lips met mine but I didn’t
respond, and he pulled back, smiling, like he was in on some kind of joke.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, I just put the car in reverse and backed up before
driving away. Junior stood with his hands in his jeans pockets, watching me. I
drove away, shaking my head in wonderment.

I kept my clandestine meeting with Junior to myself. Sure, it would’ve
been fun to cackle over the incident with Roxanne or Laurie but in truth, I was
a bit wounded from it. Revealing my foolhardy decision to meet up with Junior
for what I’d believed was a booty call would probably have also revealed my
desperation and loneliness. In the wake of Roxanne telling me about Chuck
dating the flawless Candace, I didn’t think my pride could take another stab.

Friday at work, I stared blankly at my computer screen. I chewed
joylessly on the salad I’d packed for lunch, at one point stopping mid-chew to
really look at the food I was eating: a plastic container with lettuce and
other greens, a few small pieces of chicken breast, and some oil and vinegar.
I’d been eating the same thing for months, so focused on reaching the end goal
of having lost all the weight I’d gained that I’d never bothered to try
diversifying my meals.

I realized defiantly that I was completely sick of salads for lunch. I
was sick of lean meats and vegetables for dinner. I was sick of hauling my ass
around the junior high school track and taking abuse from that sadist yoga
instructor, Phil.

I wanted a hamburger. With cheese on it. And real, carby hamburger buns.
I wanted a blueberry muffin with sugar crumbles on top and a side of whipped
honey-butter. I wanted to taste my favorite peanut butter and chocolate ice
cream. And, for that matter, I wanted a big, greasy pepperoni pizza, crispy on
the edges. With a side of ranch.

Lastly, I realized with a gut ache not dissimilar from hunger, I wanted
Chuck back. With him gone I was directionless, incomplete. I might as well have
lost an appendage, my pain felt so acute.

Getting Chuck back wasn’t going to happen, so there was no use in even
thinking about it. I could torture myself with thoughts of him French kissing
Candace, but it wasn’t going to help a goddamn thing.

I snapped the lid back on top of the container of unfinished salad and
slowly rose from my desk chair. I had a goal in mind but wasn’t certain I would
actually go through with it. I knew I shouldn’t. Absolutely, definitely
shouldn’t.

And yet, there was my hand, slowly reaching for my purse, and then
grabbing the strap. I watched it happen as though it weren’t me. Suddenly, my
feet were moving toward the firm’s break room. My eyes widened a bit. I was
scared and nervous. If anyone was in the break room, this mission was a no-go.

I slipped quietly into the break room. It was empty. The soda machine was
humming softly, soothingly. Right next to it was the candy machine. All of my
favorite candies were stocked, lined up side by side, ready to drop down into
the catch basin if I’d only slip sixty-five cents into the coin slot.

I waited. I stood across the room, sure someone would enter. It was lunch
time. People ate at lunch. If someone came in, it meant I shouldn’t be there,
doing what I was about to do. I watched the clock on the wall as the second
hand lazily made its round five times. Nary a visitor entered.

I readied my change. Sixty-five cents in the machine, press the right
buttons and a Twix bar is yours. If someone walks in the room, I’d simply
leave, even if the candy bar had already fallen into the basin. Better not to
be caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

But no one entered. The candy bar fell. I grabbed it and shoved it in my
purse, then hesitated. There were so many other delicious candy bars I hadn’t
gotten to eat in so many months. Best to get a bag of peanut butter M&Ms
while I was at it. I made my purchase and again slipped the candy into my
purse.

I very innocently made my way toward the elevators and hopped on one,
thankfully by myself. I got off on a floor I knew was mostly vacant, and made
my way to the restrooms, where I hid in a stall and slowly ate the chocolate.

Had chocolate ever tasted so good? I wondered. It was sweet and slick,
coating my tongue. These candy bar makers are geniuses, I thought, moaning
softly as I bit off another chunk of Twix.

And then the candy bars were gone and I was alone in a bathroom stall
with two candy wrappers and chocolate under my fingernails. This wasn’t the
best feeling in the world. What was it? Shame? Definitely.

I shoved the wrappers in the tiny trash bin meant for feminine products
and exited the stall, wiping crumbs off my chest. I stood for a moment in front
of the bathroom’s mirrored wall, staring at my own face. If I wasn’t me, what
would I think of myself? I looked put-together, curvy, curly haired, and a bit
vacant-eyed. I stared into my eyes and shook my head.

Finally, I looked away and stared down at the floor for a moment, deciding
on my next move. The candy bars were symbolic. There’d been a break in the
diet. At this point in any other diet, what would normally happen is I would
consider the day a loss and proceed on to eating more diet-unfriendly foods. I
always promised myself I’d get back to business the next day, but invariably I
would spiral downward in a food-eating frenzy until one day a friend sent me a
photo of myself that would shock the shit out of me and I’d start up a new diet
again.

I knew the right thing to do was to go back to my desk, work until five
o’clock, and then accompany Rox to yoga. This should be followed up by a
healthy dinner, the ingredients for which were sitting in my refrigerator.

But I wasn’t going to do the right thing. At that moment, anyway. I
promised myself right there in the bathroom, the way I had dozens of times
before, that I would eat whatever I wanted that night, and the next day I’d be
back on the program.

I spent the rest of the workday halfheartedly pecking away at my
keyboard, pretending to be busy so no one would bother me. Meanwhile, I was
building my dream meal in my head. I’d swing by one of my favorite local
bakeries for a loaf of fresh cinnamon bread. It was always sticky and yeasty
and heavenly. While I was at it, I’d grab an expensive bottle of red wine. Then
I’d phone in an order to the Thai restaurant Chuck and I used to go to almost
every week, we loved it so much. It would be a motley meal, but it would
contain a few of the flavors I’d missed so much over the last several months.

Once five o’clock hit, I begged off of yoga to Rox, pleading illness,
fanning myself and saying I had a headache and felt feverish. She didn’t even
blink, just wished me well and went on her way. I sighed, relieved. That was
easy. And I felt guilty for lying, especially considering why I was lying, but
there was no turning back now.

I’d managed to procure the wine and the cinnamon bread and was
practically salivating as I found street parking and rushed down the Berkeley
sidewalk toward the Thai restaurant. The memory of delicious spicy curry was
making my jaw ache.