Authors: Sheila Roberts

Bikini Season (11 page)

BOOK: Bikini Season

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Angela had come up with a new diet idea, and she shared it as they sat around Kizzy's dining room table, sampling Angela's ham and asparagus antipasto. “When you're out to eat, have someone in your family order dessert. Then, when they're eating it, you chew along with them, and it's almost like you're getting to eat it.”

“Did you read this on the Internet?” Megan asked suspiciously.

“Well,” Angela hedged.

“Have you tried it?” Megan persisted.

“Not yet. But it sounded good. And I thought it might help me next time we take the kids to McDonald's.”

“Ordering a salad next time you go to McDonald's will probably help more,” Megan suggested, dishing up an Angela offering that she'd interestingly dubbed Italian stir-fry.

“I don't know,” said Erin. “If somebody sat down next to me and started chewing on chocolate cake I'd strangle her.”

“You're right,” Angela decided. She pushed her vegetables around her plate. “I hate my life. And I only lost one pound this week. Every time I feel bad I eat something bad.”

“If that's the case, be glad you lost even one pound,” Megan told her.

“And at least you lost a pound,” added Erin. “You're on your way. Pretty soon you'll be so hot Brad won't even want to leave for work.”

What should have made Angela smile instead set her lower lip to wobbling.

Kizzy laid a hand on her arm. “Angela?”

“Uh-oh,” said Megan. “What's wrong?”

“Brad is having an affair,” Angela wailed and started crying.

“Shut up,” scoffed Erin. “He's Mr. Family Man of the Century. No way.”

“Well, he is,” Angela insisted. She gave a red pepper in her stir-fry a vicious stab. “I overheard him.”

“What?” Erin dropped her fork. “You're delirious.”

“When did you hear him and what did he say?” asked Megan.

“I heard him last week when I came home from our meeting. He was on the phone with Rachel the puttana and he said, âShe doesn't suspect a thing.'”

“You don't know he was talking about you, though,” said Megan, arguing for the defense. “Did you confront him?”

“Yes. He said he was planning a surprise party for someone who's retiring.”

“Well, then, there you have it,” said Megan.

Angela shook her head. “The woman's only forty.” She waved a hand at the array of diet fare represented around the table. “Look at this,” she said wildly. “All this diet food. What good is it going to do us? What good is it to even try when men are such bastardos. I don't know why I'm even bothering toâ”

Kizzy clamped a hand over her lips. “Don't say it. We need to have a talk right now. All of us.”

Everyone tensed, watching Kizzy like so many parishioners bracing for a hellfire-and-brimstone sermon.

She looked around at them, eyes flashing. “We are not doing this for any man. We are doing this for ourselves. We are doing this for our health, because we want to look and feel the best we can. The men can come along or not.”

They all sat silent, staring at her. Finally Angela spoke in a small voice. “But I don't want to lose Brad.”

“If his love depends on the size of your waistline you've already lost him,” said Kizzy. “We marry each other for better or for worse, that's what the vows say. Let's just concentrate on improving and
feeling good about ourselves. Anyway, that's a lot of pressure to put on yourself when you're dieting,” she said to Angela.

“You can't make saving your marriage depend on the success of your diet or you'll make yourself crazy,” Megan added.

“I already am,” Angela muttered.

“One step at a time,” Kizzy said, giving her a hug. “You first. Get healthy. That's the cornerstone. You build from there. If you don't care for you, how can you expect anyone else to? Got it?”

Angela bit her lip and nodded.

“Now,” Kizzy said firmly, “let's enjoy our meal. Let's work on living today and not go borrowing trouble from tomorrow.”

Angela sniffed. “You're right. I need to stay in the second.”

“And you need to not jump to conclusions,” Megan told her. “You could be wrong.”

Angela didn't say anything, but from the grim set of her mouth it was plain that she was convinced she wasn't.

The women began eating again, but the ambiance was gone from Kizzy's cheery yellow dining room. Instead a somber mood reigned.

“This antipasto you brought is really good,” Erin said to Angela in an attempt to lift her spirits.

“I love the Italian stir-fry,” said Megan.

“I just wish we had some garlic bread to go with it,” Angela grumbled, still not in the best of moods.

“I could sure go for some ice cream,” said Erin.

“Tiramisu,” Angela said with a sigh.

“Nothing tastes as good as thin feels,” Megan said. “Come on. Let's do some DDR.”

“Good idea,” Erin seconded.

Two hours later they had stomped the food monster into the ground.

“We did it!” Angela crowed. “You know, I feel so much better. I really needed this tonight. Thanks, guys. For everything.”

“That's what friends are for,” Kizzy said. “Let's make sure we e-mail each other this week. And if anyone is having problems, call one of us. We're all in this together.”

“Thank God,” murmured Erin.

Adam had come in while Erin was gone. She found him waiting for her in the living room, medical books spread out on the coffee table. “Hi, there,” he greeted her. “I fed your fish for you.”

He'd also reorganized the house. The kitchen counter was cleared, which meant she wouldn't be able to find anything for a week. It looked like all her magazines had been banished to the recycle bin, including her latest issue of
Bride.

Adam hated clutter.

He is so perfect for you,
cooed her inner mother.
Think how organized your life will be.

“How was your meeting?” he asked.

“Good. Nothing but healthy food.”

“Sounds like a drag to me,” he said.

She cuddled up next to him on the couch. “But by the time I'm done I'll have no problem fitting into my wedding dress.”

“I can hardly wait to see you in it,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “You're going to look incredible. So, how are the plans coming?”

This was encouraging. Now was the time to tell him about the Heart Lake Lodge. “Great. I was able to get the Heart Lake Lodge for the reception. Can you believe it?” she rushed on. “That place is always booked a year ahead, but they had a cancellation and Bev saved the date for us. I still can't believe we lucked out. I've dreamed of getting married there ever since I was a little girl.”

Adam's smile tightened and she braced herself for him to say the E word. He didn't.

“You're not going to ask how expensive it was?”

He took a moment to answer, like a doctor searching for the best way to deal with a difficult patient. Then he shook his head. “No. I told you, it's your day.”

And now he sounded like he regretted ever saying that.

She searched those beautiful ice-blue eyes in vain for a spark of excitement. “All I have to do is say the word and it's unbooked.” And there went her fairy-tale wedding. But if he asked her to let the lodge go, she would. You'll still have Prince Charming, she reminded herself. She held her breath and hoped anyway.

“What does renting it do to the budget?” he asked.

“It puts me over.”

You're not good with money, babe.
She'd hated hearing those words when he first said them to her. She didn't like them any better as a memory.

“How much over?” Adam asked.

Erin felt like a woman preparing to jump across a canyon. She braced herself. “Two thousand five hundred and ninety-five dollars. Actually, make that two thousand ninety-five dollars. Bev is waiving the five-hundred-dollar event supervisor fee as a wedding present. I know we want to save for a house,” she rushed on, “but we can do that and still have a nice wedding. This is a one-time event in a woman's life and it's important to me.” And she wasn't that bad with money, damn it. He just expected her to do this for nothing.

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Then that's where we should have it.”

She stared at him, almost afraid to believe her ears. “You mean it? Really?”

He nodded.

He was a new man. She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Adam, you're the best. Thanks for understanding.”

“I want you to be happy,” he said, but he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than reassure her.

She slipped onto his lap. “I've found the perfect florist, too.”

“You don't want my cousin to do the flowers?”

“This woman is affordable,” Erin assured him, and immediately started a mental checklist of all the places she could cut back on the flowers.

“So is my cousin, and I already told her she could.”

“Adam, we didn't decide for sure.”

“Come on, babe. It's only flowers,” he said, and kissed her. “And you got the lodge.”

“This florist is amazing. And the flowers won't cost much. I promise,” she added, and nibbled on his lower lip. He ran his hands down her back and she reached for the top button of his shirt.

“Okay, fine,” he said as he settled her down among the couch cushions, his mind obviously on something other than flowers.

But it isn't really,
a voice whispered at the back of her mind.
And you know it.

The voice sounded a lot like Dan Rockwell. She squeezed her eyes shut and mentally hummed the wedding march. It almost drowned him out.

Angela returned home to find Brad sacked out on the couch with a copy of
Sports Illustrated.
Lying there on the couch in his jeans and stocking feet, he didn't exactly look like a man who was having an affair. But would she know what a man having an affair looked like?

He smiled at her over the top of the magazine. “Hey, babe. How was Bikinis Anonymous?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Go ahead, make fun. You'll be sorry when I'm looking hot in a new bikini.”

“No I won't, believe me.” He threw the magazine aside and patted the couch and she went and squeezed in next to him. “Hey, I know a way to burn some calories,” he said, pulling her on top of him.

It wasn't hard to tell what he wanted. A man just couldn't have this much energy if he was having sex with another woman, could he? But what if he could? What if he was? The thought of him kissing Rachel's bare skin seared her heart. How could a man share that kind of closeness with two women? How could Brad, her Brad, do that?

A new thought spun her from devastated to terrified. What if he gave her an STD? She slid off him.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To bed. I just started my period,” she lied.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

Well, that was nothing compared to how he'd sound if she caught him cheating on her.

Ten

M
egan stepped on her scale Monday morning and almost screamed. Four pounds. She'd lost four pounds! One of them just since meeting with her fellow dieters on Friday. She hopped off the scale and started jumping up and down and whoopingâuntil the person in the apartment under her hollered something indecipherable.

She stopped the jumping, but kept the buzz going, dancing her way out to the kitchen and singing while she made her morning omelet, “I lost four pounds, I lost four pounds.” She danced to the bathroom and showered, running her hands down her waist. Did it feel slimmer? Not yet, but who cared? She was on her way. “I lost four pounds!”

As she boogied to the closet, she caught sight of the card she'd bought the week before, the one she'd had every intention of giving to Pamela, the one with the scary blank page inside. Now the woman on the front of the card seemed to be watching her.
I'm waiting for you to give me words.

Megan put on her bra.

Still waiting.

She wriggled into her panty hose.

Still here.

She pulled on her blouse.

Still â¦

Okay, okay.
Megan snatched the card from the dresser. She padded out to the kitchen, grabbing a pen from the glass of pens and pencils sitting by her cordless, then sat down at her drop leaf oak table and opened the card. And stared at the blank page. “I have no idea what to write,” she muttered.

She gnawed her lip and tapped the tabletop with her pen. It was easy to argue a case. Easy to argue, period. You didn't buy this card to argue your case, she told herself. Just be honest.

Megan took a deep breath, shook the nerves out of her hand, and scrawled, “You were right. I was a bitter big girl. But not anymore. I hope we can start out on a new foot.” She took another breath and signed her name. And her heart started pounding as if she was running. She shut the card and shoved it in the envelope, then put it in her purse.

The card wasn't done with her.
Don't forget where you put me
.

It was still reminding her when she stepped into the elevator at the First Orca Trust Tower forty-five minutes later. The ride up to the forty-first floor felt like Stephen King's Green Mile. And when the door opened and she got off, it was all she could do not to bolt for the security of her windowless office. But she forced herself to turn to the right and walk down to Pamela's office. She lifted a shaky hand and knocked on the door, her heart knocking right along, too. A moment later, the door opened, and there stood Pamela, tall, thin, and icy.

Words, where were the words? Megan's brain and mouth both went on strike simultaneously. But the card tugged on her hand, raising it up, up, up. And then there it hovered between them, an invitation.

Pamela raised an eyebrow and took the card.

“I have to get to work,” Megan stammered. Then she did a quick about-face and tried to walk as slowly and confidently down the hall as she could. Safely inside her office, she closed the door after her and leaned against it and let out her breath.
Did it
. And suddenly, miraculously, she felt lighter than air.

“I'm going out to the shop to work for a while,” Lionel announced after dinner Monday night.

He'd been disappearing into the garage to his makeshift workshop every night after dinner for the last two weeks. What he was doing out there Kizzy had no idea.

“What are you making, Lion?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothin' much. Just puttering.”

She'd read the Mars and Venus book. She knew men had to go into their cave and get some downtime. But Lionel sure seemed to need a lot of it lately. And, come to think of it, he was starting to look a little like a bear. His love handles had expanded and she saw more belly hanging over his belt. How could this be? He hadn't brought anything bad for them home and she was feeding him good food, but it seemed lately that every pound she lost he found. Did he have a stash at work?

Curiosity burned in her as she loaded the dishes and stowed leftover salad in the refrigerator. Finally she decided to douse the flame with a little visit to the garage. Maybe Lionel was thirsty. She'd take him a Diet Pepsi to sip on while he worked.

Pop in hand, she opened the door and slipped into the garage to find him leaning on his workbench, poring over his January issue of
Handyman
and eating a Twinkie.

“Lionel!”

He jumped and whirled around, dropping the Twinkie on the cement floor. His eyes got big as golf balls. “Kizzy.”

She made a face. “What are you doing?”

He picked up the Twinkie and set it on the workbench in back of him as if to shield it. “What are you doing out here?”

She held up the glass. “I came to bring you something to drink.”

“Oh, well, thanks.” He walked over to her and took it.

“And I thought I'd come out and see what you were working on,” she added, her tone of voice accusing.

“Oh, uh, nothing yet. I haven't decided.”

“So, you've been out here every night just â¦ ?”

“Thinking,” he supplied.

“And eating.” She walked past him. What else was over there besides Twinkies?

He fell in step with her. “Hey now, what are you doing?”

“I'm wondering what else you've got out here.” She stopped in front of the row of shelves where he kept his supplies. It wasn't hard to spot the can of Pringles trying to hide behind the glass jars of nuts and bolts and nails.

She grabbed them and held them in front of him, both eyebrows raised.

Lionel looked like a kid at the principal's office. “That's for in case someone stops by, like one of the neighbors.”

“Uh-huh.” She flipped open his toolbox.

“Now, Kizzy Girl, what you want to go snoopin' in my toolbox for?” he protested, trying to reach around her.

But he was too late. She'd already found the stash of candy bars. “Uh, uh, uh. Lionel Jefferson Maxwell.”

Lionel was pouting now. “Don't go climbing all over me, Kiz. I haven't brought a single thing into the house to tempt you.”

“No, you've just been coming out here tempting your own fat self,” Kizzy retorted.

He scowled. “Woman, I am not the one on a diet and I want something good to eat once in a while.”

“So, you just sneak out here and pig away,” Kizzy said in disgust.

“Well, you won't make anything for me. What am I supposed to do?”

Suffer right along with her, of course. Although it wasn't really fair to ask him to, even though it would be good for him to shed some pounds. Still, a person had to want to do this for himself. Getting healthy wasn't something someone, even someone who loved you, could decide for you. She'd been wrong to force her diet on him.

Lionel dropped his bluster. “Anyway, I'm eating it out here because I don't want to make you feel bad.”

“I appreciate that, Lion, I really do. And if you want a stash out here then I guess you should be able to have one.” She was tempted to warn him that if he kept this up he, too, would soon be having an unpleasant chat with the doctor like the one she'd had, but she resisted. Deep down he knew.

His jaw came unhinged. “You're not going to tell me to get rid of this?”

She shook her head. “No. I'm not going to be your enabler and feed you things that are bad for you, but I'm not going to ride you, either.” She slipped her arms around him. “I want us both to be healthy, Lion, but what you eat is your decision. I shouldn't have come snooping out here. I'm sorry.”

He heaved a deep sigh. “I shouldn't have come sneaking out here. Sorry, Kiz.”

She patted his broad belly. “Well, you stay out here and plan your project. I'll see you when you're done.”

He picked up the Twinkie and shot it basketball style into the big waste can he used for his garbage. “I'm done now.”

She wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she decided not to ask. She wasn't going to be Lionel's diet conscience. She had her hands full being her own.

“I'm doing awful,” Angel typed to her online chat group. “I'm thinking of trying that new diet pill.”

“I wouldn't,” logged on another woman. “I tried it and spent the
whole afternoon in the bathroom. I thought I was going to die. It was awful.”

Another dieter chimed in. “I found something. It's called Quick Fixx, and it's great. I've lost ten pounds in two weeks and I've got tons of energy. And it's herbal, so it's totally safe.”

A totally safe way to lose a lot of weight in a hurryâtalk about your perfect timing! The woman had just started selling the stuff, and she sent Angela to the Web site where Angela ordered a bottle of pills and had it sent express mail. She could have bought two weeks' worth of groceries with what she spent on the pills and the shipping, but if they worked, they'd be worth every penny.

And, as it turned out, they were. They worked great. The first day she took them her appetite vanished. And she had sooo much energy.

“And I've lost three pounds already,” she bragged to the Bikinis.

“Wow, that's great,” said Erin. “I need some of that.”

“I'd read the fine print first,” Megan said. “You don't know what kind of side effects these could have. Ever hear of fen-phen?”

“But these pills are herbal,” Angela said. “Totally safe.” She took a little sandwich bag containing one of the miracle pills from her purse and shook out the pill, then popped it into her mouth and washed it down with some diet pop.

Megan took another celery stick and dipped it into her feta cheese dip. “Well, I guess if it's working for you, but I think you should proceed with caution.”

“Don't worry. I'm not taking any more than the bottle says to,” Angela assured her, finishing her pop.

Megan shrugged. “I wouldn't trust any diet product that labeled itself a quick fix. I don't think there is such a thing.”

“Me, either,” Kizzy agreed as she set out pulled pork and cabbage salad. “That type of thing's been around since I was your age, and this just sounds like good, old-fashioned speed to me.”

Angela frowned. “It can't be speed. It's herbal.”

“Just because it's herbal doesn't mean it's good,” Megan said. “Marijuana is an herb.”

Angela shrugged. “Well, this isn't marijuana, so I'll be fine.”

And she was fine until she woke up at one A.M. with the sweats and a racing heart.

“Oh, my God. I'm having a heart attack!”

BOOK: Bikini Season

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