Authors: Sheila Roberts

Bikini Season (8 page)

BOOK: Bikini Season

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“Drop the Bomb” began to play, and the TV turned psychedelic with a punked-out skateboarder doing acrobatics while arrows started to glide up the screen. Erin demonstrated. “See? When the arrow points to the side you've got to step to the side. Up means in front of you, down in back of you.”

“Oh, fun!” cried Angela. “I can do this.”

Almost. It turned out to be a lot harder than she imagined, and she felt like a fool as she stumbled and bumbled along next to Erin, who was, like her, letting out a series of “Eeks.” But it was fun. “This is great,” she said after they'd finished.

“That's what I thought. I figured we could do this a couple of times a week, then maybe graduate to some dance workout DVDs.”

“Ooh, I saw the
Dancing with the Stars
workout DVD for sale on eBay. Maybe I'll get that for us.”

Erin grinned. “Great idea. Now, what do you say we get those cookies baked and packed up and do a little more DDR?”

They finished baking the cookies, then went at it until Angela finally collapsed on the couch. “I am so out of shape it's pathetic. Forget the DDR. I need R and R,” she moaned.

“Oh, no you don't,” Erin said, hauling her to her feet. “You've got to work off those cookies.”

“I'm never baking again as long as I live,” Angela decided. “It's not worth the pain.”

They went at it some more, then, both rubber legged, they agreed it was time to quit with the exercise already and flopped on the couch.

“We have to have lost at least a pound, don't you think?” Angela asked.

“Probably not,” Erin said regretfully.

“Oh, well. Greece wasn't built in a day,” Angela told her. “Or something like that.”

“Something like that,” Erin agreed.

“Mommy, what are you playing?”

They both turned to see Gabriella coming down the stairs, wiping the sleep from her eyes, dragging her favorite teddy bear. “Looks like it's time for you to get on the treadmill now,” Erin teased. Then she called, “Who's this cute thing?” to Gabriella.

That woke her the rest of the way up. “Aunt Erin!” she squealed, and came running.

Erin picked her up and swung her around. “Oh, look how big you're getting!” She set Gabriella down and pretended to examine her back. “Okay, where are you hiding your wings today?”

Gabriella giggled. “Aunt Erin. You know I'm not an angel. I'm a girl.”

“You're a girl angel,” Erin told her.

“Can I play what you were playing?” Gabriella asked.

“Not right now,” Angela said. “Mommy needs to rest.”

“I can leave it here for later,” Erin said. “Would you like that, Gabby?”

Gabriella was now starting the steps to a dance that every mother of small children recognized. “Right now you need to fly off to the bathroom, girl angel. Hurry up. Make it in time and I'll give you a treat.”

Gabriella ran out of the room, dark curls bouncing.

“And that is why half the women in America are now struggling with their weight,” observed Erin.

“She can do some DDR with Mommy after dinner,” Angela said. “If Mommy's legs ever stop feeling like cooked spaghetti.”

“Tell me about it. Okay, I'm going to go. You sure you'll be okay here with the cookies?”

Angela nodded. “They won't be here much longer, anyway.”

She said good-bye to Erin, and then cut up apples for Gabriella and Mandy, who also had decided it was time to come back to life. After their snack she and the girls walked down to their neighbor Faith's where Angela unloaded the fat bombs she'd baked earlier. Erin had wrapped them in foil for her so she couldn't look at them and be tempted to eat one. Or two. Or six. When they got home she and the girls cuddled on the couch and watched
Sesame Street
, and then Angela made dinner and tried not to think about the chocolate chip cookies that got away. Think, instead, about how you beat the cookie monster, she told herself. Well, sort of, with a lot of help from her friend. She had inhaled some before Erin stopped her. But she could have eaten the whole batch. It was a victory, she decided.

So she couldn't help bragging a little when Brad came home.

He'd taken a minute to appreciate Gabriella's latest preschool artwork. Now he smiled at Angela and asked, “And how about you, babe? How was your day?”

“Perfecto,” Angela replied. “Erin came by and we exercised.”

“Way to go,” he said. He lifted Mandy from his lap and loosened his tie. “Do I have time to take a shower before dinner?”

“Sure,” she said, giving their tossed salad a final toss.

He was back five minutes later, looking hunky in jeans, his chest bare. “Do I have any more deodorant?”

Brad's Right Guardâshe'd meant to pick that up when she was shopping for the goodies for the cooking club meeting. “Oh, I forgot to get it. Just use mine for tonight,” she said, pulling the chicken breasts out of the oven.

“And smell like baby powder?” he protested.

“Well, there might be some in the downstairs bathroom.” The words were barely out of her mouth when she had a flashback: herself stuffing chocolate chip cookies in the medicine cabinet. “I'll go check,” she said. Then later she'd destroy those damning fat bombs.

But Brad was already ahead of her. “Don't bother. I can look.” “I can find it faster,” she insisted, trying to slip past him.

He gave her a funny look. “It's not like I don't know where the medicine cabinet is.”

“I don't think it's in there. I think it's under the sink.” She ducked into the bathroom and pulled open the vanity door. “You just go on upstairs and I'll bring it up to you.”

It was too late to head him off. He was right there. He leaned over her and opened the medicine cabinet and started rummaging around. Two chocolate chip cookies jumped out and dove into the bathroom sink.

He picked one up and looked down at her, eyebrow raised.

Uh
. “Surprise?”

“For me?” Brad teased.

Gabriella, who seemed to have antennae for finding juicy moments, had followed them and her eyes lit up at the sight of the cookie. “My treat!” she cried, jumping up and down.

Angela took the cookie from Brad and handed it to her. “Here,” she said, pulling the other one out of the sink. “Give this to your sister.” So much for giving them healthy treats.

Gabriella took the cookies and scampered off.

“I gave the rest of the batch away,” Angela said.

“All except for those two? They didn't want to leave so they ran and hid?” He smiled and shook his head. “I swear, Ang, being with you is like living in a sitcom. I never know what kind of crazy thing I'm going to come home to.”

She wasn't sure that was a compliment. “Okay, when Erin came over I didn't want to get caught, so I hid the evidence. But she caught me anyway. So that's why there aren't any cookies. We really did give the rest away,” she finished. That sounded so lame. Rachel probably never hid cookies in medicine cabinets. Rachel never baked cookies. That was why she was hot.

“Next time, don't give away all the evidence. I'll help you get rid of it.” Brad said, searching the medicine cabinet. He found a surplus can of deodorant. “Thank God. Now I don't have to smell like baby powder.”

“I really was good,” Angela insisted as he turned to leave.

“Ang, I'm not your keeper. If you want to bake cookies it's fine by me. I like cookies.”

“But you don't want a fat wife,” she told him. Enough of this terrible cheating! She was not only sabotaging her diet, she was sabotaging her marriage. If she wanted to keep her husband she was going to have to get serious about dieting. “I have to be good.”

Brad pulled her against him. “I like you better when you're bad.”

“You'll like me more when I've lost forty pounds,” she assured him.

“I like you fine the way you are.”

Of course he was just saying that to be nice. She thought of Rachel the hottie. No more cookies. Ever. And for sure not before Friday.

Seven

I
t was Friday night, the night of the first official meeting of the Teeny Bikini Diet Club. Everyone showed up bearing salads and diet and exercise books.

“Cabbage salad with shrimp,” Kizzy announced, setting her teak salad bowl down on the granite counter. “And that looks good,” she said, pointing to Angela's tomato, basil, and mozzarella mix.

“It is,” Angela said. “I tried some before I came.”

Kizzy nodded at the carrot salad in the glass bowl. “And this is the salad you said you were going to make?” she asked Megan.

Megan nodded. “I'm calling it Practically Perfect Salad. Carrots for carotene, green peppers and celery and onion for seasoning, and tuna fish for protein. Just a little low-fat mayo to hold it together.”

“So what keeps it from being perfectly perfect?” Kizzy asked.

Megan picked up a small bowl filled with chow mein noodles. “These are the culprit. You're supposed to put about a cup worth in the salad, but I think just sprinkling a few over our plates will do the trick as well.”

“I think you're right.” Kizzy surveyed the growing selection of salads, well pleased. “It looks a lot different than the last time we met, doesn't it?”

Erin nodded. “It sure does.”

“This really looks impressive,” Megan said, pointing to Erin's seafood salad contribution.

“It's one of my aunt Mellie's recipes,” said Erin. “She's like Kizzy. She makes cooking look easy.”

“Cooking is easy,” said Kizzy. “It's controlling how much I eat that's hard. And, speaking of eating, let's try these salads.”

“And then we can talk about our diet plans,” said Angela.

“Lifestyle changes,” Kizzy corrected her. “I'm done dieting. I've got to change the way I live. Period. And maybe change husbands if Lionel doesn't shape up,” she added.

“What's Lionel done wrong?” asked Angela.

“He keeps bringing home things I can't have and telling me one bite won't hurt me.”

“And do you bite?” asked Megan.

Kizzy frowned. “More than I should.” She squared her shoulders. “But no more. I need to take care of me. The next time Lionel brings home something bad for us I'm going to let him have it good. He needs to respect what I'm trying to do. Come to think of it, so do I.”

“What do you mean?” asked Erin.

“I'm just thinking that if I really respected myself I'd have taken better care of me over the years. I mean, if I don't care about me, who will?”

“Good point,” said Megan.

“You're off to a good start tonight,” added Erin, digging into her seafood salad.

“This looks awesome,” Kizzy said as she dished up Angela's Italian salad. “If I get enough recipes like this maybe eventually I won't miss potato salad.”

“Oh! I know a way you can still have it,” Angela told her. “I
learned something really awesome when I was at the store yesterday. I met this woman in the produce department and she told me how you can make potatoes calorie free.”

“Do tell,” said Kizzy, sounding doubtful.

“You know how when you boil them, you get that kind of frothy stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that froth is the sugar in the potatoes. You pour that off before you mash them and then all the sugar is gone.”

Kizzy raised an eyebrow. “I always pour the water off before I mash potatoes. Trust me, it doesn't take out the sugar.”

Angela looked disappointed. “It doesn't?”

“The woman who told you that, what did she look like?” asked Megan.

Angela's cheeks turned frosting pink. “Um.”

“I rest my case,” said Megan.

Angela shrugged. “It sounded good.”

“You know, what you said a minute ago about respecting yourself really resonated,” Megan told Kizzy. She dropped her gaze. “I could sure think more highly of myself.”

“Top ten percentile of your class, up for partner at your firm? How can you not think highly of yourself?” Kizzy wondered.

Megan gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “It's pretty easy, especially on a Saturday night when it's only me, my sudoku puzzle, and a DVD.”

“That has nothing to do with being a good lawyer,” Erin insisted.

But everything to do with life, thought Kizzy. A woman could have all kinds of successes, but if she didn't feel good about herself everything else rang hollow.

“It has a lot to do with becoming a partner,” said Megan. “A big firm like mine wants partners who can bring in clients. I'm no rainmaker. I'm not exactly the queen of the cocktail party; I suck at working a room.”

“Once you start feeling better about yourself, don't you think that will all change?” Kizzy suggested.

“Maybe. I hope so.”

“You're a smart woman,” Kizzy said. “You'll find your way. If you can learn to work a courtroom I bet you can learn to work a living room. After all, you do fine here with us.”

“That's because you guys always make me feel so welcome.”

“Maybe you just have to see yourself as welcome wherever you go,” Kizzy told her. “Because you are, I'm sure.”

Megan spooned up some carrot salad. “I guess.”

“No, you
know,
” corrected Erin.

Megan almost smiled. “You're so full of it.”

“Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader, I guess,” Erin said. “But really, Kizzy is right. You have to have a little faith in yourself. You can do whatever you set your mind to. We all can.”

Megan nodded and drifted out to the dining room.

Kizzy sure hoped Erin was right. At fifty-five she needed to get serious about taking care of herself.

“So,” Angela said once they were all assembled. “What books did you guys find?” She pulled out two from the shopping bag at her feet and held them up one at a time. “I've got Dr. Phil, and this cool exercise book.”

“I can top that,” said Kizzy. “Look what I found at the bookstore.” She held up a book titled
The No Sweat Exercise Plan.
“How's this for good?”

“I want to borrow that when you're done,” said Angela. “I hate getting all sweaty.”

Next Kizzy took out a cookbook. “And this is great. The good news is they even have some dessert recipes in here.”

“Is that pizza I see on the cover?” asked Angela, leaning forward.

“It sure is,” said Kizzy. “They claim the plan is flexible and I'll never feel deprived.”

“I need that,” said Angela. “I'm already feeling deprived. I wish someone would invent a chocolate diet.”

“And a no-exercise diet,” Kizzy muttered. “Has anyone started exercising?” she asked.

“Erin and I already started,” Angela bragged, “and I've got our exercise plan in my car. Do you want to try it?”

“Is it hard?” asked Kizzy. “I was planning on easing into the exercise thing.” After all, she didn't want to drop dead of a heart attack before she'd barely gotten started.

“It's very fun,” Angela assured them. “I'll go get it.”

“Okay, is this really fun or is it some weird thing. Angela thought up?” Megan asked Erin after Angela had rushed from the room.

“It's nothing Angela thought up, and I think you'll like it.” Erin assured her.

Angela brought in the equipment and Erin helped her set it up.

“I've seen this,” said Megan. “They played this in
Music and Lyrics
. It looked dumb,” she added under her breath.

“It's not dumb,” Erin assured her. “It's fun.”

And it was. After their food had settled, they took turns hopping around the DDR mat while the others sang along with the songs and laughed at every misstep. Megan surprised them all by catching on quickly and keeping up the best.

“You're a natural,” Angela told her. “You could probably dance your way to skinny.”

“That would be a lot of dancing,” Megan replied. Like Kizzy, she had a lot of weight to shed.

“What the heck? You've got nothing to lose,” said Angela.

“I wish.”

By the time the party broke up everyone was pumped and ready to take down the weight giant. “Okay, ladies, same time next week?” asked Kizzy as they gathered up their salad bowls.

“I'm in,” said Erin. “Thanks for not breaking up the club and abandoning us,” she added, giving Kizzy a hug. “This is going to be great.”

The other two echoed her. “And let's wear workout clothes next week and do some more fun exercising,” said Angela.

“A DDR sock hop,” joked Kizzy.

“That sounds good to me,” said Erin. “And tomorrow I'm hitting the gym.”

“I'll make it in on Monday,” Angela pledged.

“I'm walking on Monday before I go to the shop,” vowed Kizzy.

They all looked expectantly at Megan, whose face turned pink. “I'll â¦ think of something.”

“Do they have a gym in the First Orca Trust Tower?” asked Kizzy.

Megan looked like Kizzy had just threatened to shove her off the First Orca Trust Tower. “I â¦ couldn't.”

Angela grimaced. “The pencils are there, aren't they?”

Megan bit her lip. “That gym, it's just not me.”

“How about joining Curves? I've heard it's pretty nonthreatening,” Kizzy suggested.

Megan nodded slowly.

“There's probably one not far from where you work downtown. You could hit it on the way home,” put in Erin.

“I'll check into it tomorrow,” Megan decided.

Kizzy nodded. “Good. We've all got a plan. Let's work it.”

A plan. It was a good beginning, she thought as she waved good-bye to her guests.

She shut the door and went to the kitchen to finish cleaning up while waiting for Lionel to come home from his bowling league. That might have been a mistake. She walked past the fridge and heard something call to her from the freezer compartment.
Kizzy. Kiiiizzzzy.

It was the Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream, locked in there and wanting to come out, of courseâBen & Jerry's Cherry Garcia, her favorite, which Lionel had dragged home a few days ago.

No, she told herself firmly.
That is not the way to get healthy.

But there was only a little left, no more than a dab.

She could almost feel a tiny angel with wings poking out of her warm-ups, jumping up and down on her shoulder. “Don't do it! You got such a great start tonight.”

Of course, for every little angel, there's a little devil, and a chocolate one popped up on her other shoulder. “Like you said, there's only a dab left. How fat are you going to get on a dab? All you had tonight was salad, so you can afford a dab. And a little taste of something sweet now and then will keep you from feeling deprived. That will actually help you stay on your diet.”

She moved toward the fridge, the little angel shouting, “No, no, steer away. Danger, danger!” while the devil snarled, “Shut up, will you?”

Kizzy opened the freezer and pulled out the container.

“Just take one bite,” suggested the little devil.

She opened the container and looked inside. There really wasn't much there. And she'd been so good. She'd eaten salad and exercised. Just a bite, that was all she needed.

She got a spoon out of the drawer and dug in. Just a bite turned into two and then three.

“What are you doing?” screamed the angel.

She looked in disgust at the last remaining quarter cup of ice cream. It was almost ten o'clock. If she ate that it would go to bed with her and start a new fat settlement on her waist as she slept. This was no way to get healthy, no way to respect herself and treat herself right. She set her jaw in determination and slapped the top back on the container.

“Oh, come on. There's still some left,” said the devil.

She forced her feet to march to the garbage.

“You're not going to throw that away, are you? That's wasteful,” cried the devil.

“Better wasteful than waistful,” Kizzy told it, and tossed the last of the ice cream.

She could almost see the little devil wailing, “I'm melting,” and sinking into a brown pool. Hopefully, soon it would be her fat that was melting.

BOOK: Bikini Season

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