Body Chemistry (4 page)

This was why he was her favorite brother and why he also annoyed her. “Do you have spies?”

“I know you and I know how you used to deal with stress.”

“I haven’t smoked yet, I just thought about it. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Brenda was in no mood to tell Clement about the money she needed for her project and that she was just as desperate as Madeline had been. It would only confirm his comparison of them.

“It’s work-related, isn’t it?” he asked, sounding smug.

“Actually it’s about the three men I’m currently dating. They’re all scheduled to come over today and I don’t know what to do.”

“Uh-huh.”

His tone made her defensive. “I like my job and I care about the people who work for me.”

“Yes, but you’ve lived your life these past few years thinking of everyone but yourself. It’s not good for your health. When was the last time you were on a date or took a vacation?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Brenda, I think—”

“I will go on a vacation soon.” She wanted to ask about
his
love life—she knew he didn’t have one—or his bully boss, so he would realize his life was as stagnant as hers, but she didn’t want to argue. “I’d better go, there’s someone at the door. Talk to you later.” Brenda hung up the phone. She contemplated going back to bed, but knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. She stood and grabbed her robe then lifted Madeline’s letter off the ground and reread it.

Dear Brenda,

Please don’t judge me too harshly. After I found out that I lost the funding I knew my life wouldn’t mean much anymore. My career was all that I had. I gave it everything and it swallowed my life. I had nothing left and nothing else to live for. It’s easier this way. I’ve let people down and disappointed them and I can’t face that. I will miss you. Take care.

Your eternal friend,

Madeline.

 

Brenda carefully folded the note and put it in her pocket. She went into the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, then stepped out on her patio. She looked out at Lake Washington, which she could see from the back of her house, and watched several boats adrift in the distance. She saw a couple walking along the jogging path, their joy almost palpable.

She thought of Sonya getting married and the joy of starting a new stage in her life. The thought made her feel old. How pathetic, she hadn’t completed her third decade yet, although that was close, and she already felt ancient. Work was her life. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken time out to sit and do nothing. She didn’t want to end up like Madeline or go back to smoking and being more manic than before.

She needed to change. For a moment she thought about how nice it would be to have a man in her life again. Someone she could talk to, do things with and have incredible lovemaking. That would be nice. She missed it.

But what could she do to change?

Dumped? Bored? Then this is the club for you!

The words popped into her mind. Where had she heard them before? Brenda searched her mind, then remembered. Oh yes, that invitation. She’d thrown it in the wastebasket. It expired in seven days. She counted off the days on her fingers. She had one day left. Her heart raced. Could she? Should she?

Brenda dashed inside, went to her desk and checked the wastebasket—empty. Suddenly panic gripped her. Of course it was empty. Today was trash day.

B
renda raced outside and heard the roaring engine of the garbage truck as it crawled its way up the street. She lifted the cover from the trash can and started sifting through its contents. She gingerly pushed aside some rotting food escaping a plastic bag and swatted away a couple of flies. She held her breath and continued searching for the small white garbage bag. The truck drew closer, grinding and shifting gears as it stopped and started again.

At last she found the bag and yanked it out, just as the truck pulled up. The driver gave her a wink and a lascivious look, appreciating how her black robe hugged her figure and the vulnerability of her bare feet. She didn’t take time to notice.

Back inside she opened the bag, glad that everything was still intact. When she finally found the crumpled invitation, she smoothed it out against her leg, then sat at her desk and grabbed a pen. She read the instructions again, then began to fill it out. Some of the questions would have made her pause before, but she didn’t have the time to think them over, and instead wrote down the first thing that came to her.

Which do you prefer?

Postcards or love notes?
Postcards.

Flowers or candy?
Neither. I prefer something I need.

What would your ideal man be like?
Ideal man? Franklin had once been her ideal, but had been her first mistake. Clever, driven and handsome, but he had proven to be all wrong. Dominic had also been her ideal. Brilliant, funny, successful, but he had also turned out to be a mistake.

She wasn’t sure she had an ideal anymore; unfortunately she had to write something. She didn’t want their complete opposites—a stupid, cruel man. Perhaps the third time would be the charm. Dominic had been a huge improvement over Franklin. Perhaps her new man would be an improvement over Dominic. She wrote:
Intelligent
. Then scratched it out and wrote
Brilliant, attractive, successful, knows how to have fun, and a great lover.
She bit her lip, then hastily scribbled down
and loves me more than his career.

Work had been Dominic’s mistress. She didn’t want another relationship like that.

Brenda carefully read the “sworn oath” at the bottom of the page:
As a member of The Black Stockings Society, I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer settle for less.

She checked over her answers, then drove to the post office and mailed it. The moment she released the envelope in the slot she began to doubt her decision. I’m crazy, she thought. I just signed up for a society I’ve never heard of. She had enclosed a check, although the amount was nominal, but she had no way to trace it. She shrugged. If she got no reply it would fit with the kind of luck she’d been having lately.

“Sad business about Dr. Cartwright,” Chuck said when Brenda returned to work.

“Yes,” Brenda said, walking to her desk.

He wrung his hands and stared at her. Because he made no motion to leave her office Brenda guessed he had something else to say. “What is it, Chuck?”

“I don’t want to bother you, especially after all you’ve been through.”

“But…”

“But I was wondering how your idea is coming. It’s not to put pressure on you—I’m just curious. Could I get a hint?”

“No. I’ll tell you when everything is settled.” Brenda rested her paperwork on her desk and sat down.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t mind—”

A knock on the door cut him off.

“Come in,” Brenda said, grateful for the interruption.

Sonya bounced in. She handed something to Chuck. “There you go, Dr. Lawson.” Then she bounced over to Brenda’s desk and placed an envelope on it. “And that’s for you, Dr. Everton.”

“A wedding invitation,” Chuck said reading his.

“Yes. I know I’m supposed to mail them, but I thought this was better. And I get to save two stamps.”

“Better yet, you could have saved the environment and just sent an e-card,” Chuck said.

Sonya’s face fell.

Brenda sent him a cutting glance and he went red. “But you can’t put an e-card in a scrapbook,” she said.

Sonya’s smile returned.

“Right,” Chuck grumbled.

Sonya came around the desk and peered over Brenda’s arm. “Do you like it? I designed it myself.”

Brenda edged her chair away. “It’s very nice.”

Sonya returned to the other side of the desk. “I already have both of you down as definitely coming. This is just a formality. Please let me know by the deadline if you’re planning on bringing a date…” Her words died away as she looked at Brenda, as if the idea were absurd.

“I’ll let you know,” Brenda said filling the awkward silence.

“Thanks.” She bounced out.

Brenda watched her go, reluctantly remembering Franklin’s snide remark about Sonya’s cheerleading past.

“Can’t remember the last wedding I went to,” Chuck said.

Brenda looked at the rainbow-colored invitation. “I have a feeling you’ll remember this one.”

“Have you ordered the water heater?” Lincoln called out to Brenda as she checked her mail. “They’re having a sale at the hardware store.”

“I’ll get to it.”

“Better hurry, the sale ends soon.”

“Thanks,” she said absently, her attention focused on a package left on her doorstep. It looked ordinary, but she knew it was not. She picked it up, anxious to see what was inside. She sat at the kitchen table and opened it. Inside were several items: four pairs of stockings, a membership card and strict instructions. She read the card:
Brenda Katherine Everton, Member, The Black Stockings Society.
It looked very impressive, helping to push aside some of her lingering doubt. Then she pulled out a pair of stockings and burst into laughter. She pulled out another pair and laughed even harder. She could hardly sit up straight when she saw the third pair.

This
had
to be a practical joke. These couldn’t be for her. Didn’t they know who she was? She was certain she’d been very specific in her application. This was all wrong. She wiped away the tears that had been streaming down her face from laughter and read the letter inside:

B and B? Brenda avoided shopping at that store. She hated any place set aside for women too wide or too tall for regular fashions. She always felt awkward because she didn’t know how to shop for clothes. Brenda paused, reconsidering her aversion to Big and Beautiful. Shopping there would be better than going to a regular clothing store. She remembered an incident when she was in her early twenties where a clerk nearly fainted when she’d asked for a pair of black fitted trousers. The woman had looked at her as though she were a giant. B and B may not be too bad after all.

But then again, what was wrong with her clothes? She had her system down. During graduate school, she had been introduced to a tailor who made her custom clothing. Brenda wore primarily black or white, with only a few gray or dark blue items, so that she never had to worry about matching.

Besides, she had spent over ten years working in laboratories wearing a white lab coat. Clothing was not a priority for her. Aside from limiting herself to basic colors, Brenda had no idea of how to select styles that fit her shape. She left that job up to her tailor, and he had done a great job.

Brenda read the instructions again, then shrugged. She could do this. What was there to lose? Flash her membership card and get some new clothes, which she would make sure matched her color scheme. How hard could that be?

Several days later Brenda stood in the large warehouse-like atmosphere of Big and Beautiful, where mannequins loomed large and clothing hung at eye level. She glanced around and found the Customer Service counter. A striking, tall woman stood there looking bored. When she saw Brenda approaching she perked up and smiled. “How can I help you?”

“I believe I’m suppose to show you this.” She held out the card.

The woman took the card, then grabbed a pair of scissors.

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“Making sure this is the real thing. Some women have tried to make copies. Don’t worry, if it’s real, it will pass the test.”

She conducted her test, nodded then replaced the scissors. She handed it back to Brenda. “I notice you don’t wear heels.”

“They’re not comfortable. Besides—”

“You don’t like towering over people I bet. You’ll get over that.” She snapped her fingers and an older woman rushed up to them. “Take Dr. Everton to the lounge,” she said enunciating the word.

“Yes, yes. Follow me. I’m Mrs. Gilbert.”

“I’m Brenda.”

“Glad to meet you.”

Mrs. Gilbert led Brenda to an elevator. Once the doors closed she punched several numbers into the keypad and the elevator descended. When it eventually opened, Mrs. Gilbert led her down a small corridor, then stopped in front of a dark red door. She knocked, said “Goodbye,” then hurried away. Seconds later the door opened and a woman around Brenda’s age, with olive-toned skin, and sharp, pointy features, popped her head out. “What are you doing down here?”

“Someone, I mean Mrs. Gilbert brought me down here.”

The lady remained partially hidden behind the door. “Do you have identification?”

“I have my driver’s license.”

“That’s not what I mean. Something that you showed to them up there.” She pointed up. “That had someone lead you down here.” She pointed down.

“Oh, you mean this?” Brenda handed the woman her card.

“Yes.” She inspected it, then said, “That silly woman, she’s supposed to take you to the lounge. She’s going to get fired.”

“She seems sincere,” Brenda said, not wanting to be responsible for Mrs. Gilbert losing her job.

“That’s not good enough.” The woman turned and said something to someone inside, then looked at Brenda. “I’m Marci Jacobs. Follow me.”

Brenda tried to hide her surprise when the woman emerged. Her protruding belly made it out of the door before the rest of her. She caught Brenda’s look and proudly patted her stomach. “Enormous, isn’t it? His father’s really tall, so it’s expected. I’m not even due for another three months. I wonder what I’ll look like then?”

Brenda wasn’t sure whether to offer her pity or congratulations. “You must be happy.”

“We’re thrilled. I never thought this would happen to me.”

Brenda made a noncommittal sound, then changed the subject. “Are you part of this Society thing?”

“It’s not a
thing
and no, I’m not a member, but I am an associate and I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“How can you be an associate and not a member?”

“Easy. The process of selection is the same. I just don’t get certain privileges.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No. This Society has helped a lot of women and I’m proud to be a part of it.”

“But does it really need all this secrecy? I mean it seems a bit overdone for just getting a bunch of clothes and meeting a guy.”

Marci stopped walking and turned, looking directly into Brenda’s eyes. In one moment she switched from looking like Mother Earth to a Warrior Woman. “This Society is very serious and if you just want to see it as a bunch of clothes and makeup, and meeting some guy, then I suggest I take you back upstairs right now.”

Brenda opened her mouth to protest, but Marci continued. “This club is for women who want to change their lives, who have the courage to do what they have to, to find the love they want. There’s power in being a member of The Black Stockings Society. That’s why you can’t tell anyone.” She turned and continued walking.

“When invitations are sent out how does the Society know that the women selected will keep it a secret?”

“We have spies.” She smiled. “We know more about you than you think Dr. Everton.”

“Can someone find out why they were chosen or who nominated them?”

“No, that’s immaterial. You were selected, just accept that and follow the instructions. Women, such as yourself, are selected based on very strict criteria.”

Finally Marci stopped in front of a green door and keyed in a number. Brenda briefly wondered if she had dropped into Alice’s Wonderland with all the different colored doors. The door opened. Marci flipped on the lights, revealing a large number of racks with an array of clothing items and accessories.

Brenda looked at them with mild panic. “Where’s the black?”

“There’s no black and no white here. You will be wearing color from now on.” Marci could see and feel Brenda’s anxiety. “Don’t worry. The items that have been selected for you will complement your existing wardrobe. We consulted with Mr. Anthony, your tailor, to help with our selection. Matching the items won’t be difficult; your new pieces will all be interchangeable. He also informed us that you’re used to having your clothes delivered so we will also continue that service for you.”

“I see,” Brenda said, unconvinced.

“No, you don’t, but you will.” Marci walked around Brenda, looking her up and down. “You have beautiful hair. Do you ever wear it down?”

“Rarely. Except in a ponytail. It’s so dry and fly-away.”

“I’ll show you how to control it by wearing broad, classy headbands. You need to let your hair out, especially on weekends, for a different look.”

Brenda touched a purple blouse. “I don’t think this color looks good on me.”

“Don’t worry, it will work.”

“I think I need shorter sleeves.”

“No, you don’t. I have selected every item you see here and trust me, they work for your build and body shape.”

After hours of trying on several of Marci’s selections Brenda still hadn’t been reassured, and did not trust Marci’s judgment with some of the items. However, if wearing an assortment of colors would help her find her ideal man, she was willing to do whatever it took.