Hungry for Love (3 page)

Already at the Beverly Hills Wellness and
Weight
Loss
Center
,
Bill
’
s partner
,
Dr. Kevin Flicker
,
was in his office but not at his desk.  Patients sat outside
,
either impatient to be congratulated on the week
’
s current slimmer status or morose about the lack of same.  Soon enough they would be weighed in and sent on their way
,
hopefully to return a little lighter the following week.  Kevin and Bill had a good practice
,
mostly consisting of die hard dieters but also the occasional patient who wasn
’
t fat and had the flu. 

  Inside Flicker
’
s office there were stacks of unopened medical journals piled in a corner.  An impressive mahogany desk was centered in the room and on it sat a collection of the desk toys Kevin favored.  There was a nice tufted leather couch
,
so standard medical office that it was almost a cliché
,
and it would have been perfectly suitable for Kevin
’
s current activity
,
except because his partner lacked the good grace to knock before entering his office
,
Kevin had become furtive
,
which actually added to the cheap thrills.

At the back of the office was a small closet
,
with a fairly solid wood door
,
a door which now shimmied rhythmically with a thud-thud-thud sound that was the backdrop for the muffled moans coming from behind it.  Moan-thud-shimmy was the cadence.  Slowly the sounds began to subside and the door opened.  Nurse Caryn exited first
,
jiggling her breasts back into her bra and zipping up her uniform top.  Kevin followed her
,
zipping up his fly with a flourish that was comical in its grandeur. 

As Caryn turned to exit the office
,
Kevin reached out and pulled her toward him for a kiss.  Then they both giggled.  Life was good in
Beverly Hills
.

Not far from the Beverly Hills Wellness and Weight Loss Center
,
Kevin Flicker
’
s most devoted—and determined—patient
,
a formerly fat
,
very fat
,
moderately fat
,
and now barely fat girl of twenty-six named Angie sat in a hairdresser
’
s chair having microscopic slivers snipped off the ends of her lush and tastefully streaked hair.  Next to her was Ben
,
her oldest friend
,
squeamishly squirming as though he were about to have a vasectomy rather than a dye job.  What was being done to him didn
’
t match his image at all.  He
’
d worn cords almost since birth
,
even in the summer
,
and his thick glasses gave him a sort of
New York
intellectual look which in
Beverly Hills
made him resemble an actor in costume for a role.

Peering up hopefully
,
like a death row inmate waiting for that governor
’
s reprieve
,
Ben mumbled
,
“
This is a bad idea.  Maybe we should stop.
”
  Looking more complacent than aghast
,
the hairdresser stepped back from Ben
’
s chair and raised her arms in a gesture usually reserved for one of those contestants on a timed cooking competition
,
until Angie signaled to her to resume working.  Ben
’
s hair was enrobed in tin foil
,
and dye was painted on as he watched in the mirror with a grim look that suggested his next stop would be at an appliance store that sold beard and head trimmers that could cue ball him back into acceptability.

“
Nobody will trust a shrink with streaky hair
,”
he said solemnly.

“
You see all your clients on the Internet or the phone
,
so why not.  For all they know you wear a bozo wig and consult them naked.
”

Ben gasped
,
then returned his worried glance to the mirror.  Haltingly he said
,
“
And you don
’
t think I
’
m gonna look silly
?”

Angie smiled at him in the same way adults do when placating a difficult child. 
“
No silly
,
I think you
’
re gonna look hot and studly.
”
 

Ben perked up instantly then braved the subject he really wanted to discuss
,
“
I feel like I should make you stop seeing him.
”

“
Ahh Ben
,”
sighed Angie
,
sweetly reaching out and squeezing his hand
,
“
You
’
re such a good pal
,
but I
’
ll be just fine
,
so don
’
t worry about me
,
okay
?”

“
But how can you just ignore your history
?
  If you don
’
t remember
,
I
’
m right here to remind you.  Do you really want another incendiary incident
,
more embarrassment
?
  C
’
mon.  Remember Chef Raul
?
Remember….
”

Angie
’
s mind was lost then
,
floating back in time to culinary school.  She was so desperately in love with this man
,
the chef of whom all the students were most in awe.  Even though at the time she was terribly fat
,
she liked to believe that she was the teacher
’
s pet
,
the one student he responded to as a woman
,
not just a cook.  They were alone in the teaching kitchen and a pot simmered on the stove next to a counter filled with the ingredients for Paella.  There were baskets of shellfish
,
bouquets of herbs
,
bowls of rice
,
tiny vessels of prized saffron.

Raul was not a tall man
,
but his swagger made up for his size.  He spoke with a vivacious animation
,
his heavy Spanish accent exaggerated often
,
and his waxed Dali moustaches bouncing in time to his speech.  He stood that day chopping
,
causing Angie to sigh with pleasure
,
the sight of him mincing garlic into oblivion
,
the rat-tat-tat of the knife under his steady and confident hands pure poetry in motion.  He was like a great swordsman
,
and it made Angie swoon.

“
I
’
ll never be able to do it so fast
,”
she sighed.

“
Everything in time
,”
Raul lisped.  She jumped as he reached toward her
,
running his fingers under her nose. 
“
Smell the garlic.  Perfume.  So beautiful
,”
he said. 

Angie
’
s eyes watered
,
so she closed them
,
the pungent garlic wafting from his fingers into her nostrils.  Raul drew a piece of basil across her lips
,
tickling her
,
and causing her to smile and open her eyes.  Grabbing an unopened clam from a steamer basket
,
Raul held it up.

“
Look at this
,
my little Crème Caramel. What do I have here
?”

As though being quizzed in class
,
Angie opened her mouth to answer but Raul touched her lips with his finger
,
saying
,
“
No
,
don
’
t speak.  I know what it is.  It is a rock
,
nothing more.  Cold as a stone.  But in the hands of a man—a man with a tool—a very excellent tool—it can be opened
,
opened
,
yes
,
and savored.
”
  Grasping a shellfish knife
,
Raul began to wedge it into the clam
’
s hinge
,
but he turned to look deeply into Angie
’
s eyes
,
and in a foppish gesture of seduction
,
he raised his shoulders toward his ears
,
closed his eyes
,
and blew Angie a kiss
,
then screamed as though he were being carried out to sea by a man eating shark.