They walked half a block or so and she continued her covert stalking. Were they going to a hotel? What would they think when she burst into the room, after a suitable pause of course. She would catch them in the act and then who would have the power? But no, they entered a small jewelry store, one with very beautiful pieces in the window, and that only made Chrissy sadder. Lurking outside the store, she tried to see all without being seen. If only she could hear, but no, not a word. But hey, a picture was worth a thousand cheaters, wasn’t it? As she saw what came next, her stomach dropped and she thought she’d lose it all, right there in the street. Bill had fastened a diamond necklace on Laura, who held up her hair and looked in the mirror.
Chrissy raised her hands, shaking them back and forth as though she were at some peculiar religious revival meeting. “Oh, Oh, Oh,” she mumbled again and again. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and slowly punched in the numbers as she whispered each one, something she did every time she made this call. “What’s the damn number? Oh crap. 1-800-what-wait—oh 1-800-s-h-r-i-n-k. Wait that’s not enough numbers. What’s the last one? Every freaking time. Another K? s-h-r-i-n-k-k? No wait, that’s not it, that’s the racist group. Oh crap and double crap. Wait, wait, hmmm, maybe….” Finally she remembered, and triumphantly dialed 1-800-s-h-r-i-n-k-U.” It rang several times but at last Ben picked up the phone. Thank goodness.
“Yes,” she said, “It’s Chrissy.” She took a deep breath as he was speaking, then answered quickly, “Very upset.” With each pause her shrink said something to which she would respond. “Bill, cheating on me with his partner’s wife.” Ben was talking then and she waited politely, only half hearing what he was saying, then she continued, “She was in his arms, that’s proof, isn’t it? I saw them.”
Bill and Laura had by this time exited the jewelry store but carried no packages. Spotting them, Chrissy quickly turned her back, angling her face into a wall. Momentarily Bill noticed her, looked quizzically, then shook his head dismissively and continued walking with Laura who was asking him a question.
“Just how serious are you about this girl?”
Bill shrugged.
“Once you start buying diamonds, there’s really only one direction in which to go. Is that where you really want to go? Can you see yourself with her ten years down the road?”
“I could see myself with JoEllen until the end of time,” he replied. “Look how reliably that worked out.”
“I’m just saying that maybe a nice gift, but a less diamond-specific one might be a better choice.”
“I know she wants an exercise room. I could have the guest house converted into a gym instead I guess. Or do that and get her a bracelet. A bracelet isn’t that promise of foreverish is it?”
“No,” said Laura, “Maybe not. I just really wonder why you feel compelled to do all this. I think there’s more happening here that maybe you don’t realize.”
“First you fatten me up at lunch and now you want to shrink me?” Bill joked.
Ben was busy on the computer, typing to one of his therapy clients. He had just a few left who insisted on doing therapy via instant message, mostly the super shy ones who were afraid of having their voices heard, but he didn’t mind. Helping people was helping people. His day had improved after he parted with Angie and let her go on to her doctor’s visit. There was always someone who needed his wisdom and if the one person he wanted most to help refused to comprehend what he was saying, there was always tomorrow.
Just as he signed off with Rex, a gay agoraphobic who felt guilty for hiring call boys and then not letting them into his apartment, Ben’s roommate Clint arrived with a pizza and a six-pack of beer. Clint was the quintessential California boy, ripped, chiseled, gorgeous, and basically a congenial narcissist.
It didn’t take overly long for Clint to notice Ben’s hair and comment, “Woah. Cool.”
Ben grunted in a miserable way, saying, “I jump every time I look in the mirror.”
“No worries, dude, you’re totally cool. Took guts for you to do that.”
Ben flopped on the couch and shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth, speaking clumsily. “I did it for Angie, but she still doesn’t know I’m alive. It’s like she thinks we’re girlfriends.” He sat chewing silently, pondering this untenable situation and then asked, “What would you do, Clint? I mean if a girl didn’t notice you?”
The horror of such an improbability struck Clint deeply. “Whoa! Say what?”
Ben answered earnestly, as though such a possibly could actually exist. “You know—you like a girl but she doesn’t notice you.”
“You mean like she’s a lesbian?” asked Clint, sincerely.
Ben shook his head, his mouth stuffed with pizza. “No,” he said emphatically, “Just doesn’t notice you.”
Clint was incredulous. “And like she doesn’t come up to me and give me her number? Dude! That’s heavy.”
“I just have to make Angie see that I’m better for her than that old fart.” He popped open a can of beer and took a deep swig. “Right now for all I know, she thinks I’m gay.”
Clint laughed. “So tell her you’re straight. Show her your macho side, they love that. Let her watch you work out. No, you don’t work out.” Then it was as though the light had dawned and Clint had experienced some sort of religious conversion. “Dude! You gotta work out more. Later tonight, you and me, shoot some hoops.”
Ben hunched his shoulders and shrugged. He knew hoops wasn’t the answer but what was the point of continuing. It would be like asking Julia Child how to deal with people who never wanted to eat.
At the same moment, Angie was exiting her car and about to enter the guest house behind her dad’s home where she’d lived since she was old enough to have her own place. Filled with excitement about her interaction with Kevin, she hummed a little tune and felt glad to be alive. When she noticed her dad outside watering his lawn, she waved excitedly.
“Hi Daddy!” she said with happiness and enthusiasm. “Brought you some just-invented gelato—olive-praline.” She smiled at her dad and walked toward him, balancing the containers adroitly.
Judge, whose crotchety demeanor made him seem far older than his fifty-two years, considered himself a nice guy who’d just been in a very bad mood for while, waved dismissively at his daughter. Olive ice cream? What the blazes was she talking about? “You’re making footprints on the wet lawn,” he said, a touch too loud.
“But I made this just for you,” she said, her outlook growing stormier by the moment. Filled with the courage generated by her meeting with Dr. Flicker, she pressed on, sidestepping the stream of water adroitly and almost managing to place a kiss on her dad’s cheek.
He said, “Watch it, there’s water here.” And he stepped back a few feet.
She kept trying. “Have you had dinner yet? I could make you something.”
He frowned. “I can’t eat that wacky stuff you make. You know that. Don’t worry I can microwave something once the lawn is done. You enjoy your evening.”
Totally deflated, Angie walked away, turning back once to say, “And you don’t want your special ice cream? It’s Italian.”
He shook his head and waved dismissively, without even seeing the fallen look on her face, and turned to water the side of the house.
Angie walked to her own doorway, turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, sad and seething. It was always like this—why did she expect anything more? She looked down at the containers she carried as though they held gelato flavored with arsenic. Or maybe she wished they did.
Candy was equally livid as she entered her front door, slamming it so loudly neighbors half a block away could hear. Chrissy approached her looking puzzled and not just a little irritated.
Candy’s tone was accusatory, “You forgot to pick me up again! I had to call Aunt Laura.”
Chrissy registered genuine shock and remorse, and removing the cold cloth with which she had swaddled her forehead, she said “Oh my God! I’m so
sorry, Cindy.”
Candy grew instantly more enraged. “My name isn’t Cindy—it’s CANDY—Candy—didn’t they teach you that word when you worked at the mall—in a God damn candy shop?” Candy’s eyes opened wide. She’d never said those words before. Good thing Daddy wasn’t here to hear her. Or her teacher. Or Will. Will would be sure to tell on her and who knew what the punishment was for saying that. But she was glad she said the words and she thought them again. God damn. God damn Chrissy.
Holding her head with one hand, and looking as though the only thing preventing her brains from exploding out one side was the pressure she was applying, Chrissy walked over closer to Candy, put her arm around the child, attempting to call a truce, but by the expression on her face it was clear she wasn’t really focused on her sin du jour. Maybe the little girl would understand if she explained.
“I just had a really really really terrible day,” Chrissy said. “Okay?” She peered into Candy’s eyes, looking for signs of absolution, signs which were not forthcoming. “You can see I’m stressed, can’t you?” Candy was unyielding. Chrissy realized this could become a serious problem, so she decided to offer the child a consolation. “Be good and we can have a special girls’ dinner together later, okay? You can dress up if you want to and we can even look at your sticker book.”
Candy peered suspiciously at Chrissy. She didn’t trust the offer that had just been tendered, but she did like looking at her sticker book. “What should I wear?” she asked.
“Whatever you want, of course,” said Chrissy, smiling through a grimace that was designed to generate sympathy for her and her really really really bad day. “You go get dressed up and I’ll set the table, okay?”
Candy nodded and went off to her room, where she pulled an old princess Halloween costume from her dress up trunk along with a feather boa and several strands of plastic pearls, cheering up a little as she draped them around her neck. But where was her crown? She looked and looked but it wasn’t in the dress up trunk. She did have a magic wand, though, so maybe that would do. She looked in the mirror. Maybe it all would work out okay. Maybe she would have fun with Chrissy and it would be like it was when they first met and she laughed and played with them and brought them little gold boxes of chocolate.
Candy walked into the dining room and curtseyed and it seemed as though Chrissy were smiling, in a genuine way. Look—there were crystal glasses on the table—the kind grownups used for wine—this was exciting—Candy wasn’t normally allowed to have wine or to touch those glasses. She saw they contained only water with a lemon slice on the side, but still it would be fun to feel like a grown up and drink from them.
Candy sat at her place at the table and watched expectantly as Chrissy walked into the dining room carrying a huge silver platter with a giant silver dome on it. Had she made a turkey? Candy didn’t smell anything.
With a flourish, Chrissy set the tray on the table and removed the dome, revealing four rice cakes, some carrot curls, four celery sticks, a couple lettuce wedges, and some lemon halves. She’d put a small bowl of salad dressing next to the lettuce and beside it was a dropper, just like Daddy used to give Candy medicine. What?
Candy’s vicious mood resumed instantly. “Are you kidding me? I’m a growing kid. I need food. I have the rest of my life to diet.” She glared at Chrissy, even angrier because her tiny glimmer of hope had once again been crushed. Grabbing one of the rice cakes, she snapped it into pieces and was about to hurl it at Chrissy when she thought better of it. She’d surely be punished for that. But she looked at Chrissy furiously and tossed the broken pieces back down on the tray.
“But Cindy,” said Chrissy softly.
Enraged, the child began screaming, “It’s Candy. Candy. Candy. Why don’t you eat a piece—your brain needs the sugar.” Then she glared furiously at Chrissy and said loudly, “God damn it.”
Candy got down from her chair and walked into the kitchen, where she dragged one of the chairs in there over to the counter, climbed onto it and reached into a high shelf and extracted the jar of peanut butter. She then sat in the chair, opened the jar and shoved her hand inside, licking the peanut butter off.
Candy began to weep as she licked her hand, but before she could launch into a full blown crying jag, there was a faint tap tap tap at the door leading from the dining area in the kitchen to the back yard. She ran to open the door as Chrissy entered the kitchen, also ready to see who was there.
Sophie, thought Chrissy with annoyance. Mrs. G, thought Candy, elated to see that her hands were not empty. Candy flung open the door and hurled herself into Mrs. G’s arms, almost upending the tray of food she carried.
Taking one savvy look around the kitchen, Sophie entered the house and smiled. “Hello, girls, I came to beg you to do me a favor.”
“Please,” said Candy in an exaggeratedly adult way, “Do come in. We’re always here to help.” She sniffled then and most of her tears disappeared.
Sophie set the tray down on the counter and turned toward the girls. “You know my poor hubby Bert of course, right? Well he’s a terrible food addict. Determined to eat all the wrong things. I’m so worried about his health. He’s a geezer you know.”
“I thought maybe he was a geezer,” said Candy. Later she would ask Will what that was.
“I love my Bert, so when he begs me to make lasagna and strudel, what can I do? I have to do it. It would hurt his feelings if I said ‘Shut up geezer, and eat your bran flakes.’” Sophie smiled at Candy as she said this.
“Nobody wants to hear that,” said Candy.
“So I was wondering if you’d take this lasagna off my hands,” asked Sophie. Maybe we could sit together and have a meal. Is Bill home yet?”
“Bill is off with Wally at a father-son ballgame,” said Chrissy.
“Will,” said Sophie with some emphasis, looking right at Chrissy, “Is a very nice boy. With a good appetite. So—get some plates and let’s sit. I think you girls could use a talk.”
Chrissy threw up her hands in submission. What was she to do? Maybe she could hide the food in a napkin and toss it later. She handed the plates to Sophie, who took them to the kitchen table, saying, “Cozier right here. We don’t need to mess up the dining room.”
“No,” said Candy sardonically, “You don’t want to see what’s in there.”
Sophie made three plates of food with the giant lasagna she’d brought as well as a salad and some garlic bread and watched happily as Candy began eating with enthusiasm. She looked at Chrissy, who clearly was miserable, and so she said in her usual motherly way, “Something bothering you, dear?”
Uncharacteristically, Chrissy burst into tears. “I had a big shock today,” she said. “Something I never believed I’d witness, I saw. My whole world is upside down. Migraine all afternoon.”
Sophie patted Chrissy’s hand. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”
Chrissy sobbed. “All I ever wanted was to make Bill happy. For Cindy and Wally to be happy too. For us to be a family. I never had a real family of my own you know. I just want to be the beautiful wife Bill wants me to be.”
Her mouth full of food, Candy spoke up. “You see what I’m dealing with?” she asked Mrs. G.
As she dried her eyes, Chrissy began gazing at the lasagna, and almost involuntarily, her hand reached out, her fork dug into the pasta and into her mouth it went. Her eyes closed and simultaneous expressions crossed her face, orgasmic pleasure and utter revulsion.
Sophie turned her attention to Candy. “Sweetheart, what a good eater you are. You did a great job with your dinner. And you stayed so neat too. Do you think it’s safe to eat dessert with your princess gown on? That strudel can be drippy.”
Candy smiled at Mrs. G. Then she rose from her seat and hurled herself into the old lady’s arms. “If I had a gram, I’d want her to be just like you,” she said sincerely.
“Ahh,” sighed Sophie, thinking of her grandkids, up in the Bay Area and seldom around to see her when she visited.
“I can be your honorary gram any time you want.”
Candy hugged her more tightly, then said, “If you think I should change, I will,” and she ran off to her room.
Sophie reached out to Chrissy and touched her hand. “Listen to me, deary. I knew Bill’s wife very well. She was a happy person. She ate real food. She cooked. Sometimes she baked cookies. She planted flowers. She knew the kids’ names. She lived. If you want to be the wife Bill wants, be like that. Live. Stop all this nonsense with the working out all day and dieting until your brain is addled. Be reasonable.”
Chrissy looked at her as though she were being attacked.
“And you know what else about Bill’s wife?” she asked while Chrissy miserably shook her head, wishing this old lady would leave already. “She looked like you. So you know what that means?”
Chrissy gazed mournfully down at her sneakers and said almost inaudibly, “Yes. That I’m a stand in. What do they call it in the movies? A stunt double.”
Sophie smiled knowingly, shook her head and said, “It means you’re his type.”
Finally Chrissy smiled. But she knew something Sophie didn’t, something that was not a hopeful sign. And as she began to whisper what she’d seen, Candy returned, wearing play clothes, so she couldn’t say a word.
“Now,” said Sophie, “Let’s have dessert. Where’s that ice cream I tucked into the freezer?”
Laura sat at the small desk in her kitchen, papers piled everywhere. She worked with total absorption, the anti-smoking campaign always at the forefront in her mind. Her hand raced across a small pad as she listed a number of ideas to explore in more detail later. There were so many folders on the small space that you could barely see the beloved picture of George, and obliterated was all but the top of the silver frame where his name was engraved. But George wasn’t on her mind at the moment. She wanted to come up with a really big idea, something that would finally reach the people who were most resistent to prior campaigns.
Hungry for Love Page 4