The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  “We’re not . . . we’re not setting a good example,” Doris said.

  “What’s new?” Mandy said.

  Mother and daughter locked eyes.

  “What if we . . . What if we just called it The Whole Package?” Doris finally said, looking away. “The name doesn’t have to be dirty. It can be about anything.” Cheryl looked at her in surprise. Doris bowed her head. “Maybe that’s stupid. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s great,” Cheryl said, writing it down.

  “If you guys really do this,” Mandy said, “can I watch the dancers?”

  “Like mother like daughter,” Jackie sang and Doris turned beet red.

  “Do I smell bacon?” Mandy asked. She took a few steps into the room. Doris threw her arm across the drawings Cheryl had made.

  Jackie held up the bag of breakfast sandwiches and waggled it. The teen dove forward and grabbed two. Hands full, she started to head back for her room, then stopped and said, “Mom, when’s Dad back from Albany?”

  “The company hasn’t told him yet,” Doris said.

  The question—Jackie quickly realized—had been a setup. Like any good poker player, Mandy hadn’t even looked at Doris, but had watched Jackie and Cheryl for a reaction. Before thinking about it, the two of them swiveled their heads to Doris, mouths open in surprise. Mandy’s eyes instantly brightened with tears and she slammed her way back to her bedroom.

  “Doris,” Cheryl admonished, looking at her friend in amazement. “You have to tell her Doug left.”

  “I’ll tell her what’s going on,” Jackie volunteered, getting up from the table. She and Mandy had a good relationship. Maybe Mandy would take the news that her father had left better from someone other than her mother.

  “She’s not your child,” Doris said. The kitchen chair scraped back and Doris stood up. “I’ll go.” Wiping her eyes, she swept by Jackie, down the hallway and to her daughter’s room.

  Jackie and Cheryl looked at each other. Cheryl took another sip of coffee. After a moment, she said, “We need investors. Got any?”

  GEORGE MET WITH Jackie and Cheryl about the restaurant, pro bono. Cheryl said it may as well be pro boner by the way he kept leering at Jackie.

  “He is making a fool of himself, isn’t he?” Jackie whispered. She was surprised; George was blushing and acting very un-George-like.

  From the moment the two women breezed into his office, George would not stop staring at her. To be fair, it was partially her fault. She was deliberately radiant in a stunning, clingy white cashmere sweater and a gray pencil skirt. After all, if George was going to help them she could help him; those were the rules of the world. But she didn’t realize the sight of her was going to help him so much.

  Before setting the appointment, Jackie had spoken to George about maintaining the secrecy of her financial situation. Since Jackie hadn’t told the girls she was flat broke, she certainly didn’t want them to learn it from George.

  George was concerned. “They are your closest friends,” he had said. “Are you sure not telling them this is wise?”

  “My dear, I don’t have a choice,” she said. “They’re going through some things right now and they really need me to be . . . me. And to be honest with you, I have always kept secrets from my best friends. There’s a lot of things they don’t know about me. That’s just who I am.” Jackie’s words surprised her. She did not typically confide such personal details to anyone. Nervously, she twirled her wedding ring.

  George was silent for a moment. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “You can trust me, Jacqueline. Besides, it’s law. Everything I know about you is confidential. I could not share it without your consent.”

  “Well, then . . .” Jackie said, forcing her voice to be light and fun. “It will be our little secret.” She could almost hear George smile on the other end of the phone. “But what about the tax issue? If this is a success, wouldn’t the IRS take this from me, too?”

  “Jacqueline, you do not owe anything else,” George said. “The issue used the remainder of Robert’s estate but has been entirely resolved. Case closed. Thanks to a certain brilliant lawyer, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jackie said. “Thank you, George. You’ll never know how much I appreciate you.”

  “I know, my dear,” George said. “I do.”

  Now that they were in his office, Jackie was trying very hard to dispel the intimacy that phone conversation had created between them. She avoided his kiss when she walked in and looked away whenever he tried to make eye contact. The fact that George was clearly admiring Jackie’s outfit was certainly not helping the situation.

  “Jacqueline, you look wonderful,” George told her. “Cheryl, doesn’t she get even more beautiful as the years pass?”

  “I like to think that I get even more beautiful as the years pass,” Cheryl laughed.

  He winked. “I didn’t want to be too forward, but now that you’ve mentioned it . . .”

  Jackie cleared her throat. “George, thank you for taking the time to speak with us. What can you tell us about the process of opening a restaurant?”

  “Before we get started, may I offer you something to drink?” he asked. “I have coffee, sparkling water, tea . . .”

  “Coffee, please,” Cheryl said.

  “Jacqueline?” George asked.

  “Fine,” Jackie said with a sigh. “Coffee.” She sat on the couch and crossed her legs.

  George went into the side room and returned with coffee on a silver tray. Carefully, he poured it into china cups. His hand brushed against Jackie’s as he set hers down. Irritated, Jackie took her hands and folded them tightly in her lap.

  “Will Doris be joining us?” George asked, about to set out a third cup.

  “Doris doesn’t have a sense of humor,” Cheryl said, taking a sip of coffee. “She doesn’t want to be involved.”

  “Ah,” George said, ducking back out of the room. He came back in with a tray filled with tiny cakes and cookies. “That’s unfortunate. I had purchased enough for three. Enjoy.”

  “You got this for us?” Cheryl squealed, grabbing a chocolate-and-macadamia-nut cookie. “I think I like it here!”

  “Darling, can we please get started?” Jackie asked, irritated. “I do have somewhere to be.”

  Cheryl looked at her in surprise. Jackie ignored her, selecting a cake with pink icing. She took a tiny bite.

  George settled into his desk chair and folded his hands. “Of course. Allow me to take you through everything you will need to know . . .” He launched into a lecture about investors, food preparation laws, potential permits, and the risks associated with opening a restaurant.

  Cheryl asked question after question and Jackie took copious notes. They were there for more than an hour.

  Jackie avoided his eyes the entire time.

  IN THE ELEVATOR, Jackie studied her reflection in the mirrors. Puckering her lips out, she hunted for laugh lines. “Do you think I look old?” Jackie asked.

  “Are you crazy?” Cheryl said. “You’re in your prime.”

  That may be so, but Jackie knew a woman who had fallen on hard times and literally aged overnight. At a cocktail party, with a heavy exhalation of cigarette smoke and the ultimate in French candor, Marie had lamented that since her divorce, her hair had betrayed her—sneaking in strands of gray at every turn—even down there. This was from a woman who always wore eye-catching red silk skirts; a French muse of black-and-white nude photography; a character guilty of riding a pink motorbike and singing at the top of her lungs as she drove through the cobblestone streets. The signs of age could happen to anyone.

  “I might get Botox,” Jackie said, puckering up her face.

  “Great. You’ll always look interested in what I have to say,” Cheryl said, stretching luxuriously. “So, when did George turn into such a hottie?”

  Jackie’s stomach dropped right along with the elevator. She turned away from the mirror and gave Cheryl her undivided attention. “What?”

/>   “He’s gorgeous.” Cheryl grinned. “And you never mentioned that he was madly in love with you. Is that why you were being so rude to him?”

  “George, of all people?” Jackie said. “He’s not in love with me. He’s . . . just George. He was flirting with you, too. He just flirts. It’s what he does.”

  “I think . . .”

  “He’s also my dead husband’s best friend,” Jackie said, indignant.

  “Still . . .”

  “Qui l’aurait pensé!”

  Cheryl pressed her lips together. Jackie pulled out a tube of Chanel lip gloss and dug in the dredges for the last drops of shiny pink goo.

  “Oooh, we might have to go shopping,” Cheryl said.

  Jackie turned beet red and shoved the telltale tube back into her purse.

  “It’s good that he likes you,” Cheryl continued, oblivious. “He’ll be motivated to help. He can put the feelers out for investors, and did you hear when he started suggesting those lawyers for my wrongful termination suit? He wouldn’t do all that if he wasn’t crazy about . . .”

  “I’m so happy you’re suing Stan, by the way,” Jackie said, deliberately changing the subject. “You simply must tear that whole company out of his fat little hands. After all, you made him a millionaire. What do you have to show for it?”

  Under the harsh lights of the elevator, Cheryl seemed to wilt. “I know,” she said softly. “I can’t believe that fuck-face fired me.”

  “You’ll be all right.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll get him,” Cheryl said, squaring her shoulders like a soldier. “And I’ve got all the time in the world to spend on my case. I don’t have anything to do in the meantime.”

  “Until we open The Whole Package,” Jackie chirped. “Then you’ll have plenty to do.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Cheryl said. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  “Why not?” Jackie demanded. “George thinks it’s hilarious. He’s contacting investors right away. I think it’s quite brilliant. We’ve got a good shot.”

  Cheryl still looked skeptical. “We’ll see.”

  The elevator pinged. They were at the bottom.

  “Have some faith,” Jackie said, sneaking one last look at her reflection and finding it to her satisfaction. She pointed at the lit numbers on the elevator wall. “We’ve got nowhere to go but up.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE CALL CAME FROM GEORGE EARLY MONDAY MORNING.

  Jackie was in the kitchen, trying to decide if she should bother to boil an egg. She was aching for some form of the breakfast she’d been eating for the past two years—a gently salted soft-boiled egg served with a cappuccino and followed by a chocolate croissant—but nothing Doris had quite fit the bill. The cappuccino machine had spit out something grainy, and even though she and Doris had stopped at the bakery and picked up some croissants, they weren’t quite right. The bread was crusty and they tasted like butter and gasoline. Plus, there wasn’t even a drizzle of chocolate on them.

  “Jacqueline?” George said when she picked up the phone. “George here. Do you have a moment?”

  “I don’t know,” Jackie said absently, peering into the fridge. “I’m in the middle of a food crisis. Do you think I could create a chocolate croissant if I smashed a chocolate bar into a roll? Doris has enough chocolate in here to stock an army platoon.”

  “Missing the good life, are we?” George laughed. “Listen, I have some things to discuss with you . . .”

  Jackie selected a vanilla bean yogurt and peeled off the thin, silver foil cover. Since talking about her financial disaster was the last thing she was in the mood for, she said, “No, thank you. Why don’t you mesmerize me with news on the restaurant instead?”

  “You’ll be happy to hear that is indeed why I am calling,” George said.

  Jackie set down the yogurt in surprise. “What?”

  “I have some gentlemen interested in The . . . The Whole Package,” he said, giving a little laugh. “Was that the name you girls decided on?”

  “George,” Jackie grabbed the receiver, clinging to it like a life raft. “Already? You’re lying to me.”

  “No, no,” he laughed. “Apparently this is an attractive idea. I’ve acquired the investment capital you were hoping for. There is a . . .”

  Jackie laid down her cell phone and danced her way across the tile, squealing. She was going to be rich. Rich! Again!

  “Jacqueline? Jacqueline? Do we have a bad connection?” George was worried, talking to dead air.

  She picked up the phone. “No, darling. I’m here. Just dancing.”

  “Ah. Very good.” George chuckled. “Now, as we discussed, they will require that initial amount from you, Cheryl, and Doris. How soon can that—”

  “Darling, hold on,” Jackie cut him off. “Doris isn’t involved. Cheryl and I . . . we don’t . . . What about getting a percentage for the concept? For running it?”

  “A percentage of zero is zero, Jacqueline,” George said gently. “Per our discussion, you must have the initial amount or these investors will not move forward.”

  Jackie’s dreams crashed to the floor. “I don’t have any money,” she reminded him, cheeks flushed. “You of all people should know that.”

  “You will not be left out,” George said, formal. “I am funding your part.”

  Jackie’s mouth dropped. It wasn’t like she and Robert hadn’t paid him that tenfold over the years but . . . “George,” she said softly. “I can’t accept that.”

  “Robert was my best friend. I will not stand by and . . .”

  “This is too much.”

  “No,” George told her. “It is not. And it’s not up for negotiation, either.” She could practically see him with his arms crossed, that nautical necktie blowing back in the breeze from his tiny desk fan. “You will need to match the investors’ amount or the deal will fall apart,” he continued. “We have to make this work. How can I bill you by the hour if that doesn’t happen?”

  Jackie smiled. “So, really . . . you’re doing this for you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You are so wonderful, George,” she said, touched. “And I’d pay you back every cent but it won’t work. We still won’t have enough. There’s no way Doris will do it.” Jackie dipped the spoon into the smooth top of her yogurt, thinking. “Can’t we try luring in more people, so the whole thing is paid for?”

  “Impossible. Cheryl will have to cover the remainder.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll have enough,” Jackie said. “Cheryl only has her savings and the severance package. Plus, she has a mortgage.” Jackie heard George chomp down on a piece of butterscotch candy, but he didn’t say anything. “There’s nothing we can do?” She was desperate. “We really can’t . . .”

  “Jacqueline, getting this commitment was extremely difficult.” George sighed. “It will be practically impossible to create additional capital if the business owners are not primary holders.”

  “What does that mean?” Jackie cried, but she already knew.

  They needed money. Or they were through.

  WHEN THE GIRLS were in high school, coming up with money for school events had never been a problem. If the class wanted to take a day trip to the museums in Chicago or even have an outing to a theme park, Jackie, Cheryl, and Doris could always figure out how to do it. Organizing car washes or bake sales was a cinch with the soccer team or the cheerleading squad behind them, but the girls quickly grew tired of the typical. As time went on, they got more and more creative in their fund-raising pursuits.

  One day, Cheryl had been lying across a table during one of their student council meetings, fiddling with a frayed part of her jeans. “We should auction off all the guys on the football team,” Cheryl suggested absently, “for, like, the weekend or something. Maybe then somebody could land Johnny May.”

  Johnny May was the quarterback. With his Paul McCartney eyes and dark curly hair, he was the quintessential high school hott
ie. He’d always dated this older girl named Stephanie but had just dumped her or gotten dumped for some college guy, depending on who you asked. Cheryl had already made out with him behind the school, Doris had French kissed him at a party, and Jackie had had a nice conversation with him after school on a bench, but the handsome quarterback wasn’t willing to commit to anyone.

  “You mean, buy him for the whole weekend?” a freshman girl asked, her eyes wide.

  The silence in the room was deafening, then the girls started squealing and chattering. The only boy on the student council piped up with, “Now, wait a minute . . .” until Jackie pounded her gavel from her position at the front of the room.

  “Order!” she called. When the girls in the room fell silent, their student body council president fluffed her blond hair and said, “Cheryl, do you think you can coordinate a fund-raiser like that?”

  Realizing she’d piqued everyone’s interest, Cheryl had sat up straight and grinned. “Absolutely.”

  The auction brought in $3,046—a record for fund-raising at their school. At first, the guys hadn’t wanted to participate, but when Cheryl presented them with a signed petition from every girl in class, their egos couldn’t say no. Within two weeks, Cheryl had the football players strutting across the stage in their boxer shorts, arms raised to the sky.

  Johnny May brought in the highest bid. Even though every girl wanted him, the high school students simply did not have the pocketbooks to compete with the young and pretty geometry teacher who upped the bid every time someone dared go against her. By the time Jackie finally dropped the gavel at the auction, shouting, “Sold!” Cheryl and Doris were fuming. They didn’t have a chance.

  When asked by the school board how the weekend with Johnny May had been spent, Ms. Kramer said, “Oh, it was so nice to have a strong boy to fix things around my house.”

  The rumors swirled for years. Although Johnny May had refused to confirm or deny any of the whispered allegations, everyone had to wonder. For a boy who wasn’t that bright, he’d certainly done well in geometry that year.