The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  That was just the thought Doris needed to swallow her fear and commit her crime. Furiously, she ducked into the garage and got to work cracking eggs. The yellow liquid drizzled all over the hood of Katherine’s car and dripped stickily into the vent openings. When summer came, Doris wanted that unexpected, sulfuric stench to blast through the heater as a reminder that everything about Katherine stank. Doris also counted on the egg eating away the paint job, lightening the cheerful chartreuse to a pukey pea green.

  Shaking the can of shaving cream, Doris thought back to the time her friends had used shaving cream to paint “Just Married” on her parents’ car, after Doris and Doug got married at the courthouse. They even tied aluminum cans to the back tailpipe and covered the car with silly string. Doris and Doug had held each other, laughing hysterically, so young and in love. Doris wished she could go back in time now and tell that young version of herself not to be such a sucker; not to give up her dreams for some man who would eventually break her heart.

  A sudden shuffling sound broke through the memory and Doris froze. Looking at her gooey hands and the work she’d already completed, she had a sickly moment of knowing she was about to get caught red-handed. Should she run? Try to escape? Doris’s legs went weak. It was like one of those nightmares she’d had as a teen, where the soccer field was made of quicksand as she stood in the middle of it, naked.

  “Hello?” she dared whisper, looking around. She gripped the cold can and got ready to swing. It wasn’t much, but it could serve as a weapon if she needed it. “Who’s there?”

  A low growl cut through the garage. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Slowly, Doris peeked over her shoulder. She squealed in terror. A large dog with yellow eyes was staring right at her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  SITTING IN ANDY’S CAR, CHERYL WAITED UNTIL HE PULLED OUT of the driveway before she removed her coat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Andy do a double take at her shocking attire.

  Cheryl’s dress was skintight, electric blue, and maximized her A cup to its full potential, especially with the water bra she had put on. Her red stilettos laced up and over her calves like something out of a dominatrix video. Instead of wearing lace stockings, which would have been more appropriate, Cheryl was sporting bare legs and outrageous underwear. Of course, Andy was not in on that part of the joke, but Cheryl thought the fire-engine red thong that matched her shoes was hilarious.

  “Great pick on the restaurant,” Cheryl said. Her voice was flip and sarcastic, barely her own. “My friend Doris got dumped by her husband at Blackburn.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Andy said, sneaking another look at her outfit. “Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

  “Not a chance,” Cheryl said. She cranked up the radio.

  “Take It on the Run” blasted through the speakers. Cheryl reached over and pressed the button on her window, lowering it all the way. Icy air shot in and she sang at the top of her lungs, laughing inside as Andy reached over and turned up the heat. She knew every word and even drummed her knees with wild abandon. She and Andy didn’t speak the rest of the way there.

  When they pulled in, Cheryl hopped out and gave a huge smile to the valet. Skipping ahead of him, she walked up to the hostess stand and said loudly, “TurnKey Marketing. Andy has a table.”

  Andy came up behind her, smiling apologetically at the hostess. Cheryl tossed her coat at him and allowed Andy to take in the full effect of her dress for the first time. To his credit, he did not blush at her ridiculous appearance. He just smiled.

  The hostess led them to a far corner, taking them around the back of the restaurant instead of through the center. “I’ve never been this way,” Cheryl gloated. “I must be a total eyesore.”

  “You must be trying to be,” Andy said, pulling out her chair.

  Cheryl flopped down and dropped her purse on the table. “Well?” she said.

  “Well, what?” Andy took his time picking up the wine list, read it through, and finally studied her over the top of it. Once the waiter came over and the wine order was placed, Andy said, “Cheryl, I know you’re angry. I’m sorry about what happened at TurnKey.”

  “What happened at TurnKey?” Cheryl asked, fiddling with a tiny corner of her cloth napkin. It had been folded into some shape and she deliberately pushed it until it collapsed.

  “I didn’t know what Stan was up to,” Andy insisted, leaning forward. His green eyes were bright, with hazel speckles. Cheryl remembered when she had passed out, waking up to find herself looking into those eyes. “I had actually left for a family thing that day . . .”

  Cheryl turned away. Snapping her fingers loudly, she gestured at a waiter. He bustled right over. “Hi,” she said. “Could I get an appetizer?”

  “What would madame care for?”

  “You’re paying, right?” she asked Andy. At his nod, she said, “Whatever’s most expensive.” The waiter nodded and ducked away from the table. Turning back to Andy, she said, “Continue.”

  “I know you’re furious, Cheryl,” Andy said, “but there’s no point in taking it out on me. I’m on your side. You built that company up and Stan . . .”

  “Excuse me,” Cheryl snapped her fingers again. After a busboy registered polite surprise on his face, he set down a bottle of water and came running. “This music is too loud,” Cheryl said sweetly. “Can we kill it? Thanks.”

  The table next to Cheryl and Andy had been half-listening to Cheryl’s demands. At this one, they peered up toward the speakers as though there was something wrong with their hearing. Cheryl almost laughed out loud. The music really was at such a low decibel that it could have been mistaken for someone’s ringtone, but she planned to draw as much unsatisfactory attention to her and Andy as possible.

  “You didn’t mind loud music in the car,” Andy pointed out. Cheryl let a beat pass and just as Andy opened his mouth to continue his speech Cheryl shrieked and jumped up on top of her chair.

  “Oh, no! A mouse,” she cried, gesturing at the floor. A panicked hush swept over their area of the restaurant. Cheryl peered at an area under the table and said loudly, “Whoops. Sorry . . . sorry . . . it’s just someone’s handbag. Sorry.” She climbed down, deliberately letting her dress creep up. Andy stared at her in dismay.

  The sommelier cleared his throat, approached and displayed the bottle, which happened to be from one of Cheryl’s favorite vineyards and a very good year. She took a deep breath, calling on all of her inner theatrics. The second the ruby red liquid flowed into Andy’s glass, she snatched the glass, took a swig, and spit the wine in her napkin. “Send it back,” she proclaimed, waving her hands dramatically. “It’s like vinegar. Send it back!”

  All the tables surrounding them were now staring openly. Andy’s eyes had darkened slightly and he nodded at the waiter, who went away to get a different bottle of wine. Running his hands through his hair, Andy glanced up toward the heavens as though for strength.

  “Tell me something,” he finally said, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed tone. “Are you acting this way to prove that you are still in control? That getting fired from the job you loved didn’t affect you?”

  Cheryl shrugged. “This is out-of-the-office Cheryl. Don’t assume you know her.”

  “Don’t assume I want to.”

  She blinked. Ouch.

  Cheryl decided to squelch her performance for a minute; the element of surprise and all that, a critical part of war. Ladylike, she folded her hands. “Do you want to leave?” she asked primly.

  Andy’s shoulders had slumped slightly. He was fiddling with his silverware, scraping the fork across the tablecloth as though it were part of a Zen garden set. For a reason she didn’t even begin to understand, Cheryl yearned to reach out and stroke the light stubble that lined his jaw. She was being hard on him. Regardless of what Stan said about Andy’s promotability, her firing had nothing to do with him and she knew it.

  “We can go,” she conceded. “This is stupid. Let’s go.�
��

  “Nah,” he said. “I like the food.” Andy cleared his throat and adjusted the sleeves of his sweater.

  Cautiously, the sommelier approached the table and presented another bottle of the same wine. Andy tasted it, then amazingly, offered the glass to Cheryl. The tables around them tilted forward in eager anticipation but she shook her head, declining the sip. The sommelier flashed his teeth in relief, pouring. Andy took a long drink.

  After a tense moment, she tried hers. “That’s really good,” Cheryl admitted, in spite of herself. “Good choice.”

  Andy brightened. “It’s my favorite. Sorry the first bottle was bad.”

  It wasn’t, she thought. I was.

  A waiter approached then, with a steaming whole lobster on a platter. Its claws were raised to the sky, as though in surrender. “What on earth is that?” Cheryl gasped.

  “Your appetizer, madame?” the waiter said nervously.

  Her mouth fell open. She met Andy’s eyes. At the sight of the ridiculous appetizer, they both burst out laughing.

  “This’d better be good.” Andy chuckled, and they dug in.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE YELLOW DOG BARED ITS TEETH, GROWLING ANGRILY. IT WAS wearing a black collar with little silver studs, looking like the canine version of a motorcycle thug. Fitting.

  Doris was frozen with fear. She couldn’t believe her life had come to this, culminating in a dog tearing her apart limb by limb in Katherine Rigney’s garage. As she thought this over, the dog let out another low, deliberate growl.

  I don’t want to die, a little voice inside of her whispered.

  Doris was surprised. Her life had taken on such a gray pallor that she may as well have one foot in the grave. To be honest, there were times recently when she had wondered if she wouldn’t be better off dead.

  DO something, the voice insisted. Change something. Just please don’t get torn apart by a wild dog!

  “I won’t. I don’t want to die,” she said, as though it were a revelation. “I don’t want to die. Hey, doggie. Please . . . Doggie, doggie, doggie . . .”

  The words sounded very similar to “Dougie, Dougie, Dougie.” At that thought, hot tears smarted against the backs of her eyes. The dog moved forward, slightly. A tuft of scraggly hair stood up on the back of his neck like a misplaced Mohawk.

  “Nice doggie . . .” Doris fumbled around her supplies, until she found an almost full carton of eggs. “Yummy, yummy,” she tried. “Hey, doggie, here you go . . .”

  She tossed a couple of eggs onto the pavement, as far away from her as she could. The eggs broke, yellow yolks oozing like molasses in the forty-degree weather. The dog sniffed the air, looked at Doris suspiciously, then whimpered slightly.

  “Come on, doggie. Yum yum . . .”

  The beady eyes softened. With Olympic dexterity, the dog pounced on the broken eggs. Razor-sharp teeth tore into the meal, shells and everything. Doris didn’t wait. With a trail of toilet paper streaming behind her, she took off at a full run, praying her boots wouldn’t slip on the icy ground.

  It took a few precious moments for the dog to realize what had happened. By that time Doris was halfway across the yard. She’d always been a fast runner. Back in the day, she and Cheryl used to have sprinting contests after soccer practice and Doris would always win. Doris was relieved she still had the ability when it counted. At the first disgruntled yelp, Doris quickened her pace as those strong paws thundered on the ground behind her. The dog came at full speed, barking and snapping angrily at her heels. Smelly breath panted hot and heavy just behind her. Doris screamed and flailed her arms as she ran. The lights in the neighborhood turned on one by one.

  Doris leaped into her car, slamming her door shut just in time. The large, hairy body leaped up against the window, its teeth snapping dangerously. Doris stared at the dog, dumbfounded. Then, she peeled out from under the weeping willow and down the street, the dog racing behind and barking furiously.

  “Thank you, God, thank you, Jesus, thank you, automatic locks,” she panted.

  As she drove by Katherine’s, Doris swiveled her head to see if the lights had come on. They had. As Doris sped by, she watched Katherine throw open her door and walk out onto her porch, pulling a sweater around her bony shoulders. Doris’s heart leaped. He was not with her.

  Katherine was all alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  WHEN THE WAITER SET THE BILL ON THE TABLE, CHERYL GAVE A tiny frown. Reaching for her purse, she tried to pull out her wallet.

  Andy said, “What do you think you’re doing?” and yanked the calligraphy-written check out of her hands. “No way,” he scolded. “Dinner’s on me, just like I promised.”

  “I was horrible,” Cheryl said. “I’m paying.” She reached for the bill again but he held it out of reach, its white leather holder glistening in the candlelight. “Andy, let me at least pay for the appetizer. Give it to me or I will . . . ooph . . .” Cheryl tried one more good grab. Finally, she gave up and leaned back in her chair. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” Andy grinned, slipping an American Express into the bill jacket.

  Cheryl chewed the inside of her cheek. Her mind was working overtime. The dinner had been way too much fun, once she’d stopped punishing Andy. The conversation between them had been fantastic, and Cheryl had to admit, Andy deserved to be the cocky guy he was. He was well educated, well traveled, and (as she’d seen in his gym shorts) well endowed. He’d spent several years in New York City and regaled her with various stories of battling the subway system through his three internships.

  “I think I had at least five boyfriends,” Andy said, tallying the memory on his fingers. “There were these homeless guys who loved me. Whenever I’d get on the train, they’d bypass everyone else and come sit by me. I was felt up. Many times.”

  Cheryl could relate to city life. Her early years had been spent in Chicago, navigating the subway system and doing everything possible to avoid the ridiculous wind chill. “I moved there after college,” she told him. “I was so poor. My diet consisted of Ragu. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She went on to admit that the only apartment she could afford was right by the El train. “It served as a surrogate child, waking me up every fifteen minutes. I didn’t sleep for four years.”

  “What about your family?” Andy asked. “They couldn’t help you?” Cheryl opened her mouth to speak but Andy held up his hand. “Oh, wait. I know. You wanted to do it on your own.”

  “Of course,” Cheryl said. “My family wasn’t rich or anything but yeah, they would have helped if I’d asked. I didn’t, so in the end I think my overall exhaustion is what made me say yes to my ex-husband’s marriage proposal.”

  Andy gawked, straightening his napkin. “You had a husband?”

  “Yeah,” Cheryl felt a smile pull at the corners of her mouth. “I know it may shock you but we gave it the good old college try. We even joined a couples’ golf league.”

  Andy’s green eyes sparkled. “He must have been a bad player.”

  “Actually, he was a team player,” she admitted, chewing the inside of her mouth. Cheryl remembered how she had brought another man to their bed during her lunch hour. At night, she’d sometimes look over at Sean’s curled-up form and wonder if he could sense it. “But I wasn’t,” she admitted. “I’m not proud of that, just in case you’re wondering.”

  Cheryl dipped her spoon into the remainder of her crème brûlée. It was a perfect blend of custard and fresh berries, with burned sugar crusted over the top. Closing her eyes, she savored the last bite and let the sweetness salve her old guilt. When she opened her eyes, Andy was watching her with a knowing smirk.

  “Glad we ordered that after all,” he said.

  When the waiter had come over with the dessert tray, Cheryl had attempted to claim she wasn’t a dessert person. She said she would only have a bite of whatever Andy ordered. He had nodded seriously and then ordered two.

  “Did you get enough?” Andy said, pushing his dish f
orward. Half of his dessert still remained. “It’s all yours.”

  Cheryl shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. “You are truly insane if you think I’m going to eat that.”

  The waiter returned with the bill and Andy glanced at it, not batting an eye. He signed and pocketed the receipt, pushing the leather holder to the side of the table. After drumming his fingers for a moment, he leaned forward.

  “Cheryl, can I ask you something?” Andy wondered. Cheryl nodded, waiting for him to ask if she was seeing anyone or if she still had feelings for her ex-husband. Instead, he said, “Do you think you’re going to sue Stan?”

  Cheryl choked on her coffee and took a long sip of water. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sure you feel that you were wrongfully terminated,” Andy said. “Do you think you’re going to go after him?”

  Cheryl’s eyes were steely as they met his. “Newsflash—the first thing I told Stan was that I was going to sue his fat ass.”

  “Oh.” Andy nodded, face blank. “When are you doing it?”

  Cheryl set her face into a calm mask. “Well, I have appointments set with a couple of lawyers but I’m curious to see if I even have a case. Stan had official warning papers. To be honest, I don’t have anything other than a track record of impeccable employment and a paper trail of a million dollars worth of clients I obtained, but whatever. The official papers might carry more weight.” Cheryl stared Andy down. “So, are you supposed to get back to Stan on this tonight or tomorrow?”

  “I’m not getting back to Stan on anything.” Andy chuckled, stretching. “If I was in your shoes, I’d be doing the same thing. If you already told him, then he knows you’re doing it anyway.”

  Cheryl studied Andy for a moment. His green eyes were sincere but she still didn’t trust him. Even if Stan hadn’t sent him directly, Andy was definitely trying to figure out some tidbit to bring to her former boss. For fun, Cheryl decided to throw him some information; just enough to really freak Stan out.