The Whole Package

by Cynthia Ellingsen

  “Here’s what I want,” Doris said, clearing her throat. “I want a place where women are romanced the moment they walk through the front door. Maybe a handsome man could greet each guest with a rose or recite a line of poetry to each guest. The food should be exquisite, yet waistline conscious. The room could smell like fresh-cut roses and the soft candlelight and decor should make women believe they’ve stepped into a fairy tale. I want The Whole Package to be the place where it’s okay to fall in love.”

  “This is brilliant,” Anthony said. His handsome face was flushed, dark eyes bright. “This is brilliant. What do you think made you see it?”

  Doris drained her Shirley Temple and played with the stem of the cherry. “Well, I’ve just been thinking. I had that dream about my mother and then . . .” She hesitated and Gabe squeezed her hand. “My husband and I are planning to see a therapist,” she told Anthony. “And to prepare, the therapist asked us to write up a list of things we wanted the other to do to make us feel loved. I saw Doug’s list. His were guy things, but mine . . . well, mine were a little more romantic.”

  “Good for you,” Anthony told her, nodding enthusiastically. “Good for you.”

  As they continued to brainstorm, it was Anthony who came up with the idea that got them into the Weekend Review.

  “What about guest love coaches?” Anthony said suddenly. “Soap operas have a huge female audience. What if . . . for special events, we bring in one of my soap opera friends from New York?”

  When Doris clapped her hands, nodding, Anthony texted one of his friends. The soap opera star texted right back with a smiley face and a promise to help. When the time came for him to visit, women came out in droves.

  According to the article in the Weekend Review, in just a few weeks The Whole Package had gone from an embarrassing misfire to a leader in the world of concept dining.

  “It’s not just a place for women to dine, it’s a place for them to be appreciated,” Doris read aloud. She looked up at Doug and beamed.

  “When my parents get back from Florida, I’m going to have my mother go there,” Doug said. “I think she’d really enjoy herself. My treat.”

  “Dougie, you don’t have to pay.” Doris giggled. “We own the place.”

  Doug’s face lit up and he reached for his wife. “We do, don’t we?”

  As Doug kissed her, Doris couldn’t help but be amazed at how well things were going. So much had changed. She had won her husband back, started to make peace with her mother’s death, and taken charge of the situation with Mandy.

  After Doris and Doug forced their daughter to end her relationship with Will, the poor girl wailed for two weeks straight. It was like she’d had a tooth removed without Novocain. Doris held her ground, refusing to give in to the tantrum. With time, Mandy got tired of fighting and, instead, started coming around. She’d actually spoken to Doris at the Sunday outing to the Festival of Lights, mumbling something about how the colors were “kind of pretty.”

  Doug had sneaked a glance over his daughter’s fuzzy white hat and given his wife a smile. Doris smiled back, feeling just like the Grinch who stole Christmas. If anyone could have seen inside her chest, they would have noticed that her once shriveled-up heart seemed to have grown at least three sizes bigger.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  ANDY’S MARKETING FIRM WAS IN A TINY HOUSE THAT SAT ON THE corner of a residential-style business area. To his left was a candy shop shaped like a gingerbread hut and to his right a hospital for exotic animals. His company seemed friendly and accessible, a complete antithesis to the fortress style of TurnKey.

  Cheryl parked her car in the driveway. The drive was empty with the exception of Andy’s Toyota 4Runner. She had timed their meeting perfectly, showing up during lunch hour. At TurnKey, Andy had never left the office for lunch unless there was a group outing or a meeting with clients. Cheryl assumed it would be the same here. Her plan was to congratulate him on his business and then ask him how involved he’d like to be as a father.

  After seeing the article in the Weekend Review, Cheryl sat at home, devastated. Cheryl had taken a formal leave from the restaurant less than two weeks ago and it seemed that Jackie and Doris had jumped on the chance to change the concept while she was gone. It broke her heart to picture the two of them working together to create a restaurant so different from their original vision, but Cheryl wasn’t surprised they had left her out. The two had always been thick as thieves.

  Out of some perverse need to torture herself, Cheryl had hopped into her BMW late on Saturday night. Ducking low, she performed reconnaissance. The paper had not exaggerated about the new appeal of The Whole Package—the place was lit up like a Christmas tree. There was a line out the door. Cheryl sat there for a moment in her cotton jumpsuit (too bad those women from the tennis club couldn’t see her; they’d be so proud), a sandwich from a sub shop nestled between her legs. Chewing slowly on a bite of Italian melt, Cheryl watched in confusion as the guests streamed in and out of the haven that had once been her baby. It was rather shocking to realize she’d raised her kid the wrong way.

  When Cheryl first read that article, she’d scoffed and crumpled up the paper like she had when they’d gotten that terrible review. Women pampered at a restaurant; what a ridiculous, totally sexist concept. What woman wanted to be treated like she was a fragile object that needed to be held and coddled all the time?

  Now, Cheryl caught her reflection in the car’s rearview mirror and knew the answer—she did. It would be really nice to, for once, let down her guard and let someone else take care of her. That had been the problem with Sean, she realized with a start. Cheryl ran the show because no matter how hard the poor man tried, he never would have been able to make her feel like he had it under control. No wonder The Whole Package was a success. Look what it offered. One night for every woman to live out the fantasy that there she had someone watching over her, all for the price of an entree.

  “Whatever,” Cheryl said, wiping her hands on a napkin and taking one last look. Gunning the engine, she peeled down Main Street.

  Late that night, she’d picked up the phone. She was going to tell the TurnKey actor, the one she’d been sleeping with right before Andy, that he was going to be a daddy. She would make it clear she expected nothing from him, just thought it fair to let him know.

  At first, the actor thought she was calling for sex, it being Saturday night and all. It took some time for the man to actually take in what she was saying. Then, to Cheryl’s complete and utter shock, he said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Cheryl, but . . . well, there’s no delicate way to say it. I shoot blanks. Why do you think my wife left me?”

  Cheryl hung up the phone, stunned. Andy was the father of her child.

  Smoothing her hair, she got out of the car. With careful steps, she approached the door and got ready to knock. There was a tiny plate nailed to the wood, a gold square that simply read, SCHAFFER’S. Letting out a sudden breath, Cheryl decided not to knock. Instead, she pushed her way inside.

  Andy was sitting at a desk in the center of the main room, going over some papers. When she walked in, ten different expressions ran across his face in the span of two seconds. They ranged from joy, hurt, anger, sorrow, excitement, confusion, interest, attraction, insecurity, to ultimately, hope.

  Gone was the cocky man who worked for a successful marketing firm. In his place sat a serious business owner with shorter hair and a rumpled shirt. Andy made a move to stand up but Cheryl waved her hand. She was feeling emotional and wasn’t sure why. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.

  Cheryl looked around the main room. Bookcases lined the walls and the furniture was dark leather. It was very masculine, like something out of a scotch advertisement. “You have a fireplace,” she said lamely.

  Andy nodded.

  Cheryl wrung her hands. Her mouth had gone dry.

  “Congratulations on The Whole Package,” he said. “I heard you guys made some big changes.”

  S
taring at her scuffed boots, Cheryl shook her head. “No. They made some changes. I had nothing to do with it.” She paused and looked around. “Congratulations on all this. I’m sure you had everything to do with this.”

  Andy got to his feet.

  In spite of the way Cheryl backed up toward the door, as though she was about to run out of it, he walked forward and stood in front of his desk. Leaning against it, he crossed his arms protectively across his chest. The room was tiny. He was close enough for Cheryl to feel that same electricity she always felt around him, like standing in a field during a lightning storm.

  “Andy, look—” she started to say.

  “Let me,” he cut in. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what I did. It was wrong. Believe it or not, I was trying to take your advice. Do what Stan wanted me to so that I could get ahead. Rather unfortunate timing, huh?”

  A log popped in the fire. They both jumped.

  Andy ran his hand over his face. “Anyway. That night I came to your grand opening, I’d already made my decision to leave TurnKey. I brought those men with me because they were going to back this place and . . . I was going to ask you to be my partner. I wanted them to meet you.”

  Cheryl’s mind started racing, imagining what working with Andy would have been like. They would think up ideas until the wee hours of the night. Hold meetings in that little boardroom to the left, with its airy windows and dry erase boards. Head out to grab a drink or a meal when they got hungry and always, always try to ignore the hope that there might be something more between them.

  “So, you changed your mind when you saw what a failure The Package was?” Cheryl asked.

  Andy shook his head. “Nope. The Japanese liked it, believe it or not. They were entertained by your concept. It was me.” He took a deep breath and plowed on. “That night, I realized I would never be able to work with you on a strictly professional level.”

  Cheryl looked up. Her eyes met that familiar, penetrating gaze.

  “I don’t think that would have been fair to either of us,” Andy said, “because the entire time, I’d know I asked you to be my partner not just because you’re good at what you do, but because I was too scared to ask you to be my partner in the fullest sense of the word.”

  The room seemed to be frozen in time. The only thing that assured Cheryl that no, time had not stopped, was the steady ticking from the clock on the fireplace mantel.

  Andy cleared his throat. “So. Sorry to hit you with all that but I thought you should know. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Cheryl tried to speak. Her mouth was dry and she ached to tell him she was already bound to him for life. As she opened her mouth, she suddenly felt . . . Her eyes widened.

  “Andy,” Cheryl said slowly. “Do you have a restroom?” Her voice was shaking.

  “Sure,” he said, pointing to the door to her right. “That was the response I was hoping I’d get.”

  Cheryl smiled weakly, then went into the tiny room and shut the door. Pulling down her pants, she took a look. Nausea filled her heart. Numbly, she went through the motions of using the restroom and fumbling in her purse for a tampon. It was only as she flushed the toilet that she started to cry with a pain that could only be expressed with full-body, full-blown convulsions. This was the type of sadness Cheryl hadn’t experienced since she’d sat in her car, head against the steering wheel; right after Stan had ripped one life away from her and forced her to invent another. The pregnancy test was wrong. Cheryl was not pregnant. All this time imagining she was . . . Her heart broke at how stupid she was. And frankly, at how lucky she was that Andy had started speaking before she could.

  “Cheryl?” Andy rapped on the door. “Are you all right?”

  It was a small office. He could probably hear her sobbing out there.

  Cheryl took a shaky breath and got to her feet. She opened the bathroom door. Holding his green eyes with hers, she said, “Andy, do you think that one day you’d take me to The Whole Package?”

  Andy pulled her to him and held her tight. “You own me,” he said brusquely. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “How do you know this is right?” she tried to protest, struggling against the safety of his arms. “You barely know me . . .”

  “I do know you, Cheryl,” Andy promised, searching her eyes, “and I should. I’ve been looking for you my entire life.” Ever so slowly, the man of her dreams moved closer to her. Then, finally, rested his lips on hers.

  Chapter Fifty

  DORIS RACED TOWARD THE RESTAURANT, DRIVING AT A SPEED that was very un-Doris-like. Gabe had just called, panicked that all their freezers had stopped working. If they couldn’t get it fixed, they could lose thousands of dollars of meat. The generator men were there now and they wouldn’t do anything until she signed off on the paperwork.

  “Come down here, darling,” he begged over the phone. “And hurry.”

  JACKIE WAS ALSO en route, driving at a speed that was very Jackie-like.

  Since money had started trickling in for The Whole Package, she and George had worked out a payment plan, at her insistence, to reimburse him. The only way he’d agree to that was if she’d take a couple hundred a week, insistent that pawning the rings Robert had given her would be a crime.

  With her first four hundred, she’d bought an old used Honda with 254,000 miles. It was beaten up and gunned like a tank, but Jackie loved it. It was nice to finally have something she’d earned all on her own. She’d decorated the interior with snow white faux fur, painted the dashboard in pearly white paint, and splurged on a soft, white leather steering wheel cover. Every time she got into her car, Jackie felt like she was sliding into a sparkly cashmere sweater.

  At the moment, she was zooming toward the restaurant because Anthony had called her, panicking about the stoves. Apparently, they had stopped working and none of her former friends were around to sign off on the repairs. Jackie opted for parallel parking on the street; it was quicker than dealing with that icy lot. She patted her new car’s hood like a stallion, and then dashed up the steps.

  Pushing open the front doors, she glanced around, curious. She hadn’t been back since the night Anthony had found her in the office. According to him, the Weekend Review, and their sudden profit, The Whole Package must have been transformed. Sure enough, the interior was very feminine; softer somehow and much more romantic. All the naked statues were gone and the bright reds and blacks had been replaced with pale pink and ivory.

  “Antonio Rico,” she sang out, looking around. “It looks like a valentine in here.”

  “Thanks, doll,” Anthony called. “Come on back.”

  She followed his voice to the private dining room and stopped short. A stone-faced Cheryl and Doris sat at the table, not speaking. Anthony and Gabe were guarding them like prisoners.

  “Great. Jackie’s here,” Anthony said, clapping like a drill sergeant. “You will all thank me for this later. Here’s some wine . . .”

  Gabe bustled forward, pouring a lush splash into each wineglass.

  “Here’s some appetizers . . .” Anthony moved plates of delicacies out from under a big silver catering tray. “Now kiss and make up.”

  With that, he and Gabe swished out the office door.

  Avoiding the eyes of her former friends, Jackie took a seat. Doris was perched on the opposite side of the table, leaning forward with folded hands. Cheryl was to her left, eyes downcast. At least five minutes passed with no one speaking.

  Letting her eyes rove over the bottles of wine lining the walls, Jackie smiled in appreciation. Anthony had thought to build the wine room and humidor as something to attract the men. The wine seemed like an impressive collection. Jackie was curious to see what brands they had stocked, for both wine and cigars. George would definitely appreciate this.

  Jackie and George had been spending a lot of time together, ever since the painting. Their relationship wasn’t anything dramatic or loud. But the funny part was, after all her massages, retreats, an
d effort at relaxation, being with him was the most calming experience she’d ever had in her life.

  “Gosh darn it,” Doris finally said, shifting. “If no one’s going to say anything, I will. They’re not going to let us out of here until we talk.”

  “Wanna bet?” Cheryl said. “I’ll call the police and report them for kidnapping.”

  Doris sighed, reaching for the appetizer platter and selecting a chicken skewer. “I’m on a high-protein diet,” she explained. “Don’t think I’m callous because I’m eating. I’m just really hungry.”

  Jackie sneaked a peek at her. Yes, Doris did look like she’d lost a bit of weight. Even if she hadn’t been dressed up in the clever wardrobe Gabe convinced her to buy, she was starting to look like her old self again. It was as though the hard shell of anxiety had melted away.

  “No, let me start,” Cheryl said. “Jackie, I’m . . . I’m sorry. I was horrible to you.” With that, Cheryl dropped her head into her hands. “Really inexcusable. I mean, who the fuck did I think I was? Your life is your life and if you came back here because you had to take care of some things, it was my own fault for assuming—”

  “That we were friends?” Jackie cut in, incredulous. She laid a hand on the table. “Of course we are, Cheryl. We always have been and I’m sorry if . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  The sigh that slipped out came from the very bottom of her core. She and George had been having long conversations about her past. Jackie was starting to realize all the emotions she’d buried and all the manipulative little games she played. It wasn’t to be malicious. It was a way to protect herself. George was helping her to let go of all that.