Cheesecake and Teardrops

by Faye Thompson

  “I’m whipped,” Heather told Charisma and Tangie one night after her workout.

  “How long have you been working out?” Charisma asked.

  “Twice a week for three weeks,” Heather said.

  “Have you been watching your diet and not eating past eight o’clock at night?” Charisma asked.

  Heather nodded.

  “Then I guarantee you, you’ll see results in a couple more weeks, but we need to step up your workout. Those elliptical machines burn more calories than the treadmill, and they’re easy on your joints. And don’t be afraid to try the other equipment,” Tangie advised.

  Three times a week Heather began taking aerobics. She waddled out of the class pooped, but sure enough, Heather began seeing results. Within the next couple of weeks, Heather’s clothes began to fit her less snugly. Encouraged, she finally stepped on her bathroom scale. She was five pounds lighter. Pleased with that—along with lost inches—Heather practically kissed the reflection of her nose in the mirror. On top of that, Don from the modeling agency called. They had developed her photos and liked what they saw. She photographed well. Heather hugged herself as she hung up. Yes, she’d definitely keep up the good work.

  The next few weeks Heather’s determination to lose more weight reached a new high. She stepped up her game, working out at the gym four times a week and taking long walks for lunch. Even with her secret ritual, the pounds would not budge.

  One evening after work as she climbed on the elliptical machine, someone gently called her name. She looked to her left and locked eyes with a somewhat familiar face. She gazed at her for a moment, but she couldn’t quite place her.

  “Heather Grey,” the woman said, smiling. “We went to Bayside High School together. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me.”

  Heather thought for a second. “Oh my goodness, Paula, is that you? I almost didn’t recognize you. You lost so much weight.”

  “It’s me,” Paula laughed. In high school Paula wore nothing but skirts and dresses after her jeans split wide open in her sophomore year when she bent down to pick up her books. She quickly covered herself by tying a cardigan around her waist. The news spread faster than a New York minute. By the end of the day, the entire school was abuzz and Paula parted crowds of students like Moses parted the Red Sea.

  As a fellow full-figured female, Heather felt compassion for Paula as snickers followed her in the weeks to come. That’s when Heather befriended her by offering her a tampon during gym when the locker-room dispenser was empty. Paula thanked Heather for her unsolicited kindness and a week later invited her home to study for the upcoming biology exams.

  Despite being one to study alone, Heather decided to take Paula up on her offer. She met her one Saturday morning and within minutes they took over the kitchen table with textbooks, notebooks, highlighters, and pens. Paula’s mother checked in on them around noon, fixing them tuna-salad sandwiches on giant kaiser rolls. They stopped, had lunch, and picked up studying where they had left off.

  Somewhere around three, they called it a day. They hung out for awhile in Paula’s room listening to music as they stretched out on her bed with a plate of chocolate chip cookies between them. Paula leaned over and gently brushed Heather’s lips with her own. Heather wiped her mouth, got up, and never spoke to her again.

  “So how’ve you been, Heather?” she asked, increasing the intensity of her workout.

  “Pretty good,” Heather said simply. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. I’ve lost eighty-six pounds since graduation.”

  She wore a cropped T-shirt with skintight leggings. Her shoulder-length auburn dreads were pulled up and away from her face into a loose bun.

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Just good old-fashioned exercise and portion control. There’s no magic potion, just a hell of a lot of hard work.”

  She took a few swigs from her water bottle and with a towel dabbed at the sweat forming on her brow. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  “Please.” Heather shook her head. “I’m trying to get to where you are. Are you married, any children?”

  “Divorced, no crumb-crushers, thank heavens. What about you?”

  “No to both.”

  “So how often do you work out?”

  “About three to four times a week,” Heather said.

  “That’s the way to do it. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we get together one of these days. Maybe I can give you some pointers on losing weight.”

  “I’d like that,” Heather told her, determined to meet on neutral ground. Fool me once . . .

  Heather and Jamal met later that night at his place. After a full day at work and an hour and a half in the gym, she was exhausted.

  “I ran into an old high school classmate at the gym, and I couldn’t believe it,” Heather told him. “She’s like eighty pounds lighter. Eighty pounds. She looks amazing.”

  “You look amazing,” Jamal said.

  “But I still have a ways to go.”

  “You’ll get there. You’re already on your way.”

  “Anyway, we’re meeting next week so she can give me some tips.”

  “Sounds good, but don’t lose too much.”

  “Why not? Afraid someone might snatch me away from you?” Heather smiled.

  “It’s happened before.”

  “Well, I know who I want. I’m looking at him.”

  “That’s what you say now.”

  The following week Heather and Paula got together after work at Yum’s. Heather arrived at the Austin Street restaurant first and grabbed a table near the bar. She ordered a mudslide while she waited for Paula. By the time Paula arrived, she was on her second drink.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Paula apologized as she sat across from Heather. “Traffic was murder on the Van Wyck. Some knucklehead got pulled over for talking on his cell phone and tried to flee from the cops. They chased him from Jamaica Avenue. all the way to Queens Boulevard. What a mess.” She shook her head. “What are you drinking?”

  “A mudslide.”

  “This is where the tips begin. Do you know how many calories are in that thing?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

  “Put it like this. If you had half a glass, you’d still be in a whole lotta trouble. Cut out alcohol and all the white stuff and the pounds will run for dear life.”

  “That’s how you did it?”

  “Uh-huh,” Paula admitted. “You’re already on the right track as far as exercising is concerned. Just tighten up your mouth.”

  “It’s not like I don’t try,” Heather said. “My kitchen is packed with low-fat, fat-free, sugar-free, but I’m plateauing.”

  “Just be careful. Sometimes that can work against you.”

  “Tell me about it. If something has half the calories, I eat twice as much.”

  “I know, girl. Who you telling?” Paula motioned for the waiter, who came right over. “I’ll have a diet 7UP.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Heather said. “But every now and then I like to treat myself.” She took another sip of her mudslide.

  “And you should. Actually, what I do is eat the straight and narrow during the week and splurge on the weekends.Come Monday morning, I get back on track. And another thing, have a meal plan. Know what I mean? Don’t ever wonder about what you’ll have for dinner when you get home. That’s a surefire way to screw up.”

  “I know. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  “Uh-huh, and calories galore. Oh, and try to eat small meals and snacks every few hours to raise your metabolism and control your hunger pangs.”

  “Just a lot of common sense,” Heather summed it up.

  “Exactly.”

  “And that’s how you lost eighty pounds?”

  “Don’t forget the other six,” Paula warned. “They were as hard as all the rest. But yes, that’s how I did it.”

  “Just like that?” Heather asked.


  “Just like that.”

  Heather made it home just in time to rush down the stairs and answer the ringing phone. It was Don from the modeling agency.

  “How are you, Heather?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Let me get straight to the point,” he began. “I know you haven’t reached your goal weight yet, but we want to sign you on as a client.”

  “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re more than welcome. By the way, do you have a fax machine?”

  “No, I don’t, Don.”

  “No problem. We’ll mail you a contract. Look it over. Call me if you have any questions.”

  “I don’t believe it. You’ll have to pinch me.” Heather laughed.

  “I’ll FedEx that contract out to you first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, and check in with us once a week for possible modeling assignments, okay? Sweet dreams, Heather.”

  “Thanks again, Don. Take care.”

  “Let’s celebrate tonight,” Heather told Tangie and Charisma the next morning over the phone.

  “What exactly are we celebrating?” Charisma asked.

  “I just signed on with the A+ Size Modeling Agency.”

  “Get outta here!” Tangie shrieked. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Where do you want to go?” Charisma asked.

  “Let’s go to Cabana,” Heather said.

  “Nah, I was there last week. Let’s go to Pssst,” Tangie suggested.

  “Okay,” Heather agreed.

  “Parking’ll be tight. Why don’t I pick you guys up, say, around eight?” Charisma asked.

  “Okay,” Tangie said.

  “See you then,” Heather agreed before hanging up.

  She spent the rest of the day running errands, stocking up on groceries at Pathmark, and picking up her dry cleaning.Once her laundry was done, she took a few moments to exhale on her sofa. The phone rang, breaking the mood.

  It was Paula. “Hey, Heather, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing much. What’s new with you?”

  “I’m out trying to get my brows done, and the shop is all boarded up. So, I’m really in a bind. My brows look a mess. Where do you get yours done?”

  “When We Were Queens. Cinderella does them.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “In Springfield Gardens across from Pathmark on Merrick Boulevard.”

  “Oh, I know where that is. Is she good?”

  “The best.”

  “I’ll give her a try. Talk to you later.”

  Heather had barely hung up the phone when it rang again. It was Jamal.

  “Hey, babe. I want to see you tonight. Let’s get together.”

  “You should’ve called me sooner. I already made plans. Can I take a rain check?”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, his voice tainted with just a touch of disappointment. “How about we do brunch in the morning?”

  “That’ll work. See you tomorrow.” Heather napped for a couple of hours before getting ready for a night out with the girls. A long hot shower mellowed her out. A pair of bootcut indigo blue jeans and a black T-shirt totally relaxed her. She combed her damp hair into a ponytail and before long golden curls trailed down her back. She applied copper eye shadow to her lids, mascara, blush, and lipstick, smiling at her reflection in the mirror—until her eyes latched on to her nose. She still thought about plastic surgery. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the time to dwell on that tonight.

  An hour later the trio were seated in Pssst, sipping blackberry-tinis and bouncing to Jennifer Hudson.

  “Heard anything from Tony?” Heather asked.

  “Nope. It’s over, but you know what hurts the most? I really, truly thought that he was the One. You know? I mean, he was my soul mate.” Tangie sighed.

  “I used to believe in soul mates. Many moons ago,” Heather added.

  “What changed you?” Tangie asked.

  “Life,” Heather said. “Remember Omar? I thought he was all that, but when he pulled that stunt on my birthday, I was devastated. I hit rock bottom. After that I vowed to never let a man get too close. Now, it’s hurt or be hurt, and I don’t intend to be hurt anymore.”

  Heather and Omar had been going together for four years. Her birthday was drawing near, and Omar was hinting about proposing. Unfortunately, two days before her birthday, he had to run out of town unexpectedly on business.

  Heather’s heart sunk to her knees when she stopped at the grocery store the morning of her birthday and found his car parked in the lot. Stunned, she sat glued to her car seat, devastated. A few moments later, he waltzed out of the store, groceries in hand, without a care in the world.

  Heather felt a flood of emotions—anger, pain, sadness, shock, disappointment. She backed out of her parking space, nearly hitting a shopping cart as she quickly sped away. Hyperventilating, she made it home before her bowels broke. Maybe he wanted to surprise her, she reasoned as the hours ticked by. He didn’t even call.

  Upon his “return” days later, when she asked him how was his “trip,” his only response was that it went well except that he had forgotten his cell phone. Heather never got over it, and she never looked at men quite the same ever again. She was forever changed, reaching deep within herself for some vestige of strength and surprising herself that she had found it.

  “I wish I had your strength,” Tangie told Heather.

  “You will have it when you need it most,” Heather reassured her.

  “Baby, I’m starving. I thought we had a brunch date.” When Jamal’s message on Heather’s answering machine reached her ears, she rolled over and grabbed a pillow to cover her head. She had hung out late with Tangie and Charisma the night before, and the bed definitely had a hold on her.

  Luckily for Jamal, she was completely awake by his third call. Apparently, he was hungry.

  “Feel like IHOP?” he asked.

  “Nah, I don’t want to set foot out of this house today.”

  “Want me to come over and cook?”

  “Would you?” she asked.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “I want,” she said simply.

  “Then I’ll be over shortly.”

  Heather dragged herself out of bed, brushed her teeth, and took a quick shower. She slipped on a nightshirt just as Jamal arrived with a bag of groceries in hand. He gave her a kiss on the lips and made himself at home in her kitchen, pulling out pots and pans, dishes, and utensils. She offered to help, but he only shooed her out of the kitchen.

  She didn’t have to be told twice. Instead, she went into the living room, kicked her feet up, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. Nothing grabbed her interest. Nothing at all, but the aroma permeating from the kitchen grabbed her nose, forcing Heather to her feet.

  “Wow, something smells good,” she said. “What’cha cooking?”

  “Codfish and onions, eggs, and toasted bagels,” Jamal said, standing over the stove. “Ready to eat?”

  “Honey, I was past ready when you walked through the door.”

  “Then let’s eat,” he said simply.

  Heather reached in the cabinet for plates and glasses. She took utensils and napkins from a nearby drawer while Jamal placed the dishes of food on the table.

  “Orange juice?” she asked him, getting up.

  “No, you relax. I’ll get it.” He returned to the table with an ice-cold gallon of OJ. He filled their glasses and they began eating.

  “Boy, this is good,” Heather said.

  “Glad you like it.”

  “Hold that thought,” she said as her phone rang. She hurried into the bedroom where she left the cordless, and returned a second later. “That was my old classmate from Bayside. Remember I told you she lost eighty pounds? Well, she wants me to meet her at the gym for a workout.”

  “What d’ya tell her?”

  “Not today. I just want to chill, but after all this I should probably tell Paula I’m ready to run thre
e miles on the treadmill.” She piled a bit more eggs and codfish onto her plate.

  “My ex-wife’s name is Paula. She went to Bayside too.”

  He took a sip of juice.

  “Really? What’s her maiden name?” Heather asked him.

  “Little. Paula Little.”

  “Shit. Small world,” Heather said. “I didn’t even know you were divorced. Why’d ya break up?”

  “She’s a lesbian,” Jamal said simply.

  Heather’s mind immediately flashed back to that day in Paula’s bedroom when she tried to kiss her. “How long were you married?”

  “Two years.”

  “Wow. Did you love her?”

  “Yeah, I really did.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s not your fault, but do me a big favor, Heather.”

  “What’s that?” she asked

  “Just be careful. She can be a conniving bitch. Don’t let that soft voice of hers fool you.”

  25

  Tangie

  Tangie and Charisma were in Daisy’s for their weekly shampoo. Tangie was also getting fresh highlights, so as usual she had to wait for Daisy.

  “Okay, what’s he like?” Tangie said, referring to the guy Charisma wanted to fix her up with.

  “His name is Jordan Newport, and I’ve known him for years. He’s a CPA. His father’s done my family’s taxes for as long as I can remember.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Nice.” Charisma smiled. “He’s about five seven and—”

  “You know I prefer tall men,” Tangie protested.

  “Please, they say what a man lacks in height, he makes up for in length.”

  “How do you come up with this stuff?” Tangie shook her head. “That’s like saying what a woman lacks in boobs, she makes up for in behind.”

  “Hey, whatever works.”

  “So why weren’t you interested?”