It felt weird not going to work on a weekday. I'd never skipped a day for anything other than sickness. And, even then, if I wasn't puking or had an uncontrollable fever, I'd go in anyway. I'd just keep my door closed and eat lunch in my office that day. I just hoped no one from work would be at the Plaza. I couldn't take having to explain why I was there and not at the hospital.
It was gorgeous outside, one of those spring days when you could feel summer on the cusp of the next major air shift. I had driven to the mall with my car window cracked open. I'd make sure to watch the weather and decide whether or not to pack away my winter things yet. Although, if I kept my cardigans on hand, I could get away with wearing three quarter inch sleeves. Anything shorter and I felt completely naked. Wesley remarked how going to the gym might improve the tone in my upper arms. Maybe I'd join his gym while I was busy working to improve myself. Then I wouldn't have to scavenge the stores for longer sleeves in the dead of summer.
Mark was waiting when I got there, standing against one of the outside columns at the entrance. I barely recognized him without his white doctor's coat. I felt a bit like a teenage girl with a misplaced butterfly swarming around in my stomach when I saw him. He was wearing Ray Bans like he was getting paid for the advertisement. And, those jeans. They rode him in all the right places. Tightening and accentuating in the crotch (God, forgive me, but I couldn't help but look), and matching his button down casual shirt. No wonder he had to carry a stick to beat off the women. I'm really meeting this guy for lessons on how to be hot? Pinch me now.
“Hello, Amy. It's nice to see you. I hope you slept well last night. I noticed you left before my shift ended.” He pushed off the column and stood straight, waiting to walk me to the entrance. I loved how he said my name. Like his attention was earmarked for me and only me.
“I did sleep well, thank you for asking. I figured I'd leave early to get some real sleep at home. That recliner is wrecking my neck at night.” I rubbed my tightened neck muscles. My strawberry-red hair was pulled loosely into a low bun. “Did you need to talk to me this morning?”
“No, I just usually check.” He stopped short of finishing his thought. “I noticed you had left, that's all. Shall we begin this interview?” He opened the glass door and motioned for me to go first. A couple of girls walked by us, hesitating when they saw Mark and giggled to one another.
“I'm so ready for this. What are we going to do first?” I acted as giddy as the two girls who had just passed.
“What do you want from all this, Amy?” He stopped at the lounge area outside the food court. Large palm plants sheltered the cozy seating area. Leather chairs with dark wooden tables sat on its very retro-looking rug. The orange shapes popped out against the gray backing.
“I want my husband to open his eyes and see a new me. An Amy that he couldn't bear to leave.” I looked pitifully into Mark’s blue eyes.
“And you think it's all physical? That guys have no brain and only see breasts and legs?”
I halted. His words seemed to have pinched a nerve in my already aching neck. “He's already said he wants to leave. Are you saying that not only am I fashion challenged, but I'm personality and intelligence depleted? Strike two and I'm out? I think not.”
“Don't put words in my mouth. I only implied that we, as a gender, are into more things than looks.”
“So, what NASA research center does your stalker from last night work at? Or, did you find her in the audience at the last medical convention? I don't know how you have time for your patients with all the private lessons you're giving to nurses, Dr. Reilly.”
Mark held up the international sign for time out. “Let's start over, shall we?”
I sighed heavily before agreeing, and lowered my voice. “I just want you to transform me into someone you'd be interested in, someone Wesley would see and fall in love with. As though you just spotted me from across the crowded room and were so drawn to me that nothing could hold you back from meeting and spending the rest of your life with me. Now, can you do that? We'll work on the seductress personality afterwards. I can't multitask becoming Jennifer Aniston in just one session. Take it slow. But not too slow.”
Mark paused. If only I knew what thoughts were running through his head. “So, you're looking for visually pleasing.”
“Sure,” I said with a question mark somewhere in there.
“I think that will be easiest. Let's break it down to the five senses.” He took my hand and drew out my arm, walking around me for better inspection. I looked down too, forgetting what I'd picked out to wear that morning.
I had on an adorable peach-colored blouse. I had purchased it from a catalog someone left in my office. It was sheer material, so I wore a white sweater with it. And, for the bottom half, I wore a pair of gray work trousers. Not too thin and not too wool. It was spring after all. I felt good with the ensemble, but standing in the spotlight of his judging, playboy eyes, I felt more like a librarian.
“Let's do something about your outfit. I know someone who can help.” He led me to the Nordstrom’s department store.
We took the escalator to the second floor. Mark craned his neck over the metal racks, looking intently for someone. “Ah, there she is.”
He pulled my hand, weaving me through the hanging outfits and faceless mannequins. It felt a lot different than Wesley's hand. Although, come to think of it, I really hadn't held Wesley's hand in a long time. We had graduated to being that couple who walked with a perfect three-and-a-half inches between us. I usually kept my hands in my pockets or resting on my handbag. And he always seemed on a mission whatever we were doing to get it over with.
Mark stopped walking, and a tall, well-dressed woman turned and hugged him tightly. He dropped my hand and patted her on the back. She opened her eyes and saw me waiting behind him.
“Mark, it's so good to see you. Is this lovely girl with you?”
The lady stood eye-to-eye with Mark. Her hair was just as dark as his and reflected the bright lights of the store. Her makeup was impeccable with plum colored cheeks, smoky eyes, and lined lips to match the contour color. She was a middle-aged Barbie doll, wearing a classy black skirt, form-fitting top, and black pumps with integrity: slightly squared tips. My dream, mid-life fashion wannabe.
Mark introduced me. “Mom, this is Amy Whitfield, and she needs a new wardrobe.”
Ms. Reilly looked at Mark and then back to me. She scrunched her face, looking me up and down and walking in a circle around me. I feared I was about to become a snack for a hungry tiger they kept in the back. Oh, Lord, why did I wear the gray trousers? They were too baggy. I knew it, but I was too lazy to care.
“Well, Amy, you must be someone very important to my son. I can't tell you the last time I got to see him, let alone meet his girlfriend.”
“I'm—”
“She's not my girlfriend.” We almost said it in unison. “Mom, she's only a friend that I'm helping. I know that you have flawless taste. Can you fit her with something smart but sexy? Comfortable but alluring. Something that would attract a guy.”
“Mark! She is attractive. But I can see why you're here.” She rested her hand on her chin and twisted her perfectly portioned lips. “Let me pull some outfits. Amy, go to the dressing room, and I'll be right there.”
I looked doubtfully at Mark and did as requested. Ms. Reilly pulled her son by the arm and took him along.
Forty-five minutes later, I stood in the last outfit awaiting Mark's comments. It was his opinion that mattered most. He walked closer, at first mostly studying my eyes. I hoped the heat I felt radiating my cheeks was an invisible blush. Then he looked at what I was wearing. A low-cut blouse and a calf-length pencil skirt, form-fitting, with a pair of black high heels like the ones his mother was wearing. I waited for his interpretation.
“Now, if you go to work like this every day, your husband might have to beat off the strays that follow you home.”
I laughed and folded my arms in front. “You don't thin
k the skirt is too showy? Possibly too hip-hugging? You know, like I'm advertising more than business? I'm not sure I could sit down in this thing. It leaves little to no room for air or for bending.”
It was Mark's turn to laugh. “Amy, don't be so uptight. You have a figure any girl would envy. You're naturally gorgeous with a body to match. Now I would suggest you buy the navy skirt too.”
My face was in need of immediate air conditioning. No one had ever called me gorgeous. Not even Wesley. Pretty maybe, but never gorgeous. My sister, Ashley, got that word all the time. Why was it hard to believe I could be too? We were twins, for goodness’ sake. But Ashley always said I was the smart one. And smart ones didn't have to spend money on clothes and makeup. She said I saved thousands of dollars a year not having to accessorize. She made me feel like I was pardoned from the shackles and chains of being beautiful.
“People quite frequently call me uptight. It takes practice not to be. Maybe we could work on that, too.”
“I'll try,” he said. “It's up to you how loose you want to be. I'll accept anything you've got.”
I went back to the changing cubicle to change while Mark's mother went out to talk to her son. There was no one else in the area, which made it easy to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Well, Mark, she's a lovely girl. I see, from the ring, that she's also a married girl. Should I ask what you're doing with her?”
“Mom, it's not what you think. I'm doing her a favor, that's all. She's the wife of a patient, and she asked me to help her pick out a few new outfits. It's purely platonic, trust me.”
“It's a shame, I really like her. And I think I see a new you today. You were actually interested in what she was saying. I'm not sure if you even noticed how her skirt truly fit.”
“Mom, I'm not Dad. I get tired of you failing to see that.”
“Mark, I'm sorry. I really miss you. I promise not to compare you to him anymore. You were never like him before. It's just that in the last few years ...You know what, never mind anything I said. Come for dinner on Sunday like you used to?”
I tried to finish up changing and stop focusing on their conversation. I decided to wear one of the new outfits, a sexy, loose top with capri pants and slip-on shoes. I felt like the Barbie now, with so many new clothes bundled in my arms, ready to check out.
“I'll give you a call, Mother,” he said.
He kissed her on the cheek and waited to walk with me to the sales counter with my purchases. I hugged his mother. “I will be back, Ms. Reilly. Thank you so much.”
“You're welcome, dear. I hope to see you again.” She looked at her son when she said it.
The credit slip was signed, and I was on cloud nine. I didn't even care that I had just spent the petty cash money for the next few months, the birthday fund, and the money that was set aside for a new car. (I had only saved five hundred so far.) So what if I was still driving the same car from college? It worked. Wesley wouldn't care; he got his six months ago. A brand-new Jeep. Blue, of course, with the limited package. He had yet to let me drive it. Said that since I had that fender bender two years ago, he didn't trust that I wasn't a magnet for parked cars along the street. Oh crap! I forgot the fact he would be needing a new car because of the accident. Well, we’d cross that bridge when we got to it. This wardrobe would ensure there would be a bridge to cross together when that time came.
I felt good about the new outfits and shoes. There was hope that I could be a different girl. At the very least, on the outside. For now. the lesson wasn't yet finished though. We were on our way out of the store when we passed through the intimate apparel section. I blushed walking past the silky negligees draped over the headless mannequins with perky, fake breasts. “If you don't mind a suggestion?” Mark asked.
He had stopped in front of a rack of ivory-colored night gowns. The shimmery silk begged to be touched.
“That red one, the other night, was drop-dead, man-fighting, adorable on you. But, if I could add my two cents, I'd suggest something more like this.”
He pulled the floor length gown off the rack and held it up. The neckline plunged deep to where my bras usually covered and was balanced with two spaghetti-thin shoulder straps. “You have a presence of innocence, and I think this would suit you better. It says you are sexy, yet pure.”
Time ticked slower in the universe while we stood looking at one another, hovering in that moment. Just me, Mark, and a recommended piece of lingerie. The combination put my brain on pause. I was touched at his observation of me, the fact that he saw me and knew I didn't belong in that red teddy from hell. Let me not forget he did say I was adorable in it though. But having him pick out something so sophisticated, with me in mind, caused a flurry of heat inside me. I felt seen, interpreted, and suddenly desirable. I had to resuscitate the reason I was there.
“Pure? That's what drives a guy wild? That's what would drag you across the room to me? Pure?” I had to do something to break up the moment of honesty and extreme attraction that I was feeling toward him right then. Without warning or prompting, he seemed to be pushing all the right buttons inside me that I had imagined were broken or missing. I wasn't even sure if Wesley knew I still had buttons.
“Amy, you don't want to be something you're not, do you?”
“I just want to be wanted by Wesley. I think he's had it up to here with pure. Thanks, anyway.” That's right, Amy. Keep saying his name and reminding yourself that you're married. I'm sure you can still achieve this warm-lava feeling in the pit of your stomach with your husband.
“Where do you want to go next?” I tugged at my new blouse. I had to find something to do with my hands. He insisted on carrying all my bags.
“Let's go to the park. I love to go there. We can work on your up-tightness. Come on. You can ride with me, if you don't mind.”
“A girl that minded would be uptight, right?”
“You're catching on.” He walked me to his black Porsche and opened my door. My butterflies went along for the ride. Where were these feelings coming from? My brain needed to remind my hormones I was a married woman, not a school-aged girl with dreamy eyes for my teacher.
“I must say, I feel like you're getting the bad end of the deal,” I admitted.
Mark sped through town with the ease of a seasoned taxi driver and the confidence that he was above the law. “How do you mean? You are going Saturday, aren't you? I mean, provided Wesley doesn't wake up.”
“He will eventually wake up, right? You said he would.” Feelings of fear managed to kill a few of my butterflies.
“There is no evidence to prove otherwise. His vitals are good and his brain waves are stable. He'll wake up when he's ready. Don't be concerned. I'm keeping a close eye on him.”
“I told you. God is giving me time to get this right. And, yes, I am going Saturday. But, it won't be long before Mrs. Willis knows I'm not real. I charge for cameo appearances, you know.”
“Now, see. That was not uptight. It's ultra-cool of you to do this for me. No uptight person would go and pretend to be my wife. I will figure out how to end it. Maybe I'll discover that the baby isn't mine, and we'll end up with a quick Caribbean divorce.”
“There you go. Ever the break-up artist.”
We got out of the car, and Mark opened the trunk and pulled out a blanket. “Please tell me that thing is clean. I can't sit on something that has foreign substances on it.”
“Uptight, Amy. Uptight. For your information, nothing has been done on this blanket. Close calls, but nothing. I take it to the park on warm days and lie in the sun. My townhouse has no yard. It's something I miss from growing up in the suburbs.”
We walked toward an open spot and spread the blanket out. I sat down properly, lifting my knees slightly and leaning on the palms of my hands. If only my co-workers could see me now. Sure, I might have eluded to them the possibility that I was sexy-challenged, but if I could find a way to take a selfie of Mark and me, they'd really have something to talk about ov
er lunch.
It was warmer, now that it was later in the day. There were more people than I figured would be at the park on a weekday afternoon. Where were they supposed to be? Didn't anyone have a real job? Now mothers pushing babies, I get. There were a few. Most of them with other mothers and children close to the same age as theirs. But there were couples there. Some without their own blankets, just sitting or lying in the middle of the grass, trying to escape the shade of the large oak trees. Closing their eyes and stretching their necks as high to the burning sun as possible. Or in the case of the two blondes over by the fountain, I wasn't sure they remembered they were in a public place. His hands were all over her. I felt heat crash to my cheeks and forehead just watching.
I closed my eyes and positioned my face toward the sun, feeling the heat it was giving off without the frigid air that had plagued us all dreary winter long. Vitamin D wasn't such a bad proposition after all. I opened one eye and saw Mark stretched out on his back and smiling as the sun painted its bright color on his face. “How did you and Wesley meet?”
“We were childhood friends. Our parents were inseparable.”
“Have you been together for that long? Since childhood? No wonder it's lacking.”
“No. Thank you very much.” I smoothed out the edge of his gray, thin blanket on the grass. “He dated other girls. He even dated my sister. But then again, who hasn't? She's the female version of you. No offense.”
“None taken, I guess. Why didn't it work out with him and your sister?”
“She left after my parents died. That's what she does. When the chips are down, she's gone. She hasn't even returned my call about Wesley.”
Waking Amy (Amy #1) Page 5