The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan (The Mimi Chronicles Book 1)

by Whitney Dineen

  Edith Bunker declares as soon as I knew that Elliot wasn’t coming into the office, I should have switched shoes. I counter that he could have surprised me at any moment so I had to be prepared. On and on we go until I wonder why Archie never divorced this bitch. I mean, honestly every time she opens her bunion mouth I just want to get a knife and cut her off.

  Francoise asks me one more time if I want to know about the color, but at this point I’m so preoccupied with Edith Bunker I wave him away. Not in the least concerned he might be dying it hot pink with purple highlights. There are two steps to my coloring process instead of the normal one and I finally begin to get a little nervous. Francoise assures it’s simply because I have a good deal more gray than normal and he has to obliterate it before tending to the highlights.

  I close my eyes while the color brews and visualize how I will look when I’m done. Somehow the dye is magical and once it’s washed out and my hair is styled, I look just like my supermodel sister. With a smile on my face, I continue the fantasy all the way to the alter, where Elliot awaits me in regal anticipation.

  Francoise nudges me and croons, “This way mi amore, meine liebchen, bonita…” He throws international endearments at me all the time, but today I eat them up like a starving castaway. Once I’m rinsed and scrubbed, he leads me back to his station and finishes off my miraculous transformation. Thirty-five minutes later he spins me around and announces, “Voilà!” That’s when I gaze into the mirror and realize I look nothing like Renée. Because I’m a redhead!

  Francoise asks me to close my mouth and really look at myself before saying a word. Ten minutes pass before I can speak. As a rule, I have a very delicate apple cart, easily upset by subtle change, yet alone dramatic ones. During this time of silence my apple cart tips, and tips, threatening a spectacular spill, but it never actually falls over. Francoise can’t take it a moment longer and demands, “What do you think of it already?!”

  As a slow smile creeps over my face, I love it. I have the mysterious, sexy, almost wanton look that only a redhead can achieve. I look individual and unique and thoroughly stunning. I want to kiss Francoise right on the mouth but am afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle the shock as I’m sure that that one smooch from me, looking like this, would catapult him straight into heterosexuality. I am woman, hear me roar!

  It’s two-thirty before I leave the salon as I decide to have my makeup done while I’m here. After all, I don’t know how to do a redhead’s makeup. Charlene sits me down and starts to enumerate key tips to remember but I can’t hear a word she’s saying. The applause in my head is drowning her out.

  The boys meet me at Renée’s workroom at three to make sure the dress fits appropriately. I’ve asked them not to tell my sister that I’m wearing it tonight because I don’t want my family to think there’s someone special, yet. Once they find out that I’ve staked out a man, they’ll make me miserable with constant demands to know how it’s going. Plus, they can never know I’m after Elliot. They now view him as off the market, due to this alleged girlfriend.

  When I arrive, LeRon sees me first and almost succumbs to a fit of vapors. He lets out a squeal that nearly shatters the windows as he calls for Fernando. Once both boys are assembled they begin to dance around me like I’m their high priestess. LeRon declares, “But you’re gorgeous! Who would have ever known?”

  Fernando simply sighs, “Dios mio, you’re as beautiful as your sister.” I know I look good, but as beautiful as Renée? Yet if a gay man says it, it must be true, right?

  LeRon brings out the dress and it is without a doubt the most stunning creation I’ve ever seen. It is turquoise green with a plunging neckline that exposes a fair amount of my 36Cs. The bodice is as form-fitting as my own skin, and the skirt only offers enough extra room to sit. Normally, I’m super self-conscious of my curves and do everything in my power to conceal them. But this is a revelation! The boys tell me it’s so perfect because it was sewn to my exact measurements. “Off the rack,” they declare, “only looks good on the fit model the garments are sized on.”

  Happily, Renée and Laurent are out with the kids so I don’t have to explain my dramatic new hair color and the dress quite yet. On the way home I’m tempted to call Kevin and give him a heads up on how I look but then decide to just surprise him. I want to see an honest reaction so I can gauge the kind of effect I’m going to have on Elliot.

  Chapter 13

  Kevin arrives fifteen minutes before we need to leave so that I can help choose the right tie for him to wear. When I answer the door, his mouth drops open and he stammers, “Mimi, is that you?”

  I twirl to show myself off, front and back, and demand, “What do you think?”

  “Holy shit, you’re hot!”

  I throw my arms around him in grateful appreciation and pull him into the living room. I pick out a tie that complements my dress without making us look like a couple on the way to prom and we’re off. We have eight o’clock reservations at La Petite Maison, the same restaurant where Elliot is taking Philomena. I know this for a fact as I called to confirm his reservation this afternoon. Elliot’s reservation is for eight-fifteen which is why Kevin and I are arriving at eight. I want to be settled by the time he gets there so I can get an eyeful of the fiancée before we “bump into each other.”

  A soon as we get into the car that pain in the ass Edith Bunker starts yammering about how I’m wearing the wrong shoes again, but I just tell her to shut up. I’m bursting with too much excitement and hope to let her ruin my night. She punishes me for ignoring her by stabbing me with needles of piercing pain.

  Kevin and I are seated by the very admiring maître d' at a corner table as requested. We sit side by side so that we can mutually scrutinize the entrance. We have both been banking points all week in anticipation of really enjoying our night. A bottle of champagne gets ordered to celebrate our renewed friendship and Kevin raises his glass to me as he toasts, “Holy fucking shit, it can’t be!”

  Perplexed, I toast back, “Holy fucking shit to you too, buddy.”

  “No,” he whispers. “It’s Megan. She’s here with David, you know, the father of her child?”

  I look in the direction he’s pointing and gasp at the sight of who I assume is his very pregnant ex-wife. “What in the world is she doing in Pipsy?”

  He answers, “David’s parents live here. Oh Mimi, what do I do now?”

  My heart positively aches for him and I reply, “Leave it to me.”

  As Megan and David are led past our table I declare rather loudly, “Kevin Beeman, you have made me the happiest woman in the world. Thank you for a wonderful first year together!”

  Megan hears my toast and whips around as fast as a nine month pregnant woman can and asks, “Kevin? Is that you?”

  Taken completely off guard by my declaration, Kevin manages, “Megan, how are you?”

  Megan pats her stomach and says, “Fine. We’re fine.” She’s clearly considering my toast. Because she asks, “You’re celebrating your first anniversary, are you?”

  As Megan confessed her affair eight months ago, she is realizing that Kevin must have cheated on her first and she seems to be having quite an interesting time absorbing this bit of information.

  Kevin has pulled himself together enough to answer, “Would you like to meet Mimi?”

  Megan stares at him and simply replies, “No,” before turning to waddle back towards the front of the restaurant. (I wish my podiatrist were here so I could show him what a real waddle looks like). David, who has had the good sense not to utter a word, trails after her. As Megan turns to take one last look at Kevin before stalking out the front door, I lean in and kiss him for all I’m worth, which after my transformation is about eighteen hundred million dollars and change. That’ll show her for breaking my friend’s heart! Unfortunately, it also showed the Fielding party as they walked in at the same moment.

  “God damn it,” I whisper into Kevin’s mouth.

  Stunned by my attac
k, he replies, “Wow, that was some kiss!”

  “Elliot walked in just in time to catch it too.”

  Kevin pulls back and declares, “NO! This is not our night.”

  Stan and Ollie are up from their nap just in the nick of time to ruin all my hard work. How do I explain this to Elliot without appearing to be on the make for him? Those miserable old vaudevillians would get the ass-kicking of their lives if I knew how to get my hands on them.

  The first thing that I notice about Elliot’s fiancée is that she isn’t obese at all. In fact she’s slim and elegant and every inch a lady. All of a sudden I feel like a call girl with my boobs hanging out like an all you can eat buffet. As they walk by our table I notice that she is not gorgeous though. Her features are as plain as her mousy brown hair, which is the same color as mine used to be; which leads me to wonder why I let Francoise transform me. Obviously Elliot likes that shade of bacon grease. As they pass our table, Elliot smiles, and nods in our direction, as though he has no intention of saying hello. So I blurt out, “Hello, Elliot.”

  He stops mid-stride and stares at me. Then asks, “I’m sorry, have we met?”

  I’m about to scream at him for being such a ruthlessly stuck up prig when I realize he truly doesn’t recognize me. Shit, if I had just kept my mouth shut, he would have never known that I, Mimi Finnegan, kissed another man. Of course I wouldn’t have been able to foil his attempt at engagement, but still. My head is pounding with the reverberating hilarity of Stan and Ollie.

  I muster up, “Mimi Finnegan, we met at the office?”

  Elliot gasps, “Mimi? My goodness, you look nothing like yourself. I mean you look great…” he continues to stammer. “Not that you didn’t before…” then declares, “This is Beatrice (pause), my friend.”

  Beatrice, with all the warmth of an iceberg murmurs, “Hello.” She nods her head like Elliot does and I briefly wonder if the English are unfamiliar with our custom of shaking hands.

  There is an awkward pause before Kevin loses all of his marbles and takes on the persona of his gay alter ego. He flamboyantly declares, “Beatrice! What a positively gorgeous name! And look at you, all the grace and style of the queen herself! Why you are the epitome of class!” Beatrice, the little mouse, is eating this up and she beams adoringly at Kevin.

  I open my mouth as if to say something but have no idea what that would be so I close it again. Elliot looks shocked and amused and asks, “So Kevin, have you and Mimi been dating long?”

  “Dating?” Kevin asks as his eyes roll into his head. He snaps his wrists forward, “Good Lord, no! What would make you ask that?”

  Uncomfortably, Elliot replies, “I thought I saw you kissing when we walked in. I must have been mistaken.”

  With a belly laugh and a slap on the table, Kevin confides, “Oh, Meems was just helping me out.” Then he points, “See the bartender over there? He and I just broke up and I’m trying to make him jealous.”

  Elliot turns around to look at the very buff, very black bartender and asks, “You mean the one that’s holding hands with the blonde woman?”

  Discovering a new depth of homosexual drama, Kevin blasts, “That Nancy bitch, how dare he?!”

  I still haven’t said a word when Kevin asks, “Elliot, why don’t you and this rose (indicating the delighted Beatrice) of feminine pulchritude join us for a drink?”

  Elliot replies, “No thank you,” at the same time that Beatrice sits down next to Kevin and accepts.

  So there we sit four fish so far out of water that we might as well be in the desert. Kevin is completely monopolizing Beatrice, trying to give me time with Elliot and while I’m sure I must be grateful, I still have an immense desire to smack him. We are not at all following our script, but then again improvisation was in order after our lip-lock.

  I finally lean towards Elliot and apologize about the other day. He smiles and assures me the whole incident has been forgotten. Then I ask, “Is Beatrice in town for long?”

  He clears his throat and answers, “No, just a long weekend.”

  He doesn’t embellish so I say, “She’s lovely.” What am I thinking? Maybe I should suggest he propose to her. What I should say is, “Don’t marry her! Marry me!”

  He looks at me with a pained expression and utters, “Yes, well.”

  The Englishman and I appear to have nothing to say to each other and I could just cry at our awkwardness. After all, Kevin is doing a bang up job entertaining Beatrice and I am totally blowing my opportunity. I hear Kevin ask Beatrice to dance and almost spit out my champagne.

  Elliot takes that moment to try to get Beatrice to go to their own table but she insists she wants to dance with Kevin first. She seems to have developed a crush on him as a result of the extravagant attention he’s paying her. It occurs to me she is the ultimate fag hag.

  As soon as our dinner partners leave, Elliot leans a bit closer to me and says, “You look lovely this evening, Mimi. I like your hair.” While the compliment is not exactly delivered with an excess of passion, I still get chills.

  I thank him and tell him he looks very nice as well and then we just sit there in painful silence. After the next song starts and Kevin and Beatrice still don’t appear, Elliot offers, “Would you like to dance?”

  I shake my head and before I can stop the words, I say, “I’d love to but Edith Bunker won’t let me.”

  Elliot stares at me like he’s sitting with a schizophrenic who’s gone off her meds and responds, “I see.”

  I am beyond appalled at myself for blurting out such a thing and try to make it better by clarifying, “No, you don’t. Edith Bunker is my bunion.” I look at him like, see, now it makes sense. But of course it doesn’t.

  Peering from side to side to see if there’s a butterfly net within arm’s length, Elliot asks, “Your bunion is named Edith Bunker?”

  “Yes,” I try to explain, “but only because she sounds just like Edith Bunker.”

  “Ahh, your bunion is a girl and she talks to you?”

  I want to lay my head on the table and cry! Elliot Fielding is never going to want to spend the rest of his life with me now. After all, how many personal ads have you read that specify “mate with talking bunion preferred?” I slowly look up at him and announce, “I’m making such a fool of myself.” Then grabbing the bull by the horns, I add, “But only because I like you so much.”

  Elliot looks at me as though I’ve just thrown my drink in his face. He cocks his head to the side in an endearingly obtuse manor and says, “Mimi, I don’t know what to say. I mean…” and before he can say what he means Kevin twirls Beatrice back to the table.

  She is flush with excitement and actually has a rose between her teeth. Kevin declares, “The lady dances like a dream!” Elliot begins to excuse himself and his date claiming that it’s time they go find their table but Kevin announces, “Don’t be silly, you’re dining with us.”

  Beatrice pats Elliot’s hand and says, “That’s right, Elliot. Kevin asked us to join them and I said we’d be delighted to.”

  It appears Elliot and I would both rather lie down in front of an oncoming train than continue this unbearably awkward evening. But our dates have decided for us, so we can do nothing but try to make the best of it. The one ray of good news is there is no way Elliot is going to propose while we’re sitting here. The bad news is I’ve just told him I like him and have no idea in this world what he thinks of me. Other than I’m a crazy, stripping weirdo with a talking bunion.

  While searching out menus, Kevin asks me how many points I think are in the Coq au Vin. My guess is thirty thousand but I can’t be sure. Beatrice asks, “What are points and what do they have to do with food?”

  I send Kevin a “don’t you dare, under the penalty of death tell her about Weight Watchers look.” But he is already gazing at her in an adoring fashion and declaring, “Meems and I are on Weight Watchers. Our food gets broken down into points and we can only eat so many of them a day.”

  Beatrice
exclaims, “But Kevin, you’re perfect the way you are! In fact, I think you’re cuddly.”

  Beatrice using the word “cuddly” surprises me more than my mother saying the word “masturbate,” a word she uses every Thanksgiving when she declares that she’s bought a self-masturbating turkey. The first time she announced this, I went off turkey for six months. But now I know she means self-basting and I’m back on the bird. But Beatrice, cuddling? I can’t see it.

  While the dynamic duo chats away, Elliot leans towards me and says, “You don’t need to be on Weight Watchers. You look fabulous just the way you are.” I’m torn between asking him if he likes me too and jumping into his lap and declaring myself when I notice I can see inside his jacket pocket. What I spy is a definite ring sized box and my heart hits the floor. I’m no longer worried about how many points are in the food as I’m certain I can no longer manage to swallow with the huge lump forming in my throat.

  Elliot and I spend the rest of the meal casting furtive glances at each other as we try to make polite conversation. Beatrice and Kevin carry on like Siamese twins separated at birth. And while Kevin is supposed to be the Great Gaydini, I notice that he is acting just like his normal self. By the time the night is over, I have a pounding headache, a throbbing bunion, and a pit in my stomach. I just want to go home, take a bottle of aspirin and wake up next week.

  Chapter 14

  My teeth are killing me when I wake up this morning. Actually none of me really feels great. I think over the events of last night and suddenly realize that my life has taken on the subtext of a romantic comedy gone horribly wrong. Because in this movie girl does not get boy because boy thinks girl has fallen off her rocker and sustained serious cognitive damage.