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

by Whitney Dineen

  Elliot finally interrupts me as it doesn’t appear I’m going to come up for air anytime soon and asks, “How did you find out?”

  There’s a long pause before I find the words, “I heard it from the people on my team.” Then add for good measure, “Apparently it’s not a big secret.”

  Elliot answers, “It’s not. It’s just that Beatrice has asked me not to tell people who don’t already know. She likes the feeling of pretending she doesn’t have a history with the disease.”

  “Yes, well…” I stammer, “Is there any way we can count on you to speak? There will of course be press at the event so I’m thinking it will help to promote your new book as well, even though I’m sure it won’t have any bearing on your decision.”

  Without even asking the date first, Elliot declares he will come. I offer, “Of course you will have two tickets in case Beatrice would like to join you.”

  Elliot says that he will ask her but that she is not a huge fan of New York. Then he quietly asks, “Mimi, do you understand now?”

  I’m at risk of bursting into tears for the four-hundred-millionth time in the last forty-eight hours, I take a sip of water to see if I can dislodge the lump in my throat and answer, “Yes, Elliot, I understand.” Sounding a little wobbly, I add, “And I want you to know you have my support. Beatrice is lucky to have you.”

  Elliot is quiet for about thirty seconds too long when he adds, “I still love you.”

  Damn lot of good that’s going to do me, so striving for a business-like pitch, I state, “Thank you. But I’m sure it’s the best thing for both of us to simply move on and pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

  Elliot responds angrily, “Is that what you really want, to pretend that nothing happened?”

  “What I really want, Elliot, apparently has no chance of happening so I think it’s best if we forget we ever meant anything to one another and get on with our lives.”

  He heatedly inquires, “So you’ve already moved on have you?”

  I know he’s hurt and I know in my heart I haven’t moved on, but for the sake of my thready sanity, I answer, “Yes, Elliot. I have.”

  He demands, “With Richard?”

  I’m getting mad at his proprietary tone and ask, “Why does it matter who I’ve moved on with? You’re engaged to another woman. Therefore, I can be involved with anyone I like.”

  Elliot declares, “I’ll be in New York by Wednesday. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  Surprised by the change in topic, I say, “But Elliot the luncheon isn’t until next week. You certainly don’t need to arrive that soon.”

  He exclaims, “I’ll be there Wednesday,” and then he hangs up on me.

  That conversation went well. I’m not sure what I expected, but I certainly didn’t expect him to be mad at me. I mean if anyone has a right to anger, it’s me, right? It briefly occurs to me that it’s no wonder nuns live longer than other women. There are no men in their lives to make them crazy.

  The rest of the day is spent going over the RSVP list for the luncheon and beginning the long process of hammering out a seating chart. There was an incident at a recent fund-raiser where the first wife of a local real-estate mogul was seated at the same table with the second wife, the very one who destroyed her twenty-year marriage. It didn’t help matters that the second wife was recently dumped and a third wife was in the works. Helena was seated at a table next to them and claims they spent the whole meal shooting barbs at each other, until wife number one got so angry she replaced her barb with a buttered roll. Wife two retaliated with a chicken breast and before you knew it was a full-fledged food fight. I started to laugh when I heard the tale but it also reinforced how tricky these seating charts can be. The New York society scene is totally beyond me. I mean, the worst thing that could happen in Pipsy would be two ladies at the same table wearing the same dress and chances are they would simply laugh off the coincidence or congratulate each other on their good taste.

  Jocina caught up with me at lunch to relay how her Friday night at Slaughter ended. She brought home a gorgeous man who claimed to be an account executive at Morgan Stanley, but when she Googled him this morning, she discovered he was, in fact, a school teacher from New Jersey. She was incensed by his duplicity and asked if I could believe the nerve of him. I asked if it mattered that much what he did for a living and she happily said no. The problem was that he lived in NEW JERSEY. She said it in capital letters too, indicating that he in fact lived in THE GUTTER. I said I had heard that New Jersey was a lovely place to live and asked if I had been given incorrect information.

  Jocina is so irritated with my Ellie May, c-e-m-e-n-t pond, knowledge of life in the big city that she simply claims, “You don’t know yet. But just you wait, in another couple of months you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  I smile and nod all the while thinking, who cares where the guy is from as long as he’s not hiding a wife and three kids there? It occurs to me there should be some sort of handbook written for new singles who move to this city so we can at least speak the same language as the natives. For instance NEW JERSEY equals outside the realm of possibility and the phrase, “I’d love to, call me,” equals “I gave you the phone number for the pizza place down the block.”

  I’m once again relieved I have Richard in my life. He was so sweet with me on Saturday night when I broke down over the movie I can’t help but wonder how much longer he’s going to be able to put up with my sadness over Elliot. After Richard let me cry my eyes out, he packed himself off to his own apartment across town. I wish I could tell him an exact date when I would be ready to put Elliot in my past. At least then he’d know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. And now Elliot is coming back to New York, so I won’t be able to bury him quite yet. Although I do vow to only see him in conjunction with work. That ought to keep some of my angst at bay.

  I didn’t weigh-in at Weight Watchers over the weekend so I’m going to go now, over my lunch hour. I discover a center not even two blocks from work. When I walk in, I’m immediately struck by how very similar this location is to the one in Pipsy and while my leader does not have Marge’s Zen-like Buddha nature, she’s still pretty cool. Her name is Babette, which makes me feel like I’ve walked into a French film, yet she is as American as they come. Babs, as she prefers to be called, lost forty pounds on Weight Watchers after the birth of her fourth child and with the help of the program, has kept it off for ten years. She’s all gung ho about the plan and I find her enthusiasm very inspiring. She doesn’t even cringe when she announces I’m up a pound and a half from last week. She just looks at my chart and says that sometimes happens after a week of big loss. I stare at her and wonder how she knows about my big loss, as I assume she’s talking about Elliot. But then it occurs to me she might be simply talking about my last weight loss, or is she? I start to think maybe Weight Watchers is run by a group of weight conscious psychics.

  On my way back to the office, I realize it’s once again time to reel myself in and start counting points. I’m actually looking forward to it as counting points makes me feel like I have some power over a life spiraling out of control. Yes, I know I’m being a wee bit dramatic, but I can’t seem to help myself. My emotions have been all over the board this week; from deliriously happy one second, to inconsolably miserable the next. It’s like reliving my teen years.

  I’m running a few minutes late for a “Pink” meeting when I get back to the office so I hurry straight into Helena’ s office before even dropping my purse on my desk. I learn that while I did a pretty good job with the seating chart, I did make one terrible mistake. I inadvertently put a mother and daughter at the same table who have not spoken in three years. The mother, a famous author, refused to let her daughter use the same last name of her nom de plume and the daughter cut ties immediately. She felt it was her mother’s duty to afford her every step up possible. “The thing is,” Helena explains, “the mother is a serious novelist and the daughte
r writes erotic women’s fiction.” The mother didn’t want her fans to pick up her daughter’s book and in anyway assume she was responsible for spawning a child that wrote sentences like, “He speared her velvet sheath with his throbbing hard man sword.” I had to vote with the mother on this one. I know if my mom were to ever accidentally buy such a book there would be masses said and forgiveness begged with a Hail Mary here and an Our Father there. It would be the Catholic version of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.”

  Once the seating arrangements are finished, I announce my good news (this is a relative statement of course). Helena and Jocina are delighted Elliot will be one of the speakers as having a man at these events always seems to bring out additional press. Why, they aren’t sure, but this has always been the way. Somehow men give cachet to women’s diseases. Jocina claims she’s surprised that more of them don’t publicly support breast cancer as she explains, “Our boobs are just as important to them as they are to us.”

  With the exception of having to see Elliot, I’m really looking forward to the event. Shimmer is setting up booths to give free makeovers and the gift for buying a seat at the luncheon is a big pink gym bag full of goodies from the new “Pink” line. We have six confirmed celebrity speakers and another twenty-three confirmed celebrity guests. I can’t help but think, Mimi, you’re not in Pipsy anymore.

  Chapter 37

  It’s been a few days since I’ve talked to Kevin as he and Muffy are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship. I haven’t wanted to bother him with constant “poor me” phone calls. But now I feel like I should fill him in on what’s going on with Elliot. So when I get home from work, I call. He picks up on the second ring and I demand, “Are you ever going to get a job?”

  “Heya, Meems!” He’s excited to hear from me even though I’ve just slandered his work ethic. Kevin is such a happy-go-lucky kind of guy that I want to kick his ex-wife all over again for putting him through so much. He declares, “I have decided to open my own business and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you next week.”

  “When you see me next week?” This is the first I’ve heard about him and Muff setting a date to visit New York. I’m thrilled to hear it as Elliot will be here then and I can use every buffer I can get.

  Kevin replies, “We were going to call you today and let you know we’ll be arriving on Tuesday and we’ll be there until Sunday.”

  Genuinely excited, I declare, “I can’t wait to see you both! I’ll have to check and make sure Renée’s couch is a roll out, but if it’s not, you guys can take my room and I’ll sleep on the cushions on the floor.”

  “We’re not staying with you, Meems.” Kevin seems shocked I had thought so.

  So I ask, “Why not? Hotels are expensive in this city.” Then just to give him a hard time, I add, “Especially when you’re not working.”

  “Oh, ha ha ha. Just because I’ve taken a couple months off to get my act together does not mean I don’t still have a great savings. Plus, we got a terrific rate on Expedia and this way we won’t be tripping all over each other.”

  I’m a little disappointed that I won’t get to have a slumber party with my little sister and friend, but I soldier on, “Have you heard that Elliot is going to speak at the luncheon that I’m helping to organize?”

  Kevin asks, “The breast cancer thing? As a matter of fact I have heard and I’m hoping that Muff and I can get tickets to come.”

  I’m shocked by this and answer, “I’ll see what I can do, but why do you guys want to attend?”

  He answers, “To support Beatrice. I know she’ll be happy to have some friends there.”

  “Beatrice is coming?”

  My friend replies, “You didn’t know? I thought she was invited.”

  I stammer, “Well of course she’s invited but Elliot said she didn’t like New York. So I just assumed she’d bow out.”

  “She’ll be there. There’s a doctor at Sloan Kettering she’s going to meet with and her appointment is next week. So she figured she might as well attend the luncheon while she’s in town.”

  This makes sense as Sloan Kettering is one of, if not the premier cancer facilities in the country. So I ask, “Will she be arriving with Elliot on Wednesday?”

  Kevin didn’t think so, but inquires, “Elliot’s going this Wednesday? Why so early?”

  I don’t know what to tell him, so I simply reply, “I think he’s mad at me. I’m under the impression that he’s coming early to simply be nasty to me for a few days.”

  “Why’s he mad at you?”

  I reply, “Because I told him I’ve moved on with Richard.”

  Kevin inquires, “Yeah, so? He’s engaged.”

  See, I’m not the only one who thinks Elliot has no reason to be put out with me. So I agree, “I know! I told him the same thing. But apparently in the mind of Elliot Fielding I’m supposed to stand back and watch while he marries another woman, all the while staying single and pining for him like a tragic gothic figure.”

  Kevin is quiet for a moment then asks, “Did Elliot tell you that he loves you again?”

  I answer, “Yes. But so what? It’s not like he plans to do anything about it.”

  “Oh Mimi, your life is like watching bad television.”

  I know this is true but to hear it said outside of my head is actually quite painful. I snap, “Thanks, Kev. It’s nice to know the critiques are in.”

  He apologizes, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just so sad to see two people who love each other not be able to be together. Then there’s Beatrice. I feel awful for her too.”

  And while Beatrice’s story is a million times more tragic than mine, I still can’t help but feel sorrier for myself. So I say nothing. After discussing my new job, new city, and new Weight Watchers branch, Kevin and I sign off until next week.

  I feel drained when I hang up the phone and all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for another week. Of course with my recent history of depression, I don’t do this. Instead I check the freezer for anything with the names Ben and Jerry written on it. Sadly, as I am the one who stocked the freezer, I come up dry. I settle for three Weight Watchers fudge bars. Marge has previously warned me that just because they are only worth one point each doesn’t mean that the calories don’t still add up, but I don’t care. I need comfort and this is as close as I’m going to get given my recent grocery list.

  As I plow my way through the fudge bars, I feel very alone. Of course my family is always there for me, but they’re home in Pipsy with their own lives. Kevin is there for me, but same story as my family, plus he’s friends with Beatrice. Richard is there for me, but I simply can’t bring myself to pick up the phone and complain to him about Elliot again. Certainly I owe it to him to do some grieving on my own. There are a couple of friends I could call back home, but let’s face it, my current situation would not exactly make the average small town girl pull out her violin and play me a dirge. I hear a phantom conversation in my head.

  “Joan, this is Mimi Finnegan, how are you?”

  A beleaguered Joan replies, “Both kids have the chicken pox and Bob is always away on business, the sump pump stopped working, and the gophers are back. How are you?”

  “Oh Joan, I’m so glad you asked. I’m terrible! I’ve lost almost ten pounds, dyed my hair a gorgeous shade of red, got a whole new wardrobe, and I’ve moved to an amazing apartment in New York City. My life couldn’t be any worse! The hardest part is two extraordinarily wealthy and attractive men are both head over heels in love with me. What am I going to do?”

  Joan obviously hangs up around the “I’ve lost ten pounds” mark. No matter how you cut it, people are going to have a hard time feeling sorry for me in light of all of my recent good fortune, even though this good fortune is very, very recent. Remember up until a month ago I was just an average, mousy brown-haired frump. I was okay in their eyes then, but only because I hadn’t dared to set myself apart. The minute I started to make positive changes, I got
cut from the herd. While I am certainly nowhere near as gorgeous as Renée, I have a brief moment of empathy for her. She has probably garnered very little sympathy and understanding in her life. After all, who pities a supermodel?

  I still long to call someone. I need to hear the comforting voice of someone who will tell me that it’s all going to be okay. That’s when I know there is only one person in my life that fits the bill and yes, that person is Marge. I dig through my purse and unearth the business card she gave me with her home number on it. As I punch in the area code, I wonder if I should really intrude on her. Yet, who am I kidding? I need her. I have to intrude. A kindly sounding man answers the phone and I ask if Marge is available.

  She picks up the phone a moment later and trills, “Yelloooowwww! This is Marge.”

  I stammer, “Marge I’m not sure if you remember me, but this is Mimi Finnegan. I belong to Weight Watchers…”

  Marge cuts me off, “Of course I remember you, dear. How’s that big shiny apple?”

  I inform Marge the move went well. I love my job and apartment. Then she asks how I did on my weigh-in. I confess I gained a pound and a half and she declares, “Excellent! I was hoping you’d have a gain this week.” Then she proceeds to utter the magic words, “Everything is moving along right on track.”

  I ask, “Are you sure Marge?”

  She answers, “I’m sure, honey. You took off too much weight with your little depression. This gain is actually a good thing. Now next week, I say go ahead and go for another loss, but only a small one.” Then she adds, “Everything is going to be just fine.”

  What she doesn’t say, but what I hear is, “This is path you’ve chosen, grasshopper. It is all meant to be.”

  Chapter 38

  I spent all of yesterday in a pre-Elliot fog. The first thing I thought of when I woke up was, “Elliot is coming tomorrow.” The first thing I thought of before I went to bed was, “Elliot is coming tomorrow.” My thoughts during breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all pretty similar. Then I open my eyes this morning and it’s, “Holy crap, Elliot is coming today!” I have no idea what time he’ll be arriving and I have no idea if I’ll even see him, but just knowing that he’ll be here in the same city is pretty much toying with my sanity in a major way.