She blew a strand of hair from her eyes, her hand fumbling with the cap on her water bottle. After draining its contents, she hauled herself to her feet and trudged towards the exit gate.
Back at her apartment, a small gift sack hung over the doorknob, a box of mini chocolates tucked inside. She scanned the attached tag and read, “Here’s to starting a new week and hoping it goes better than the last one did–Ethan.”
A warmth flooded her face that had nothing to do with the strenuous morning jog or the three flights of stairs she climbed afterwards. Her heart fluttering as she held the first gift she ever received from a man who wasn’t related to her. Too bad she couldn’t properly enjoy it.
“I’ll eat it after the diet,” she told Firefly, as she stowed it in the refrigerator. Wishing she could have savored it then and there, along with the knowledge that it came from a thoughtful, attractive man–even if it was just meant in a friendly way.
It was, wasn’t it?
*****
The cover for the latest issue of Accessorized magazine featured Claudia Kellar in a short trench coat, miniskirt, black tights, and boots. The words “London Calling” emblazoned to the side in bold caps; the glossy runway shots inside forming a gallery of the season’s hottest European-style trends.
Tess shoved her copy aside, placing a glass of carrot and parsley juice in its place on the coffee table. It was day three of the great weight loss experiment, and her stomach had already launched a loud and valiant protest. But with Ethan’s chocolate stowed in the back of the fridge–and every other sweet she owned rotting in the dumpster below–there was nothing to cheat with.
Adventures in jogging continued, with the discovery that the rude blonde was a regular at the park. And perhaps in training for some kind of Olympic event, judging from her inordinate amount of aggression.
“Out of the way, please!” she would scream, jostling Tess’s elbow as she streaked past in an angry blur. Her expensive athletic shoes beating the pavement in a fast and furious rhythm, as her tight ponytail flapped behind her in the wind.
The urge to snag that ponytail and give a firm yank was unbearable at times. But she knew that revenge was best served cold. And besides, there was no way she could catch a person who seemed to possess the powers of the Flash.
On Thursday, Tess walked to the stationary shop on the corner and purchased basic sketch artist supplies. It was time to utilize the skills she studied six years to achieve; to put the clothing designs she envisioned in her head onto paper. Time to “embrace her true self in all areas of life,” as the juicer’s companion guidebook urged in today’s motivational entry.
But, of course, in between there was still a living to be made. So she spent the rest of her afternoon placing phone calls, asking readers for their opinions on cosmetic surgery and the pros and cons of a rebound relationship. Performing stretches and sometimes squats as she waited for someone to answer the phone ringing on the other end.
Dinner was Spicy Bean Burgers, a recipe the diet guide promised would be “almost as good as the real thing”. After forming the bean and flour patties–with a liberal dose of garlic added for flavoring–she left them frying on low while she searched the bedroom closet for her old fashion portfolio. There were some unfinished ideas in it she felt certain would be prime inspiration for her new career.
“There you are,” she murmured, snagging the bulging folder, which had been stuffed in a box that also held photograph albums and school yearbooks. Relegated to the past without a second thought, it would seem. Well, perhaps, there was still a chance to breathe new life into this part of her history.
She paged through the different designs, pretending to consult the curious Firefly about ones she felt still had potential. “What do think?” she asked, holding up a sketch of a girl’s dress, its top made like a jumper, while its layered, poofy skirt was tightly cinched by a belt. “Too nineteen eighties, right?”
Tossing it aside, she dug deeper into the stack of papers. Patterns for women’s business suits, slinky evening gowns, and tuxedo dresses scattered across the floor. Some were better than others, but most were at least as professional as any of the clothes featured in Accessorized.
As she poured over the rather diverse creations, she managed to forget all about the food cooking in the next room. Until the kitchen fire alarm came to life with a shrill beep.
“Oh, no!” Tess rushed towards the cloud of smoke hovering above the stove. Transferring the smoking pan to a different burner, she climbed atop the kitchen table and pried the smoke alarm from the ceiling. After a moment of fumbling, she managed to pop the batteries out, restoring silence.
Locking Firefly in the bedroom, she propped open the living room window and door, hoping to filter out the haze of smoke. “Everything okay?” a voice called from the hallway. Ethan leaned tentatively round the doorway a moment later. Dressed in faded jeans and a dark red jersey, sleeves rolled, his sandy hair casually rumpled.
“Fine,” she said, blushing at his sudden appearance. “I was just…cooking something.” Her gaze moving doubtfully to the so-called “burgers.” Which had a crusty black look instead of the pale, pasty hue shown in the book.
“Interesting smell,” he teased, sniffing the air. “Smoked garlic?”
“Yeah, sort of.” She laughed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Why did things suddenly seem so awkward between them? “Oh, by the way…thanks for the gift yesterday,” she added, keeping her tone casual. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged, his expression shifting to a careful nonchalance. “Well, you looked like you needed cheering up after that meeting at your workplace. And I know you love chocolate so…”
“Oh, I do. Too much,” she added, with a pat against her stomach. “Which is why I’ve started a diet.”
“Really?” A look of realization dawned, his gaze traveling back to the burnt bean patties. “That’s great. I mean, really great. Taking control of your life, right?”
“I hope so,” she said.
An awkward silence fell, with both glancing around the room, as if in search of a new conversation topic. Or perhaps an escape from this unfamiliar shyness.
“Well, I would offer you a faux burger,” she began, clearing her throat, “but you probably wouldn’t like it. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of the burned and blackened variety of cooking.”
He grinned, relaxing under her silly sense of humor. “I’m afraid I’ve never developed a taste for it. I better get going anyway–two new products waiting for review. See you around, okay?”
She nodded, pretending to busy herself with the pile of dirty silverware and dishes, as he ducked out the door. Waiting ‘til his step had faded before she slumped against the counter.
What was wrong with her anyway? Getting a crush on a neighbor, on anybody you had to live or work around for that matter, was a big mistake. And she ought to know–after all, she’d conducted a survey on it, only a month ago.
*****
“Pick your weight goal, and then buy your “dream” dress in that size. Concrete actions like this can make your dreams reality…”
Was this a good idea? Tess repeated the diet guidebook’s words in her mind for reassurance, as she gazed through the display window for The Latest Thing, an upscale Manhattan clothing shop. Fingers tightening around her purse strap as she surveyed the mannequin’s expensive but flawless garb. A strapless sea green cocktail dress, then a champagne-colored mermaid number that made her knees go weak.
Slipping inside, she did her best to look as if she were a regular customer paying a casual visit. Training her gaze straight ahead, despite the temptation to oggle every gorgeous gown remotely close to her “dream” size. Which was still a few dozen pounds away, according to her morning scale check.
“Can I help you miss?” a salesgirl had approached and was surveying her with slightly raised brows. Probably she wasn’t used to seeing customers in a Capri and t-shirt ensemble.
; “I–I’m just looking, for the moment,” Tess stammered, in a flustered voice that destroyed her weak attempts at nonchalance. With a brisk smile, she turned her attention to a nearby rack of summer party dresses. A delicate, filmy style similar to the one she’d seen Claudia Kellar sporting that day she visited the office.
She pulled a cream-colored eyelet dress from the rack and held it against her chest. Knee-length with a black sash that tied across the waist, it screamed fun, flirty, and fabulous.
Did she dare try to pull something like that off? Her stomach clenched with a combination of excitement and apprehension. Wondering if she could ever possess that sort of unshakable confidence, even if she had a waistline the same as the mannequin’s in the display window.
Her gaze roamed in that direction again but didn’t focus on the stylish outfits this time. Instead, she found herself eavesdropping on the two middle-aged business women who were busy studying the mermaid gown against the afternoon light.
“This one is a candidate–especially if we emphasize the glitter lipstick and eye shadow,” said the one who was holding up the dress fabric. A bony figure, with cat eye glasses and a tight face that suggested a few visits to a cosmetic surgeon. Her pony-tailed companion nodded and made a note on her clipboard.
Tess’s brow furrowed. Where had she seen those women before? Not in her apartment building, she knew. Since Ethan and her landlady were just about the only faces she encountered in her rare elevator rides and trips to the laundry room.
“What about some gloves?” the pony-tail woman speculated, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “And we might need a head scarf–something to draw the eye to the face region.”
In a flash she remembered: Nikki Decker and Mia Cattrell. Two famous faces from the staff at Accessorized.
Tess yanked the row of summer dresses back in front of her, leaving only a minuscule spy hole. Would they recognize her? Speak to her? A possibility she dreaded, since their previous encounters were limited to staff meetings. Where the two women exchanged conspiratorial smiles at the sight of their plump co-worker sampling the complimentary tray of coffee and donuts.
No doubt they would have a good laugh over the sight of her “dream” dress. And since Nikki was known as the queen of the water cooler, the story of her little shopping experiment would spread like a virus through the Accessorized headquarters.
Unless, of course, you pull yourself together and get out of this mess. After all, most of her co-workers treated her like the invisible woman at magazine parties. So how hard could it be to escape their notice on purpose?
Still clutching the adorable little eyelet dress, Tess ducked down the aisle for prom ware. Feeling a little foolish–but undeniably desperate–she squatted down and pretended to examine the hem on a glittering purple monstrosity. If worse came to worse, she could crawl beneath its fabric, since the skirt was tent-style, with a circumference Scarlet O’Hara might be proud of.
“What about this for the head scarf?” Mia–the one with the pony-tail–asked in a voice that seemed to have moved alarmingly close to Tess’s hideout.
“That’s too much of a cream hue,” came Nikki’s snippy reply. “I’m thinking of something with more of a transparent camel shade.” The sound of hangers sliding over a medal rung told Tess they were mere feet away now.
Her movements muffled by the carpet, she begin crawling towards the end of the aisle. Where she paused and drew a deep breath before peering round the corner. Inching forward, she managed to spy Nikki’s stilettos before a voice at her side made her gasp.
“Miss? Are you alright?”
The salesgirl was peering down at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
“Are you thinking of trying something on?” the woman continued, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical inquiry. “I can unlock the dressing room if you like. Or perhaps assist you in finding something special.”
“No, no,” Tess breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m all right, thank you.”
“I see you’re interested in our prom night apparel. Are you shopping for a sister, or perhaps a niece?”
She shook her head, only slightly mollified by the woman’s assumption she was too young to have a teenage daughter of her own. “I really don’t need–” her protest trailed off as the two fashion assistants came into view. Nikki’s too-taut brow struggling to furrow as she recognized Tess hunched on the floor.
“I’m fine thank you,” Tess stammered, climbing to her feet. “I work in fashion and I was merely examining the fabric on some of these gowns.”
“Oh, of course,” the salesgirl said, her confusion turning to a relaxed smile. “Then you must be shopping for a client. But if you would like to see that dress your holding in your own size then I would be happy–”
“This one is fine, actually.” She hugged the eyelet gown defensively as if prepared to have it ripped from her arms any moment. A move that inspired a sly little smirk from Nikki, who had undoubtedly remembered her by now.
“Excuse me,” Mia said, clearing her throat in the direction of the shop employee. “Would you mind wrapping up that mermaid dress in the display window? And also, we’d like to see a pair of cream colored opera gloves.”
“Pearl white would be better,” Nikki corrected. Offering Tess a fake smile a moment later. “How interesting to find you researching fabrics, Miss Gellar. Are you thinking of expanding your repertoire beyond telemarketing?”
Her face flamed at the cutting remark, so thinly disguised as polite inquiry. “You’re right,” she said, managing to copy Nikki’s sickly sweet tone. “I am planning to branch into artistic design. After all, I didn’t attend six years of classes and earn two B.A. degrees for nothing.”
This last remark was a bit of a low blow, since everyone knew the real reason for Nikki’s success in the magazine world, a tawdry affair with an older, married publisher, who chose to make her lucky wife number four. Rumor had it that number five was already in the works, despite Nikki’s valiant nip tuck efforts.
“Yes, well…” Nikki trailed off, some of the wind blown from her sails. “Good luck with your research. I really must go help Mia.”
Tess released, a long, low breath as the other woman disappeared in the direction of the clothing accessories department. Feeling empowered by the exchange, she had no trouble at all breezing up to the register and purchasing a daring dress in a size far too small. Head held high as she walked out of the shop, her “dream” future tucked safely in the brown paper bag that swung at her side.
The author of the diet guide would be very proud.
*****
“Ouch!”
Tess winced as the sewing pin pricked her finger, a drop of blood appearing a moment later. With a sigh, she placed aside the black wrap dress she had fished from the depths of her closet, and moved to the bathroom for a band aid. It seemed giving her wardrobe a makeover was going to be about as painful as giving her body one.
She riffled through the cluttered medicine cabinet until she found the first aid kit. As she swung the door shut, her reflection came towards her in the mirror. And she forgot all about the throb in her finger, as she caught traces of a natural hollowing around her normally plump cheeks.
Yes–the diet was beginning to work. At first she hadn’t been certain, even with her jeans bagging and the bathroom scale proclaiming her to be 15.5 pounds or so lighter than she was two weeks ago. But it seemed the last fourteen days of juicing and jogging had begun to pay off. She even felt lighter than before, though she had previously written this off as pure wishful thinking.
Wrapping the band aid round her finger, she padded back across the bedroom carpeting, where the formerly despised wrap dress was draped across a chair. Dress alteration had never been her strong point back in the textile workshop days, with instructors shaking their heads and “tsk-tsking” over her sloppy stitch work. No doubt, they would still be displeased by her lack of accuracy, her fondness for eyeballing a dimension rath
er than whipping out a tape measure.
So far, all she had managed with this project was to shorten the skirt and extract the hideous ruffle crisscross that refused to lay flat. She envisioned replacing it with an elaborate bead design once the dress had been taken in to match her final measurements.
“No one will recognize you,” she assured the dress, as she looped it back over its wire hanger. Though she could have been talking to herself, come to think of it. Already, she tingled with excitement at the thought of walking into her workplace, several dozen pounds lighter. Maybe she would even wear this dress, its fabric hugging her form this time instead of hanging over it like a curtain.
The rest of her wardrobe was piled on the bedspread, separated into piles of “fixable” and “beyond help”. For now, the first pile was the biggest, thanks to her newfound desire to place her fashion creations in motion. The purchase from yesterday’s shopping adventure hung across the closet door, where it fluttered enticingly in the breeze from the ceiling fan.
In between designing and dress altering, Tess fixed a watermelon and cucumber juice and placed calls to readers for a survey on best first date movies.
“The action flicks are the best, because it makes them feel all protective and heroic–you know?” said Miss Lake, a chatty legal secretary who was home with a cold. “I mean, mushy stuff can be good too, but all that adrenaline just puts some extra zing in a guy’s confidence.”
“Absolutely,” Tess answered, sipping the juice through a straw as her keyboard documented this bit of wisdom. Glad that for once, her magic voice wasn’t necessary to persuade the subject. Especially since it seemed to have lost some of its touch, even as her figure shrank to match the illusion.
“So Miss Lake,” she said, flipping open her work folder, “I see that you subscribed to our magazine for two years but chose not to renew. We’ve made many changes in Accessorized since then, and we would be happy to sign you up for a free trail if....”
Food for Love Page 3