• 64 •
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I winced. I hadn’t checked the voice mail. Brenda had always checked the voice mail and told me if I had a message. “No, I forgot.”
“I see. I left a message when I got here and I said I would try you again in a few days. Tonight was the Þ rst night I had free.”
I found myself wondering why her nights were so busy and the dull pang in my gut kept me from asking her. “Well, I’m glad you made it. Thank you for calling me.”
“Mia, can we talk, please?”
“No,” I said as Þ rmly as I could.
“No?” Brenda sounded shocked.
“You left, Brenda. You made the decision without talking to me about it.”
“So, I guess you meant it when you said that you wouldn’t wait for me, huh?”
I hate to admit to this, but I liked the sound of bewilderment in her voice. I liked it because it meant that I wasn’t the only one who was hurt and confused. “I wasn’t the one unwilling to talk. I wasn’t the one waiting till the last minute to spring a Þ ve-month trip halfway around the world on you.”
“I know I could have handled that better.”
“Better? You didn’t handle it at all.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m pissed,” I corrected and I realized that it wasn’t an exaggeration. I was pissed at Brenda, so pissed that I didn’t even want to talk to her. “Look, let’s not do this. Thank you for calling me. I’m sorry I missed your message from earlier this week, but right now I have to clean up the temper tantrum your dog left on the ß oor.”
“Mia…”
I said good night, pushed the end button, and stood staring at the wall. I couldn’t help feeling I should be more hurt, more angry, and more heartbroken. Instead, most of what I felt was embarrassment.
Embarrassment for the things she had said to me before she left. That’s not right, is it? I should feel something more, shouldn’t I?
I was still holding the phone, and when I pressed the receiver to my ear, sure enough, I recognized the broken dial tone that was supposed to alert me to the fact that there were messages. The Þ rst was from the gardener informing me that he would be out later that week to drop off his invoice. I assumed said invoice was still in the mailbox since I had neglected to pick that up too. The next voice mail was from my sister,
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
asking if I wanted to go shopping tomorrow. Just as she was about to hang up, she hesitantly tacked on that Ned’s eye was Þ ne and she hoped I wasn’t embarrassed, because no one blamed me for anything.
Had she not heard what I told her husband? How could she not notice the way we couldn’t be in the same room together without him gawking at my chest? Had she just let Ned off, or was she in denial?
Even as a small child, my sister never held a grudge. One minute she would be mad at me about something, and the next she wanted me to play with her. I supposed I should be thankful she wasn’t blaming me.
I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be so lucky with Ryan. She had every right to be angry with me, but I didn’t regret stopping things before they got out of hand. I wasn’t Goody. I would never be able to handle a one-night stand.
I dropped the phone back into the cradle and was halfway to the bathroom before I remembered that Pepito had left me with one more chore to do before I could slip off into solitude.
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
CHAPTER SIX
I abhorred the mall on Saturday afternoons. It wasn’t just the fact that it was teeming with kids wearing clothes that cost too much and attitudes that make me want to hurt them on principle, it was the smell and the noise, and the fact that I was beginning to be treated differently.
Case in point: Christina had gotten to the mall before I did. Instead of waiting in her car as I would have, she decided she would mosey on in. I knew where to Þ nd her. Christina was predictable. Her Þ rst stop was Gap Kids and her last was Nordstrom. I didn’t mind either of those stores; it was the ones in between that gave me the trouble. Sure enough, I spotted her curly blond head bobbing amongst the racks in Anne Clipper. If you’ve been in that store more than once, then you already know what my problem was. They hire freshman coeds, who probably couldn’t afford their clothes without the employee discount and a red tag sale, to stare down their noses at the customers who pay their wages.
I considered waiting outside in the hope that some demon would possess Christina and convince her to release whatever garment she had latched on to and leave the store without prodding. Yeah, right.
A chime sounded as I walked across the threshold of the store, but neither Christina nor the young sales clerk helping her looked in my direction.
Christina’s back was to me, but I could see that she was holding a garment out in front of her. The sales clerk, Tiffany according to her badge, was listening with grave seriousness to something my sister was saying.
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
“Yeah, I’ve tried that one on. It does run a bit big.” She took the hanger from Christina and held it up to her own chest. “I could bring you a zero too.”
Christina looked at the handkerchief-sized dress a little bit longer.
“I would hate for the waist to be too big, so maybe you should.”
A two? And who the fuck wears a size zero? That’s fucking ridiculous. I rolled my eyes and folded my arms in front of my chest.
My stomach was growling and Christina hadn’t even started trying on clothes yet.
“Uh, excuse me, I’m with a customer here. If you’ll wait for a few moments, one of my coworkers…” The look of utter annoyance on Tiffany’s face rankled. If I were Goody, I would have given her a piece of my mind. If I were Christina…well, she probably wouldn’t have ignored me in the Þ rst place.
I was about to tell her I was waiting for my sister when Christina turned around and saved me the trouble. “Oh, Mia! I was wondering where you were. What do you think of this?” She snatched the hanger from Tiffany and held the dress out in front of her for my review.
I’m not sure if she didn’t realize I was still looking or she just plain didn’t care that I saw her, but Tiffany looked at me from the tips of my shoes to the top of my hair, the expression on her face as clear as if she had pulled out an Etch A Sketch and written it there. What is she asking her for?
I took the dress from her and pretended to contemplate my words.
“To be honest, it looks like something someone half your age and with little education would wear.” I handed the dress back. “Where’s Justin?”
“Mama’s keeping him.” Christina twisted her mouth. “You’re probably right, I bet this color would make me look fat.”
Tiffany didn’t bother to hide her glare, which pleased me.
“Oh wait, take a look at this.” Christina ran away from me and was back a few seconds later carrying a dark brown suit. The cut was nice enough, but the color was all wrong for my complexion. It would make me look washed out. I took it from her and glanced surreptitiously at the tag. It should Þ t.
“Okay, I’ll try it on,” I said even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I had learned a long time ago that the quicker I had a bag—any bag—in my hand, the sooner we were kicking back in the food court snarÞ ng down burgers.
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“We have some larger sizes in the back,” Tiffany said in apparent innocence.
“That won’t be necessary. This should Þ t Þ ne.”
“I’ll be right back. I saw a blouse that would look great with that suit.” Christina ran off and I followed Tiffany into the Þ tting room and shut the door behind me. A few moments later a brown silky thing was tossed over the door and Christina slammed into her own narrow little box.
I stood in front of the mirror and looked hard at myself. Why had I come to the mall on a Saturday when all I re
ally wanted to do was curl up on the couch and watch a good movie? You know why you’re here.
Because that house is getting lonely and that dog gives you the willies.
I unbuttoned my white shirt. There was something heavy sitting on my chest. It had been there since the conversation with Brenda. It wasn’t so much that I missed her. I did, sort of. But more than anything, it was that shadow of a doubt that was there. The feeling that maybe she was right…about everything.
I yanked my shirt off and glared at my double D’s. It didn’t matter if she was right; she was wrong in how she handled it. She was wrong in every aspect and she cheated on me. Did she? You don’t know that.
You just accused her of that because you needed to believe that she was leaving you for a reason.
“How’s it going in there?” Tiffany actually sounded concerned.
Probably scared I’m going to have a heart attack in her dressing room.
“Fine,” I bit off as I pushed off my slacks. Brenda had cheated on me; I could sense it. There was no point talking myself out of it now.
“Oh, damn it. The waist is too big on this one too,” Christina said just loud enough that the people in the next store would have heard.
“On the zero?” I said incredulously as I tried to pull the skirt up over my hips.
“Clothes are getting so damn big these days,” she said with a note of satisfaction that made my skin crawl.
For a brief instant I hated my sister. I would have given anything for it to have been her standing in front of the mirror, avoiding her own reß ection. I wanted her to know what it felt like to have to look at herself with a skirt stuck halfway up her thighs and her tits billowing up and out of a bra that had Þ t Þ ne the week before.
“Do you have it on yet? Let me see.”
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
“I’m Þ ne and I’m already out of it. I’m going to take it.”
“Why didn’t you let me see, Mia? That’s why the button popped off the last dress.” I thought I heard someone snort, but it was so soft that I could have imagined it. I tossed the suit jacket on the chair and gritted my teeth.
“It Þ ts Þ ne. I was bloated and PMSing; I told you that.”
I heard Christina quietly telling Tiffany that she couldn’t Þ t her dress, but that I would be taking my outÞ t.
I found myself thinking of Ryan’s lean frame as I dressed. Not only would she never shop in a store like this, but I doubt she would allow herself to be shamed into wearing clothing she didn’t like. I found myself wondering what she did with her Saturdays. I would bet dollars to donuts she didn’t spend it shopping with her younger sister.
No, Ryan was probably languishing in bed somewhere. Or at the gym working out, or shopping at Whole Foods or some such place.
“You almost done in there? I’m getting hungry.”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute, Christina.” My voice had grown sharp with frustration. After I heard her leave, I opened the dressing-room door to let air cool my moist face. As I sat down to put my shoes on I told myself, a little less salt and a lot more water, and that suit will Þ t.
I stayed in the dressing room until I felt reasonably calm. When I came out Christina was looking at a rack of clothing close to the front door of the store. Tiffany didn’t ask me if I had found everything okay, nor did she ask me if I wanted to sign up for a store credit card. Too bad, I would have liked to have gotten ten percent off $569.
“I’m going to run over to Abercrombie,” Christina called out.
“I’ll meet you over there.” I reached in my pocket for six one hundred dollar bills and set them on the counter. Tiffany took the money as chimes signaled that Christina had left the store.
“Fourteen days,” I said.
“Fourteen days?” she repeated.
“That’s how long I have to bring this suit back before they pay you your commission. Right?” I got little pleasure out of seeing her mouth fall open, but I pretended to smile as I thanked her. I took my bag and tucked the receipt into my pocket. “I’ll be sure to write in to the store and let them know how helpful you’ve been.”
I rushed out the door so fast that the chimes barely had time to
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
register my exit. I made myself hold my head up, content in the fact that, from behind, she couldn’t see the one angry tear I was unable to conÞ ne.
v
When I look in the mirror I see all of my imperfections. A dimple here, a pooch there, maybe the slightest hint of a wrinkle. But Pepito, with his skinny shaking body, his cross-eyed glare, and his oblong teeth, didn’t suffer from any of my issues.
I stayed in my bed, transÞ xed, Þ ve minutes after I should have already been in the shower. Why? I’ll be frank; Pepito was scaring the shit out of me. Even before Brenda left he had been a source of strife between us. The fact that he was a gift from one of her model friends was one thing, the fact that he was not an attractive dog made things even more difÞ cult. Calling him ugly made me feel bad, but Pepito was pretty hard to look at.
Brenda wanted to let him sleep at the foot of our bed. Because I secretly feared he would creep up and bite me, or worse—lick me on the lips while I was sleeping—I had put my foot down. We compromised by allowing him to sleep under our bed on one of our ß ufÞ est towels. My mother would keel over and die if she knew one of her housewarming gifts had become a pallet for a dog.
With Brenda gone, I was tempted to lock him out of the bedroom. I had contented myself with placing a cashmere sweater in a box for him to sleep on. The sweater was one of Brenda’s favorites. I hoped he ruined it. Pepito was the reason I was going to be late for my appointment. He was standing in front of the mirrored closet door, shivering. Maybe it was swaying; I couldn’t tell. He would also periodically lick his lips. I let this behavior go on for as long as I could before I forced myself to interrupt.
“Hey?” He turned around so fast that I could tell he had forgotten I was there. He whined a little and looked at me with the desperate eyes of a meth addict before turning back to the mirror.
“This is ridiculous,” I groused and forced myself upright.
Pepito began to prance like he did for Brenda when she came home to give him his evening treat. He never pranced for me; hell, he really only did it for Brenda when he wanted something.
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
“What is it? Do you want to go in there? Brenda isn’t in there. Trust me, she’s so far out of the closet it’s not even funny.” I slid the closet door open and Pepito skittered to the side so that he could continue to look at himself. “Okay, so what do you want?” He licked his lips.
“Work it out, Pepito. I’ve got to pee.”
I gave him a wide berth but kept the door open as I entered the small bathroom. I was sitting on the toilet, wishing I had closed the door, when it dawned on me that Pepito was gazing—no, making goo-goo eyes—at himself. My jaw dropped as the most unattractive dog I had ever seen gazed ardently at his own reß ection. I would have laughed if there wasn’t something so not funny about it.
“You’re weirding me out, you know that?” I kicked the door to the bathroom shut despite the fact that by doing so, I would turn the small space into a steaming-hot hell.
I showered quickly in order to make up for time lost lying in bed.
It wasn’t just Pepito that had caused me to loiter. After drowning my sorrows with french fries and a double-patty cheddar cheese hamburger from the mall food court, I had driven home and called the gym to schedule a free consultation. I then spent the rest of the weekend feeling sorry for myself and trying to ignore the fact that a six-hundred-dollar suit—a suit I didn’t particularly like, nor Þ t into—was hanging in my closet.
By the time I went to bed I had made up my mind that I was not going to take that suit back. I was going to lose the weight. I was going to wear that suit back into that store
and show Tiffany that she had been wrong when she hinted that I might need a larger size. I wanted Brenda to come home and see how much better I looked when she wasn’t around. And most of all, I wanted this feeling of self-pity to leave me the hell alone.
After showering and dressing, I took one last look at Pepito as I walked out the door. He had lain down, his scruffy chin resting on the few wispy hairs covering his paws. I really didn’t want to leave him in my room; I had a strong suspicion he had been getting busy with one of my shoes, despite the fact that Brenda claimed he had been Þ xed. He whined a little as I padded by, but I ignored him.
The bus ride downtown took all of ten minutes. I tried to return the cheery “have a nice day” from the driver, but my stomach was tied in knots. As I approached the doors to the gym, I saw two women jogging
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on the treadmills through the large glass windows. Both of them looked great. That, at least, was comforting. They were in there jogging on those damned treadmills pretty much every day and I couldn’t help but wonder, Is it worth it? Do I really have to run in place for an hour every morning to look like that?
Neither of them looked happy. They looked resigned. Not even a happy resigned, just a tired kind of I’m here, might as well do it resigned. Surely there had to be a happy medium, a—
“Miaaa, hiiiii.” The woman I assumed was Selena Sanchez—no relation—walked up to me with her hand out. Sanchez had to be her married name because Selena looked about as Hispanic as lunch at Taco Hell. “I’m so glad you made it. I left a message with your assistant this morning, but he said you hadn’t come in yet.”
Ah great, now that Goody knew I was working out, he would ride my ass daily about how it was going. “Oh, no. I came straight here.” I already regretted making the appointment with the trainer, but I Þ gured I’d let her tell me what to do, then do my own thing with the equipment I had at home.
“No problem,” she said with too much enthusiasm. “Why don’t you get changed and I’ll show you the gym.”
Such a Pretty Face Page 8