Fit to Die

by J. B. Stanley

  James cleared this throat as he often did before he was going to speak. “Did Lindy tell you about Veronica’s … uh … coaching style?”

  “Lindy told us the woman was really persuasive. A little bit bossy, but in a good way. A take-charge kind of person.” Lucy flashed her blue eyes at James. “I think we could use someone like that at this point.”

  James squirmed in his chair. He wondered if Lucy was referring to the group’s failure to stick with their diet or his inability to develop a romantic relationship with her. The disappointment in her eyes reminded James all too much of the looks he had once seen, but not recognized, reflected in his ex-wife’s dark brown eyes. It’s better not to risk our friendship, James told himself. Still, he found that his desire to impress Lucy had not diminished over the long winter and that he wanted her approval as much as ever. “Do you really think Veronica can get us all back on track?” he asked her.

  “On a whole new road. Look!” Gillian interjected emotionally as she pointed at one of the interior pages of the pink brochure. “She will even provide meals for us for the six-week period. And, praise Buddha, some of them are vegetarian. That would make me feel so much better about myself. My chi’s been completely out of whack since I’ve been eating so much … meat.” Gillian whispered the last word as if she had used an expletive.

  “Woman.” Bennett stared at Gillian as if she were an extra-terrestrial. He pulled on his toothbrush mustache and then clasped his espresso-colored hands together. “Where do you come up with this stuff? Here I thought I was an educated man, but in all of my forty-one years I have never heard of chi.”

  Gillian inhaled a large breath, a sign that she was about to provide them all with one of her lectures about a myriad of subjects falling under the category of New Age. “Chi is an energy.” She spread her arms out into the air theatrically, her polka-dotted top opening up like an umbrella. “It’s all around us. It’s very spiritual. One needs to keep one’s chi balanced or—”

  “Oh! So it’s like the Force in Star Wars,” Bennett interrupted, looking pleased. “Cool. I’m down with that. Now, listen y’all. Are we gonna sign up to do this program or what?”

  “Let’s vote,” Lindy suggested. “Raise your hands if you’re ready to try Veronica’s method of getting healthy. Who is in for joining Witness to Fitness?”

  “Wait.” James held off the vote by waving his hands over the brochure. “This system seems kind of complicated. Do you think we can figure out how to count all these food and exercise points and stuff?”

  “It says here that we’ll be ‘provided with all the tools needed to achieve guaranteed success,’” Lucy read from the brochure.

  James frowned dubiously. “And how much is this going to cost us? Meetings, meals, and exercises can’t be cheap.”

  Lindy laughed. “Probably not, but if Witness to Fitness can offer us happiness after six weeks in the program, then who cares what it costs? All in favor?”

  Everyone raised a hand, including a reluctant James.

  “It’s starting to feel like spring!” Lindy exclaimed as she opened the front door of Bennett’s tidy ranch, preparing to leave. “Your neighbor’s crocuses are coming out. I can see every blade of grass in their yard with the amount of outdoor lighting they have. They afraid of rabid deer or something worse, like their neighbor?” She asked, nudging Bennett with her elbow.

  Bennett sniffed the evening breeze. “Dunno. One of their garden gnomes was stolen last year, right around Halloween, and next thing I know, I can see spotlights out my bedroom window. It’s like sleeping next to a disco. Shoot, one day a small plane is gonna land here, thinking it’s an airstrip. Maybe I should hire someone to do it as a joke. After all, April Fool’s Day is this weekend and then I could get some sleep.”

  “April Fool’s and the Annual Brunswick Stew Dinner at the fire department.” Gillian pulled on a knit poncho in a pattern of violet and saffron stripes. “I strongly believe in supporting local causes.”

  “Shoot, I go just to look at the firemen.” Lindy grinned sheepishly.

  “What about your Principal Chavez? Aren’t you still in love with him?” Lucy asked her friend.

  “Of course, but I don’t dare make a move until I’ve got a little less meatball and a lot more sauce to this body.” Lindy patted her round hips. “Does anyone want to ride down to that Asian building they put up where the Dairy Drive-Thru used to be? I saw some lights on as I drove past earlier tonight.”

  Filled with energy due to a combination of the temperate evening air and their decision to begin a new weight-loss program, the Flab Five members all agreed to extend their supper club evening a little longer. Dividing themselves into two cars, they drove through the center of a quiet town and headed west to one of the town’s two strip malls nestled beneath the comforting shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  “So this is where Witness to Fitness is, too?” James asked Lindy.

  “Yeah. Veronica moved into that place where Mrs. Posillico used to give dance lessons. Her oldest daughter is in my ceramics class this year and she told me her mama’s arthritis just makes teaching dance too painful.” Lindy uttered a sympathetic sigh. “Bless her heart.”

  “Hey!” Lucy shouted from the back seat. “There’s a sign on that funky building. Chilly Willy’s Polar Pagoda. Pagoda? Is that a Chinese type of architecture?”

  “Japanese,” Lindy promptly replied.

  “Actually, it’s both,” James corrected his friend. “It’s probably an Indian word in origin. It’s a Buddhist building resembling a temple. If I remember correctly, the dome shape was supposed to create balance. I’m sure Gillian could tell you more about the whole religious part of the history.”

  “No thanks!” Lindy answered firmly. “There’s someone washing the glass front door. I wonder if he’s the new owner.”

  “Howdy folks!” A light-skinned African American man with a neat goatee dropped his squeegee into a bucket with a splash and waved to James and his two female passengers. A few seconds later, Bennett and Gillian joined the group and introduced themselves.

  “Welcome to Quincy’s Gap!” Lindy added with a flourish.

  “Mighty kind of y’all. I’m Willy Kendrick, but you can call me Chilly Willy. Everyone always does in the end.” He laughed. The sound was rich and throaty and filled the night air like a song.

  James smiled at the man’s infectious laugh. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, why the pagoda theme?”

  “Well, it’s pretty darn eye-catching, wouldn’t you say?” Willy chuckled and he jerked his thumb at his new building.

  “Are you a Buddhist?” Gillian asked hopefully.

  “No ma’am. Southern Baptist born and raised, but I could use all the heavenly help I can get. I lost everything I had durin’ the Fall of ’05. I used to have my own restaurant in Biloxi, Mississippi. It was totally wiped away by that wicked woman known as Hurricane Katrina. No offense, ladies.”

  “You poor thing!” Gillian’s eyes instantly grew misty.

  “Now don’t you go gettin’ yourself all upset on my account.” Willy’s middle-aged face grew somber. “Lots of folks got a lot worse hurts than I did. All my family came out okay and that’s what really matters. I worked a few jobs in Florida and lived through a few more storms until I decided that I was damned tired of hurricanes. Figured the mountains of Virginia get their share of snow, but no tornadoes, typhoons, tsunamis, or hurricanes. Am I right?” Willy laughed again, his warm brown eyes dancing with vivacity.

  “You might not need to worry about those kinds of storms,” James began as he watched a BMW pull into the parking lot. “But there are other kinds of natural disasters in this town and here comes one of them.”

  The BMW screeched to a stop within a few feet of the small group and a petite, silver-haired woman wearing a fur-trimmed suede jacket scrambled out of the car and fixed a pair of angry, narrow eyes upon Willy.

  “I suppose this is your doing?” she demanded, gesturing
wildly at the black and red painted pagoda.

  Willy issued a welcoming smile. “Yes, ma’am. Do you like it?”

  “Like it?” The woman panted. “It’s an abomination! This town has a two-hundred-year-old history of Southern architecture and then you come along and build this … this …” She sucked in a great breath. “Atrocity!”

  Willy remained nonplussed. “Yes, ma’am. It is different. But you can’t get upset with me until you’ve tried one of my special praline caramel kiss sundaes. Come on in and you might feel a little friendlier toward the world at large once you’ve had a taste. I’m Willy, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

  “I am Savannah Lowndes, President of the Shenandoah County Historical Society,” the woman snapped while ignoring Willy’s outstretched hand. “And I’d rather see this place burn to a cinder than consume anything that came from inside such a despicable eyesore!”

  “Suit yourself, ma’am.” Willy shrugged. “Not everybody’s got a sweet tooth. How about the rest of you? I’ve got some coupons for next weekend’s Grand Opening, too.”

  “We’d love to!” Lucy exclaimed and they turned to follow Willy inside. Savannah Lowndes snorted and climbed back into her car. She raced out of the parking lot, her face clouded with anger.

  Suddenly a peppy voice that sounded all too familiar to James hailed the group. “Hi there! I hope you all enjoy your ice cream!” Veronica Levitt called from outside her storefront, which was four stores down from the Polar Pagoda. “I expect to see you all here next Saturday. And then you,” she wiggled a skinny finger flirtatiously at Willy, “can kiss this precious little group of customers goodbye! If I have my way, they are all going to be lean, lovely, fruit-and-vegetable-eating gods and goddesses by June!”

  “Hmm,” Willy sighed as he held open the front door. A bell tinkled merrily as they entered the ice cream parlor, but Willy’s face had turned grim. “I do believe that woman’s gonna be bad for business.”

  Chilly Willy was serving up frozen delights as fast as his two arms would allow. Due to the unusually mild spring night, a long line of townsfolk snaked out the front door of the Polar Pagoda and along the entire length of the strip mall. These animated patrons, having just finished their dinners at home or watching one of the two movies showing at the local theater, studied the colorful cones, cups, and sundaes mounded with candy toppings as their cheerful owners carried them outside. People exchanged waves, offered tastes of their frozen desserts, and chatted with friends as if they were guests at a cocktail party. In fact, the very evening air seemed brimming with a sense of vivacity and friendliness that infected the majority of the population of Quincy’s Gap.

  A band of teenage boys, satiated by extra-large cones of chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream and bottles of cold root beer, sat on the curb outside the Polar Pagoda and flirted noisily with any pretty girl who passed by. Preteens propped bicycles against the red wooden walls of the ice cream shop and spoke in high-pitched squeals or giggled in unsuppressed excitement as they attempted to read the board containing the day’s flavor specials.

  After waiting twenty minutes, James Henry finally made it inside the front door. He peered over the heads of the adults standing clustered in front of the counter and was hailed by Willy as if he were a long-lost friend.

  “Hello there, Mr. Henry!” Willy’s voice boomed. “So glad to see you! Are you here for something sweet to eat?”

  “Absolutely.” James returned Willy’s warm smile. “It sure looks like you’re having a successful Grand Opening,” he observed pleasantly, fascinated by the manner in which Willy was folding a glob of gummy bears into a slab of white ice cream using two tools resembling spackling knives.

  “Sure am, my man. It’s ’cause of this fine March evening and my even finer homemade frozen custard. This here is Sweet Cream mixed with Gummy Bears, red hots, and pieces of licorice. I call it the Kid in the Candy Store mix.”

  James watched in wonder as Willy scooped up the concoction and folded it neatly into a Styrofoam cup. “Who’s next?” the grinning proprietor called out merrily.

  “Me!” A woman’s voice declared. James recognized the trim form and shimmering brown hair belonging to Murphy Alistair, reporter and managing editor of The Shenandoah Star Ledger, the county’s small daily paper. “I’d like chocolate custard with peanut butter cups, please. Oh, and topped off with chocolate sprinkles. Do you mind if I take some photos for The Star while you work?”

  “I’d be much obliged to you if you would, pretty lady. And don’t you even think about tryin’ to pay me, ya hear? Anyone who might get Chilly Willy some free business gets her pretty little self a free frozen custard.”

  Murphy smiled. “Are you attempting to bribe me with ice cream?”

  “Absolutely, miss, absolutely.”

  After shooting a few pictures of Willy with her digital camera Murphy retreated to the back of the small store. “Hello, Professor.” Murphy turned to James. “You here to buy what will soon become the most famous T-shirt in all of the Shenandoah Valley?”

  James craned his neck in order to view the cobalt T-shirts hanging next to the menu board. The white text on the front of each shirt read, HAVE YOU GOT A CHILLY WILLY?

  “That’s an attention getter if I ever saw one.” James laughed. “Every teenager in Quincy’s Gap is going to be advertising for you, Willy.”

  “Lord willing!” Willy handed another customer an ice cream float. The next customer ordered pumpkin custard covered in hot fudge sauce as James desperately tried to decide which of the flavor varieties he was most in the mood for.

  “Aren’t you cheating on your diet?” Murphy asked, nudging James playfully in the ribs. Her hazel eyes sparkled and James wondered if she was flirting or simply being friendly.

  “I’m joining Witness to Fitness tomorrow,” James confessed softly. “I’ve been kind of sliding on my own, so I’m hoping to get back on track. You know, I’ll just do their program until I can figure out how to do it by myself.”

  Murphy was listening intently. “Hey! That would make a great article. I could track your progress, kind of like one of those TV reality shows. The readers would love it and you’re such a likeable personality. I bet a lot of people would be inspired by you.”

  James cleared his throat nervously. “Uh … I don’t think I’d care to share my weight with the entire town.”

  “Now would I do that to you?” Murphy frowned playfully, but James believed she would print anything to sell more papers. “It would be more about your experience at Witness to Fitness. I think our readers need to hear a genuine story about this new business before they all race in and spend their hard-earned money there, don’t you?”

  “What’ll it be, my friend?” Willy asked, holding his trowel-type tool above the mounded containers of custard.

  “Peppermint with hot fudge and marshmallow, please,” James stammered.

  “Come on, what do you say, Professor?” Murphy pleaded, slowly licking chocolate custard off her plastic spoon.

  James watched her tongue in a semi-hypnotic state as his brain struggled to form a reply. “I …”

  “Thanks, Professor. I knew I could count on you.” And with that, Murphy patted him on the arm and sauntered outside to interview some of the Polar Pagoda’s satisfied customers.

  Just as James had received his bowlful of heaven, a troupe of middle-aged women pushed aside the patrons in line and began shouting at Willy in unison. From what James could make out, they were furious about the T-shirts and wanted them immediately taken down from the display area and destroyed.

  “They should be burned!” shrieked a mousy woman wearing a heavy wool jacket despite the balminess of the evening. “I am Mrs. Gloria Emerson and I am a minister’s wife.” She gestured to the group of heaving bosoms behind her. “And these are leaders of our church’s youth group. We will not have our impressionable youth sporting such … such indecent apparel.”

  Willy remained nonplussed. “Indecent? It co
vers up everything, now don’t it?”

  Several onlookers chuckled. Mrs. Emerson ground her teeth until James thought they might crack.

  “Don’t you mock me, sir! I have influence in these parts and I will make it my duty to make sure that no decent folk come here until you agree to remove those offensive shirts from our sight. And!” she proclaimed as if she, and not the Reverend Emerson, were accustomed to giving the sermons, “I want you to give the money back to those innocent boys who have already purchased those filthy rags from you.”

  “They’re not dirty, ma’am. They’re fresh out of the box,” Willy teased and the crowd cheered him. The customers were clearly on his side.

  Mrs. Emerson reddened. “This is not the last you’ll see of us. We’re going to get those shirts gone and this I swear to you!”

  “Well, at least have some ice cream before you go!” Willy called after the huffy women, and even though he continued to serve out cups and cones in a jolly manner, his eyes betrayed a hint of worry.

  Outside, Murphy was busy interviewing Mrs. Emerson and her crowd. She then took a photograph of a teenage boy proudly wearing one of the controversial T-shirts.

  “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna get rid of it!” the boy shouted, eyeing Mrs. Emerson and her posse. “It’s not like it’s got swear words on it or Satanic symbols or anything. Those biddies need to lighten up.”

  “See the disrespect that kind of garment produces?” Mrs. Emerson shrieked and several members of the crowd nodded their heads in agreement. Murphy scribbled wildly on her notepad as the teenager strutted proudly up and down the parking area. Within minutes, two of his friends were in line in order to purchase T-shirts for themselves.

  James strolled over to where Murphy was standing. “Poor Willy. This makes three threats on his new business and all from women,” he muttered and then scooped custard into his mouth.

  Murphy’s eyes widened. “Who else threatened him?”

  James instantly regretted mentioning anything to the reporter so he quickly regaled her with the barest of details regarding how Savannah Lowndes had tried to pick a fight with Willy and how Veronica Levitt wanted to sweet talk his clients away from him.