“Nothing. I just wish I could eat donuts and stay thin like you, but you are almost ten years younger than me.” I raise one eyebrow. “Weren’t you supposed to be watching your cholesterol?”
Claire pops the last bite in her mouth and rubs her hands together, shaking the remaining crumbs onto my office floor. “Yes, and I was doing so well, but this wedding planning is killing me.” She lowers herself into my guest chair and rubs her temples. “Now I found out that our venue won’t allow the band to set up in the right spot. It’s throwing off the whole seating plan! I’ve texted Violet about it at least five times this morning.”
Violet is definitely still in bed before nine in the morning, and I don’t understand how Claire keeps running into these issues. First the flowers she wanted won’t be in season, and the caterer is already booked, and now there’s this band problem. Isn’t she explaining to Violet what they want? I expect her to come in here two days before the wedding and say, “Oh my God, the church doesn’t allow live chickens. What will we do now? Our farm animal theme is ruined.”
“But never mind about me.” Claire smiles and crosses her legs, revealing bright yellow platform heels with daisies on them. Brandon is not a tall guy. She must walk around barefoot at home. Either that or he’s very secure in his masculinity, which he should be. Just like Luke…
“So what kind of bathing suits are you going to get? I’ve already bought several for our honeymoon.”
She will probably soon discover that the island they want to visit is due for a volcanic eruption. I sigh and turn away from the computer. “I don’t know. I’ve gained so much weight. I don’t how I’m going to pull off a bikini this season, but if I can’t I am going to feel so old and fat.”
“Rebecca, you’re exaggerating. You look fantastic. You’re a curvy woman. And I know Steve loves you the way you are.”
I stare blankly and swallow hard.
“What? Is he making comments about your weight?” Claire narrows her eyes in anticipation of my confession of Steve’s criticism.
I share his comparison to Noreen and her amazing baby weight shedding and perfectly toned body.
“Men are idiots. They just say whatever pops into their heads. So, she was a skinny woman, but he didn’t go for another stick figure. You’re overreacting.” Claire wrinkles her nose. “Plus isn’t this a trivial problem compared to everything else you have going on?”
I laugh and reply, “Oh, and you NEVER overreact to trivial issues.”
“I may have a time or two, but we’re focused on you now.” She reaches into her pocket. “Hold on.” She looks at her phone and says, “I just need to answer Violet about the venue.”
I glance at my e-mail while Claire babbles about the band and the angle of the room and the seating arrangements…Shit. Another message from Luke. Flustered, I turn back to Claire.
“What now?” Finished with her call, she slips her phone back in her pocket and sits down. “Is it Luke? What are you doing with him?”
“Nothing. He wants to meet to discuss his screenplay.”
“Explain this to me again. He is really writing a screenplay?”
“Brandon wrote a book!”
“Brandon is a serious author. He is earning a living from his writing.” She pauses. “Well, not a great one, but it’s promising.” She sighs and crosses her legs the opposite way. “All I’m saying is that if Luke is serious about writing, he needs a real editor, and that’s not you.”
I recount the whole story again, explaining how he wants my take on the story, since he is chronicling our relationship.
“It’s turning into some kind of sexual memoir of his life with a particular cougar. Am I right?”
“Well, it’s not only me. He’s going to talk about all the women…he’s been with lots of…” I stop and shake my head. “I see your point, but Steve won’t know. Luke isn’t using real names, and even if Steve finds out, he won’t care.”
“How do you know?”
“I am sleeping with him in a room filled with pictures and belongings of his dead wife. He can handle my ex-boyfriend anonymously writing about our relationship. It’s not like we’re famous people and reporters will be at our door asking for a statement.”
“You could become famous. Or infamous. Luke is a minor celebrity and he’s extremely good looking. You could become the Object of every women’s envy and adoration, and Steve’s private life will become hell.”
“What about my private hell? You really do need to come over and see this place for yourself.” I soften and continue. “My biggest concern is resisting temptation. And Luke is so tempting. He says he respects my relationship and this is purely professional, but I’m getting some conflicting vibes.” I sigh and roll my tense shoulders. “I may just tell Steve about him. That way it’s all out in the open. Like Noreen’s collection of bugs and their wedding cake topper in the curio cabinet.”
Claire exhales and scowls at me in exasperation. “You do realize that he can’t cheat on you with a dead woman, right? It isn’t exactly the same. You can’t compare pictures and mementos with a living, breathing hot man!”
Ignoring that piece of wisdom, I pick up a package of M&M’s sitting on my desk, and attempt to open them. “Oww. Now I stabbed myself.”
“Give them to me. This is ridiculous. Didn’t your mother teach you to function with nails and heels and other female inconveniences?” Claire opens the bag in one motion and hands the candy back to me with a self-satisfied grin.
“No. My mother is like a man. It’s a wonder I learned to wear makeup.” I gobble a few M&M’s and talk with my mouth full. “What I really don’t understand is why everyone wants to be a writer.”
“I know. Brandon sits in his office for eighteen hours and tells me he wrote ten pages. I would go mad.” Claire stands up and fiddles with her phone in her pocket. “I need to sort out this wedding crap before my staff meeting with Pam and Gina. And my offer still stands. I will be happy to meet with Mr. Sexy Pants and review his manuscript.”
“Hmm…what if you become tempted?” I smile devilishly.
Claire screws up her face in that way she does when she thinks I am full of shit. “Pleeaase…I have my own Mr. Sexy Pants at home. Remember, I am a full-fledged cougar, too.” She winks and sashays out the door.
I decide not to remind her how much anxiety that caused her last year. And all of those around her.
I shift my focus back to bathing suits. Tan fat absolutely does look better than white fat. With my pool time limited now, I need a jump start. I am going to stop by Gina’s tanning salon at lunch. It can’t hurt. She does it, even though she’s Italian. Gina is more of a northern Italian, though. Not quite as dark as Tony. He is permanently tan. And Luke, too…
I spend the rest of the morning fighting my nails and my lost small motor skills. After spilled coffee and some difficulty in the bathroom, which I would rather not explain, I sneak out to lunch alone so I can visit the tanning salon, now that I found out they also sell bathing suits.
I pull into the parking lot of Sun n’ Fun and get excited. I can already see all the cute suits in the window. Surely they’ll have something that will look good on me. I don’t have to go for a string bikini, and some of them have a little higher waist. I’m not completely sold on the tanning yet.
I walk in and I’m greeted by a cute, perky girl of about twenty, who tells me to let her know if I need help. I want to say, “Yes, I need help sewing my mouth shut, so I can stop eating and fit my fat gut into a hot bathing suit.” Instead I just smile and thank her, while starting to browse.
There are so many to choose from! And the prices are much better than Victoria’s Secret. I gaze wistfully at counter girl and recall a time when I looked like her. Her tan is flawless.
Stuffing my jealously, I select a few suits to try on. One is a bikini with a fairly modest bottom, with lots of purple sequins. That one isn’t too practical for actual swimming, so I select a more secure, athletic looking
two piece in black. And I can’t resist the red one with the white polka dots. This one has a higher waist, which would surely cover my stomach sufficiently.
I ask perky girl for a fitting room, and with a flick of her long, shiny blond hair she directs me to one directly adjacent to the tanning area.
As I start to undress, I’m feeling encouraged. It’s always a bit daunting to put on a bathing suit at the beginning of the season, especially at my age. At least I don’t have stretch marks or C-section scars, or any of the other ravages of childbirth. No, my baby weight is just from plain old stuffing my face with pasta and bread…oh my…I thought that the higher waist would be complementary to my stomach, but it seems that it has the opposite effect. Who is this designed for? All it does is flatten my stomach and push all the fat above the high waist. So now instead of a wobbly belly I have a gigantic, flabby tire under my boobs. Awesome. I guess this is what Spanx must do, but they sell those by the gazillions. Am I at the point where I need the full body Spanx to make it work? And it isn’t the nineteen-twenties so I am pretty sure unless I wear a diving suit to the pool, I won’t find a modern bathing suit with that kind of coverage.
No matter. It was a cute suit, but there are tons of other choices. I try the black one next, because I do love to swim and I need something that won’t fly off in the water. This top has some support and the bottom has full coverage. There, this is better. Perfect for swimming, especially at the beach. I sigh and turn around. But it’s so blah…and my boobs are sagging a bit, even with the support, and I still have fat on the sides sticking out. If I were the type to cry I would be bawling by now. No wonder our sex life is so abysmal. Steve must be repulsed by my body.
I give the purple suit a glance and don’t even bother. I have a million like that one at home and I know it can’t hide my fat. I am either going to show it, stuff it or conceal it behind a suit with a flare top and a skirted bottom. I should be in the maternity or plus size area.
Dejected, I mope back to the front and hand the girl the discarded suits.
“Did they work for you?” She says brightly.
“No, I’m afraid I have turned into a walrus.”
She gasps and covers her mouth. “No, you look great. My mom just bought the polka dot…sorry.” She bites her lip.
“It’s okay. I am old enough to be your mother. Unfortunately I don’t have any children to blame for the condition of my body.” I pause and glance towards the back of the store. “So what do you think about tanning?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, it’s awesome! I know some people say it isn’t good for you, but we’re out in the sun all day anyway, right? I’m sure you’ve been tan a million times.” Somehow she thinks she’s saying smart things.
“Yes, at my age I should have the skin of a dinosaur.” I can’t help but crack a smile when I see her panicked look. “I’m teasing you. Yes, you’re right. I have always been a sun worshipper. I would like a little jump start on my color this summer. How does it work?”
Tanning girl…I think her name is Lindsay…explains the procedures and choices. I can either lay in a bed or stand up. I kind of like the standing up idea, but only because the tanning bed looks a bit like a coffin. I don’t need any more reminders of death.
“Let’s try standing up,” I say as I walk towards the back again.
“We can do that for sure, but first I need you to fill out this form, especially because it’s your first time. Oh my God, you’re a tanning virgin!” She gasps again at her own nonsense.
“Yep. That’s me. So I just have to fill out the form?” I reach for the clipboard and pen she is awkwardly holding.
“Oh, sorry.” She stops gaping and hands the survey over. “You also need to watch the video on stand up tanning so you can learn the stances.”
“The stances?” Am I learning karate or that thing you see all the Japanese people doing in the park on television? Tai-something? Chi? No, that’s energy, I think…
“Yes, you have to stand a certain way throughout the session so you tan evenly. You don’t want any weird white spots sticking out on the beach.”
Seeing as my whole body is a weird white spot right now, I guess I must succumb to this foolishness. “Okay, where’s the video?”
Lindsay sets me up with the video in the lounge area, and I proceed to fill out the form. Why would I need a video? Oh…wow…that’s confusing. I see the point, but…oh…I’ll never remember this.
As if sensing my panic, Lindsay yells out, “Don’t worry, there’s a cheat sheet on the wall in the room. For the stances.”
“Thank you!” Whew. That’s a relief. I don’t need to listen to this anymore. Wait…they just said something about tanning naked. I need to ask Lindsay about that.
I finish the video and the form, and present them to Lindsay.
She leafs through it quickly. “Okay, you signed and checked everywhere. Great! You’re all set.”
As she leads me back to the tanning room, I ask, “So there was something about tanning naked in the video that I missed. Should I do that?”
She unlocks the door and turns on the lights, preparing the room for my frying. “Yeah, if you don’t, you will have lines from your bra and panties.”
We smile and nod in unison, thinking of how that negates the whole purpose. “Thanks, Lindsay. You’ve been very helpful.”
She smiles and leaves me to my session, with a few more reminders. She has pointed out the location of the cheat sheet, and even though it’s a little hard to see, I am confident I can figure it out. I mean, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to do tanning.
It’s all over in a matter of five minutes because I can’t do too much at once, being a tanning virgin. Hee, hee. I nailed the poses. I felt like I was in a music video from the eighties, or a mime on the street corner. Except naked.
I scan my body in the full length mirror before I get dressed. Yes, this was a brilliant idea. I look evenly tan, and even in lingerie my color will be uniform. I won’t keep this up though. I will have some pool and beach time. Well, maybe I’ll do it once in a while. It’s a great look. I can’t wait to show it off to Steve. Perhaps I’ll stop by his house later, after he gets home from bowling. I need to get back to work, so I dress quickly and rush out the door.
I’m humming to myself on the way to the front counter. “Hello. Did Lindsay leave?” I am addressing an older woman who is the scariest shade of orange. Not her outfit. Her skin.
“Yes, Doll. She’s off to lunch. I’m Tess, her mom.” Tess smiles broadly, revealing nicotine stained teeth.
I silently pray that little Lindsay doesn’t smoke. However, I am secretly relieved that all of Tess’ wrinkles obviously didn’t come from tanning. An open pack of cigarettes on the counter confirms my suspicions. I should still reconsider this as a regular activity.
“Everything go okay in there? Lindsay was telling me about you before she left. I was surprised you opted for the stand-up tan. At our age I prefer the tanning bed.” She cackles, but I’m not sure why that’s funny. Maybe it’s a joke about laziness? Is she really my age? Wait, she is probably talking about my worries over the stances.
“Oh, that’s funny. You mean the dance moves? I did just fine.”
She looks at me oddly, and I swear she’s staring at my chest. I cross my arms across my body and ask for my total so I can get out of here.
“Thanks, Doll. Have a great day. Hope to see you back again. We have some more hot suits coming in. I just bought the polka dot one!” She yells this as I smile and hit the sidewalk, trying to shake the image of her pumpkin flesh spilling out of the top of that suit. But hey, she has more confidence than I do. Maybe after some working out and a bit of dieting, I’ll give that one another whirl. As I drive back to the office at high speed, I wonder why she was staring at my chest.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At home after work, I grab my mail and open my front door. There’s that stupid clock. I can’t believe Luke came over here unannounce
d to drop that off. He said he isn’t interested and he respects my relationship with Steve, but his actions are a bit more than friendly. Or maybe I am just imagining that. He likes to flirt in general, because he knows the affect he has on women. And truthfully, he was not devastated when I broke up with him. I don’t think we were ever really in love.
I drop the mail and my purse on the hall table, next to the offending timepiece. I make another mental note to dump it off at an antique shop. Or maybe Violet would like it. Speaking of Violet, I bet she would like to join me at the pool, if she isn’t wrapped up in a blanket out there already.
I march into my bedroom to get it over with. I fling open my armoire (eighteenth-century style reproduction), and survey my bathing suit collection. Why did I think I needed any new ones? Other than my weight, of course. But surely I can stretch last year’s fabric across my body in its current state, at least until my diet and exercise program gets underway.
I wiggle out of my black pencil skirt and unbutton my lavender work shirt. Standing in my bra and panties, I sort through the suits. It’s early in the season, and it’s unlikely anyone will be at the pool on a Monday evening. As Steve says, it’s like no one lives here anyway, except Violet and Judgmental Mom.
Oww, I just poked myself with my nails trying to undo my bra. That’s going to leave a scratch mark on my sensitive, newly tanned skin. I walk over to my full length mirror to have a look at the damage. Holy crap!!
This is the first time I am seeing myself in the mirror in my bra, post tanning. Below my breasts, where my skin should be perfectly tanned, like the rest of my body, are two big oblong white spots! It’s all flooding into my freaked out brain. Lindsay recommended the standup tanning booth, but her mother said she was surprised I picked that option. Obviously Lindsay has perky little boobs that stay in the same place, whether or not she is wearing a bra. But mom and I have a problem with the forces of time and gravity. Shit! How the hell can I wear a bikini now? I made my problem worse. As I ponder my predicament, the doorbell rings. I’m sure that’s Violet. She will die laughing when I tell her this one, but at least my fried hair is stabilized. My self-improvement efforts leave a lot to be desired.
Afraid of Her Shadow Page 12