Rachel went into a stall, and Angela slipped into the one next to it. She stayed there until she heard Rachel leave her stall and wash her hands. She forced herself to remain hidden until she heard Rachel exit the bathroom, then she bolted out of the stall and ran to the door.
She cracked it open and looked out. She didn't see anyone. The coast was clear.
Okay, go!
She hurried down the hall, keeping her purse to the side of her face. She was halfway to the door when she heard Brad's voice again. She whirled around and raced back to the bathroom.
Safely inside, she leaned against the door and tried to calm her breathing. That had been a close one.
Suddenly the door moved and she jumped away.
“Miss, are you all right?” Marion poked her head around the door. At the sight of Angela her eyes popped open wide. “Angela?”
Angela could feel her cheeks sizzling. “Oh. Hi, Marion.”
“Are you all right?” Marion asked.
“Um, yeah. I was going to surprise Brad.”
“He just left for lunch. If you hurry you can catch him.”
“Okay,” said Angela. “And Marion?”
Marion looked at her expectantly, maybe hoping for an explanation of her weird behavior.
“Don't tell Brad I was here. Okay? Then it wouldn't be a surprise.”
“Okay,” Marion said slowly.
“Thanks,” Angela said, and left, trying to act like she hadn't a care in the world.
She got outside the building just in time to see Brad walking down the street with two other men. And Rachel.
Well, at least they weren't going to lunch, just the two of them. Hope seeped into her heart. Maybe Brad hadn't gone over the edge yet. Maybe she could still keep him safe at home.
But then the two men got into a car parked at the curb and drove off down the street and Rachel and Brad kept walking.
Oh, Brad. How could you?
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“I've got to lose weight faster,” Angela said as the Bikinis dished up from their latest diet smorgasbord on Kizzy's counter.
“If you lose too fast you won't keep it off,” said Megan, spooning some of Erin's Mexican veggie soup into a bowl.
“If I lose too slow I won't keep my husband,” said Angela, making Kizzy frown disapprovingly. “I gained back half of what I lost on the diet pills,” she added miserably.
“If it's any consolation, I'm not doing well, either,” said Erin with a sigh.
“Maybe we need some kind of reward to help us stay motivated,” Kizzy said. “A trophy or something that we can pass around. You know, whoever does the best in one week gets to take it home with her for that week.”
“That's a great idea,” Erin said. “What should we call it?”
“The Skinny Minnie Award,” suggested Kizzy.
“The No-fat Nobel,” cracked Megan.
Erin snapped her fingers and pointed to Megan. “The No-belly.”
“The No-belly award. I like it,” said Kizzy.
“There's a trophy shop not far from my office. I'll go there and find us something tomorrow on my lunch hour,” Erin volunteered. “You know,” she added thoughtfully. “Most athletes win a trophy and get some money, too. What if we each kicked in twenty-five dollars and the person who lost the most weight by bikini season got the pool as a reward?”
“Ooh, I like that,” Angela said, perking up. “A hundred dollars would buy a new bikini and then some.” She could already see herself in that bikini, strutting past Brad. Then out of the bikini as Brad made mad, passionate love to her.
“A new dress,” said Kizzy.
“And shoes,” added Angela, getting up. A bikini and high heels, just like Miss America woreâshe would be
magnifica.
She grabbed her purse and fished out a twenty and a five and slapped them on the table. “Okay, ladies. Ante up.”
They did, and put the money in an envelope marked “No-belly Prize Winner.”
“And now, for dessert,” Kizzy announced and disappeared into the kitchen.
She returned to the table with a cut-glass bowl full of a decadent-looking chocolate pudding dessert.
“That looks sinful,” said Angela.
“It's almost guilt-free,” said Kizzy. “I'm calling it Chocolate Rum Heaven.”
“Chocolate pudding with rum. Where's the guilt-free part?” Megan asked.
“The guilt-free part is that it's sugar-free pudding, whipped creamâyou can have that if you're Atkinsing it, right?âwith no sugar added, and rum extract. No booze.”
“Well, that sucks,” said Erin.
“And how many calories are sticking out of the topping?” Megan asked, pointing to the bits of chocolate.
Kizzy shrugged. “Not many. I only used one dark chocolate bar.”
“Well, it works for me,” Angela said. “I'll get the dessert bowls.”
“This is good,” Erin said as they dug in.
Angela licked her spoon and closed her eyes. “Almost as good as sex.”
“But not better,” Kizzy added. “Nothing is better than sex. Chocolate is the world's best drug, but there are some things it will never replace.”
Megan sighed.
Poor Megan, thought Angela. It was no fun to be alone. She remembered her mother's advice to concentrate on making her
husband happy. Did she want to end up alone, trying to fill her days and her heart with chocolate recipes? She knew the answer to that. Mom was right. She needed to fight for her man.
So that night, she went home and fought like crazy. “Baby,” Brad finally groaned, “I don't know what's gotten into you, but I like it.”
She smiled as he pulled her close to him under the covers.
You think that was something, you just wait.
As soon as the girls were fed Saturday morning, she went to the mall and made a beeline for Victoria's Secret and bought the sexiest nightgown they had, and a new bra and panties. It was not a cheap investment, but this was war, and war was never cheap. She stuffed the receipt into her wallet, then went to Nordstrom's perfume counter and bought more artillery. Back home she put away her purchases, then she went online and did some research, tapping the desk in excitement as she read. Ha! she thought with a grin as she found what she was looking for. This could be fun. If the Bikinis liked DDR, they'd love this. And maybe, just maybe, she could book a party before Valentine's Day next week. The night before would be great. She could put the girls to bed early and get Brad to go out with his brother or over to his parents for the evening.
She made the call and the answer was yes. Yes! This was going to be a Valentine's Day to remember. Now, back to the Web to send out an E-vite.
“Hey, baberino, what's for lunch?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. Brad was already coming into their home office. She stood up to block the computer. “Oh, lunchtime already?”
“Twelve-thirty.” He looked over her shoulder. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Just planning a party.”
He gave her a teasing grin. “Yeah? For who? How do I know you're not having an affair?”
She frowned at him. “That is not funny.”
“Sorry. So what are you doing? How come you're being so secretive?”
“Because it's a surprise. For Valentine's Day?”
He raised both eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. So, can you go open up a can of tomato soup? I'll be right out as soon as I finish with the surprise.”
He was smiling now. “Okay. Although how you're going to top last night, I don't know.”
Now she was smiling, too. “Oh, you'd be surprised.”
Ha! Take that, hottie homewrecker. You'll never get him. Not now.
K
izzy read the E-vite from Angela with a frown. “Is she out of her mind?”
Lionel peered over her shoulder at the computer screen. “That sounds good to me.”
“No men invited.”
“Damn. You're going, though, right?”
She looked up at him. “What, I'm not good enough already?”
“Of course you are. I'd like to see you in action doing this, Kizzy girl.”
She took a deep breath. “I swear, Lion, the things I do for you,” she said, and typed, “It looks like I'm coming.”
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Megan stared at Angela's E-vite. She would have to be completely bombed out of her mind to do this. “This can take the place of diet club,” Angela had written, “since we're not meeting Friday 'cause of Valentine's Day.”
Valentine's Day, day of love, hearts and flowers, candy, couples,
mortification, loneliness, resentment, grumpy behavior, eating too much, hating skinny women, resenting men with no taste who chased skinny women. No, wait. That was the old Megan. The new Megan loved Valentine's Day, loved hearts and flowers and candyâoh, wait, scratch the candyâloved hearts and flowers, and parties. So why not go to Angela's? It would give her something fun to look forward to. Well, sort of, if she could consider making a fool of herself fun. But these were women who liked and appreciated her. No one would laugh at her. And she didn't have to participate if she didn't want to. She could just come be a body, a getting-lighter-all-the-time body.
“I'll come be a watcher,” she replied. There. Now she had something fun to look forward to, at least on the day before Valentine's Day.
But what about the day itself? She didn't want to be bummed on Valentine's Day. She sat at her desk a moment, chewing the corner of her lip. Okay, she was working on getting a new body, and she was changing the inside Megan, as well. What would the new and improved Megan like to do? She looked around her windowless office. The new and improved Megan would like to fill her life, and this pathetic shark tank, with beauty. She looked up the phone number for Changing Seasons, then placed an order.
“How would you like that to read?” asked Hope.
“To my new woman, from your number one admirer,” Megan said with a smile.
“And who would you like that sent to?” asked Hope.
“Megan Wales, the First Orca Trust Tower, forty-first floor.”
“Okay. And how would you like to pay for that?”
“MasterCard.”
“And the name on the card?”
This was embarrassing. “Ummm. Megan Wales.” Megan's cheeks suddenly felt sunburned.
There was a moment's silence on the other end of the line.
Megan's sunburn got hotter.
Then Hope surprised her. “You go, girl.”
And she did. After finishing up on the phone, she took an early lunch break and went for a brisk walk to that little card shop, where she bought white and pink crepe paper, a box of kid Valentine cards, and a big, lacey heart filled with sugar-free chocolates. This was going to be a great Valentine's Day.
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Normally Kizzy would be excited to go to a party, but she drove to Angela's house under a cloud of skepticism. This was dumb. She wasn't twenty anymore, and she was so big she'd probably break the pole. Why had she said she'd come, anyway?
She got to Angela's to find that the rest of the Bikinis had already arrived. And Angela's living room had been transformed. She had the lights turned down and votive candles sat everywhereâon the coffee table, on the end tables, on the bookshelves. Their instructor had set up a table laden with props: pink boas, feather-trimmed masks, and tiaras. The furniture had been pushed to the corners of the living room and there, in the middle of the room stood the pole. It seemed to taunt her.
I'm going to break your big ass, girl
.
Angela rushed up to her and hugged her. “Isn't this exciting? We are going to be so sexy by the time we're done.”
“Or sore,” Kizzy said, eyeing the two inches of steel with suspicion. She saw bottled water and Pellegrino already in evidence. Kizzy wasn't a big drinker, but right now she'd have given anything for a glass of white wine and damn the calories. Sadly, it didn't appear to be on the menu.
“Can I get you some bottled water or Pellegrino?” Angela offered. “Or we've got Diet Seven-Up.”
“Water,” said Kizzy. And anesthetic, she thought as Angela hurried off to fetch her a bottle. She crossed the room to join Erin and Megan, who were on the floor stretching with their instructor, and made sure to give the threatening rod of steel a wide berth.
Their instructor jumped up from the floor and glided over to
greet Kizzy. She had a toned dancer's body and long, blond hair. Any dancer worth her salt should have long hair, Kizzy thought, fingering her short locks.
“Hi, I'm Jilly,” the woman said. “And you must be Kizzy?”
Kizzy nodded.
“We're just doing a little stretching so our muscles will get warmed up,” Jilly explained. “Would you like to join us?”
“Why not?” Kizzy said, and joined the others on the floor. “I suppose it's too late to go home.”
“Absolutely,” said Erin. “And when you find out how much Angela forked out for this you won't dare.”
Kizzy stared at her. “She paid for this torture?”
“We're going to kick in,” Megan added.
“Oh, no you're not,” Angela told her. She gave Kizzy her bottle of water. “My idea, I'm paying. Well, for part of it,” she amended. “My mom's paying for half.”
“Your mom?” Kizzy echoed. She knew her eyes were bugging out. If she'd told her mother she was planning something like this, her mother would have descended on her with an entire army of church ladies.
Angela made a face. “She thinks it will be good for my self-esteem.”
“It's worth every penny,” Jilly assured her. “Sometimes we women lose that connection to our sexuality. This can give you new confidence.”
“I don't need confidence in that area,” Kizzy assured her. “What I need is confidence that that pole of yours will hold me.”
Jilly smiled at her. “It will hold you fine, trust me. Okay, ladies, now let's stand and stretch our arms.” She hopped up, linked her hands and reached for the ceiling in one fluid motion. All she needed, thought Kizzy, was the tutu.
The others followed her through the rest of the stretches, and Megan muttered, “This reminds me of my old gym class. When does the fun start?”
“Right now,” Jilly said. “Before we begin with the lessons, let's form a friendship circle around the pole. Bring your drinks.”
They grabbed their bottled drinks and gathered around.
“Now, let's toast to our inner goddess,” said their instructor.
“Let's just toast to not breaking anything,” Kizzy suggested, and the others giggled.
“To not breaking anything,” Angela echoed. “And to driving our men crazy.”
“To becoming someone new,” Megan added softly.
“And you will feel like someone new when we're done,” Jilly said. “I promise.”
“Well, then, let's do it,” said Angela.
And so they started learning how to slide up and down and around that stupid pole. As the oldest and their fearless leader, Kizzy was made to go first. She felt like a complete idiot, even with the Bikinis hooting and clapping, and telling her she was doing great.
“Okay, that's enough,” she decided after a halfhearted effort. She was a pretty good dancer but a lousy actress, and it was impossible for her to get it on with a pole. The cheesy blues CD Jilly had brought didn't help. “I think I'm allergic to feathers,” she added, removing her boa.
Erin, who weighed the least of all of them, looked gorgeous with her blond hair flying, and the way she was moving promised a great wedding night. And Angela got so into the whole thing, Erin told her she could moonlight as a stripper. And then there was Megan, serious, cerebral Megan. With moves like that, singleness was wasted on her.
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As Megan had feared, pole dancing was not for sissies. She was already finding new muscles that had been hiding from her for years. But she was finding something else, too. As the rest of the Bikinis called encouraging words to her and rooted for her, she became
freer and freer. She spun around the pole like a human tornado, her pink boa caressing her skin, her hair whipping out behind her, and suddenly she wasn't Megan the big girl anymore. She was someone new, someone free and sexy and desirable.
“My goodness,” Angela told her when she finally sat down after her turn at the grand finale performance, “you were amazing.”
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Amazing. Megan smiled. Tonight she was pole-dancing. Tomorrow she was going to be getting flowers and handing out Valentine cards. Life was good.
“That was fun,” she said to Angela later as she was leaving, and pressed a fifty-dollar bill into her palm.
“No, this is my treat,” Angela insisted, trying to hand it back.
“I want to help. And, believe me, it was worth every penny.”
“Are you sure?” asked Angela.
“Absolutely.” She didn't know whether or not her future held a man, but for sure, it held a pole. She was going to take classes and get really good at this.
Or not. She woke up so sore the next morning she could hardly move. She rolled herself to the edge of the bed and let herself fall over the edge, taking the blankets with her and landing with an oomph. She caterpillared her way free, forced her legs out to the side, and did a stretch. Ohhhh. The electric chair had to be less painful than this.
No pain
,
no gain
. She stretched again, every muscle in her body crying.
Okay, off to the shower. Warm water would help. So would about half a bottle of Advil.
The Advil had kicked in by the time she got to the office, and remembering how good she felt boosted her mood. She was early this morning, so she was able to deliver many of her valentines in secret. The last oneâa big card featuring Tweety birdâshe taped to Tanner's office door. Then she went into her own cage and admired
her handiwork from the afternoon before. Pink and white crepe paper streamers looped from corner to corner, and the big heart sat on her desk. It looked like a party.
She was just trying a candy when Tanner arrived. He looked around and scowled. “Are you bored? Do you need more work?”
“Just celebrating love.”
He held up the valentine. “I see. And what is this celebrating?”
It was an innocuous card and she'd only signed her name, although she'd been tempted to write, “To Simon Legree from his number one slave.” She shrugged. “I gave one to everyone.” She held out the candy box. “Chocolate? They're sugar free.”
He grimaced. “That's disgusting.”
She wasn't sure whether he was disgusted by her generosity or the fact that she was offering him sugar-free chocolate. She was about to ask when her phone rang and her extension lit up.
It was James the receptionist. “You've got flowers.”
“Flowers? For me?”
Tanner shook his head, still frowning. “Well, go get them. Hopefully, they're from a potential new client.”
Clients, rainmakers.
Suddenly the day wasn't quite so wonderful.