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Sitting in the veterinarian’s waiting room while Princess gets her monthly pawdicure, I scan the newspaper. In the metro section, there’s a photo of top educators recognized for their efforts to fight illiteracy. The man in the second row looks familiar. It’s Felix.
“Ms. Beverly, Princess is ready. You requested a pink ribbon, but she insisted on purple.”
“She did?” I put down the paper. Princess stands regal and nods to her attendant.
“As always, she was polite, but firm in her decisions. She’s such a smart and communicative canine.”
Communicative? I’ve loved this beautiful girl from the moment I laid eyes on her, but she has yet to display any interest in me.
Princess sits while I pay her bill, then she follows me to the car. After I open the back door, she gracefully hops up and settles in.
“Well, girlfriend. We’re expected at Sandy’s for lunch. Remember that cute little terrier Snuggilicious and their big back yard?”
Princess yawns before closing her eyes.
Communicative. Not. On my favorite radio station, Me and You and a Dog Named Boo by Lobo plays. Princess nods along with the beat.
At Sandy’s, the pups play in the back yard while we drink sangria. Darren brings lunch from the kitchen. “SPAM tacos for three.”
“Ugh,” I exclaim.
My hosts burst into laughter.
“You guys think you’re funny,” I say. “But you’re not.”
“Yes, we are, and you resent that,” Darren says as he sets down a platter of brisket tacos.
“We’re comic geniuses,” they say in unison, then howl even more. They’re adorable together, but I won’t admit that to them.
Lunch looks and smells amazing. If I weren’t so nervous about tonight, I’d dig right in.
“I’m still miffed about Felix.” Sandy shakes her head and grimaces. “But we got someone lined up for next week. Austin’s an insurance agent. Very successful. A triathlete. Since you’re in a superficial look-at-all-the-pretty-muscles stage, you’ll go gaga over him. Felix is still my first choice, but Austin’s a good man.”
Muscles. Mmm. Fabio tonight in jeans that fit just so and–
“Bev. Earth to Bev. Where are you?” Sandy asks.
“Oh. I was thinking, oh, never mind,” I say.
“I certainly do mind. Your eyes were half-closed, and your face was practically screaming, ‘Take me now.’”
“Hush.” I shoot Sandy a stink eye. “Okay, but promise not to yell at me.”
“Maybe. Now spill the beans.”
As my taco grows cold, I tell of the strange phone calls with the FAB Enterprises concierge. Sandy stares at me with wide eyes, her mouth twisted in an unhappy knot. Darren also watches me, but the corners of his mouth fight to not curl up. No one asks questions or makes comments. I confess there might have been an unsupervised shopping trip, which causes my cousin to react. “And what did you buy without my supervision?”
“Spanx and an adorable denim jumpsuit. It makes me look like a pin-up gal from one of those sexy vintage auto mechanic posters.”
“Jumpsuit.” Sandy sighs. “Don’t drink too much. Those are a hassle to get out of in a bathroom. But you’re missing the big picture. What are you thinking? Maybe there’s a market for middle-aged sex slaves. Maybe you’re getting kidnapped.”
“If such a market exists, I doubt it’s profitable,” Darren says.
“Don’t be rude,” I snap at Darren.
“Bev,” Sandy says. “Hand me your phone.” I hand over my phone, and she hands it to Darren. “Put that tracking app on Bev’s phone.” As he installs the app, she turns back to me. “Now we can find your body if we need to.” She shakes her head. “I thought you were smart.”
We finish our tacos in silence. Darren pours another round of sangria, then chuckles.
“What’s funny?” Sandy asks.
“Can we put in a request for tomorrow’s ice cream?”
I shake my head and say, “Go ahead.” We all know I’ll be bringing Blue Bell tomorrow to dish and make peace. “I know this seems strange, but tonight could change my entire future. I feel a real connection to Fabio, like what you guys have. If tonight doesn’t go well, when I bring over the Blue Bell, we can discuss this Austin fellow.”
“Okay, but after four so Jodi can join us,” Sandy says.
***
PRINCESS AND I HEAD home at three, allowing plenty of time for my evening prep. While playing with Snuggilicious, she was the poster pup for Miss Congeniality. Now she’s aloof.
My outfit, accessories, and make-up had been set out earlier to minimize my stress. I’m worried about the Spanx. The jumpsuit fits in all the right places, so it’s not truly needed. However, the shapewear holds my stomach unnaturally flat, and that is a thing of beauty. The physical discomfort, breathing difficulty, and inability to eat aren’t troublesome, but what if one thing leads to another? What if later tonight, passion begets a romantic striptease, and I get stuck in the tummy-control vise? Would that be a mood killer?
Who am I kidding? Even without Spanx, I’m too uptight to invite a mysterious man home on the first date. However, if I did on a future date, I could use scissors to free myself, but this waist cincher cost forty-eight bucks, and I’d hate to destroy it. Hmm, if I left it on, it wouldn’t inhibit any necessary contact, but would that be weird? Maybe not any weirder than my stomach popping back to its normal profile after pretending to be flat only moments before.
By five p.m., I’m dressed to go out. My jumpsuit fits like a dream. I snap a selfie and send it to Sandy and Jodi, then spend the next half hour reading and rereading the same page of a magazine because I can’t concentrate. The doorbell rings at 5:35 p.m. “Just a minute,” I holler as I run into the bedroom to give Princess a treat. She accepts disinterestedly. I grab my handbag, scurry to open the door, and stare.
“Good evening, Ms. Beverly. Mister Fabio is finishing a call and requests you join him in the car.” The young Asian woman, dressed in a nondescript black suit with a white shirt much like Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones wore in Men in Black, holds out her arm for me to take. “Ma’am?”
I’d have preferred miss over ma’am, but she’s probably a college kid, so I let it slide. A white Escalade parks in the fire zone. Fabio sits in the back seat, engrossed in a phone call. He radiates raw sex appeal. As the driver opens the door for me, I hear Fabio say, “No pouting. Ciao.” He pockets his phone and smiles, lighting up the entire car. “Bev, thank you for joining me tonight. Nice outfit.”
“Hi,” I sputter, forgetting the enchanting banter I’d prepared. “Um, so we’re going to a barbeque.”
“It’s for business, but it could be fun. The band’s excellent, as is the caterer. I have to network, but it shouldn’t take too long.”
“What type of business?”
“Finance. Investments. A little of this, a little of that. What about you? Are you a lady of leisure or do you have a career? And if a career, what type of work?” Fabio asks.
“I work for a publishing house, proofing and editing. My current project is a SPAM Cookbook.”
“SPAM?” He raises his eyebrows. “Like the Monty Python SPAM-eating Vikings?”
“This book includes everything from a Monty Python SPAM-eating Viking Breakfast to Sashimi a la SPAM and SPAM Fried Rice.”
“Nice.” Leaning toward the front seat, he says, “Let’s have some tunes.” The music blares, barring conversation.
We arrive at the Dallas Museum of Art. Fabio jumps out of the car and hustles over to my side to open the door. He offers his hand, and when I touch him, voltage shoots through my body. He guides me through the open doors.
“Bev, the family can be, well, is intrusive, but be yourself, and I’ll owe you one. Can I get you a drink before I start my rounds?”
“Family?”
“How about a margarita? The tequila’s top shelf.”
“Uh, okay,” I say to no one because Fabio is already across the room at the bar. A well-heeled woman barrels towards me.
“Hello. And you are?”
“Um, hi. I’m Beverly.”
“I’m Michelle.” She eyes me up and down. “You’re here with my brother?”
“If your brother is Fabio, then yes.”
“Go figure.” Grinning, she shakes her head.
“Excuse me?”
“Age-appropriate, with assets adequately covered. Cute outfit. Well, enjoy the party. The crab cakes are to die for.” She pats Fabio on the shoulder when he returns with my drink. “Clever boy,” she murmurs as she glides away.
He hands me a margarita. It’s on the rocks with salt, but I can’t complain because I didn’t specify. I’m working hard on becoming more relaxed and easy-going.
Fabio brushes a chaste kiss on my forehead, and my legs turn to jelly. He says, “I gotta kiss some babies and shake some hands. Enjoy the museum. Catch you later.” Poof, he’s gone.
Dizzy from lust and uncertain what to do, I look at art, but soon feel abandoned. I get hungry and find the to-die-for crab cakes that live up to their hype and make me resent my Spanx. If I had a larger purse, I’d sneak some of these beauties home.
After one trip to the restroom, the bar is off-limits because I almost dropped my jumpsuit bodice into the commode water. Sandy was right, it’s a pain to visit the restroom in a jumpsuit, and Spanx didn’t help the situation.
At 8:30, my cell phone rings. “Hello, this is the FAB Enterprises concierge. Please meet Fabio in the lobby.” My body temperature spikes with anticipation as I return to meet him. Other than solicitous words of “good evening,” or “interesting art,” no one has spoken with me tonight, although many times, I felt eyes on my back. I should be miffed, but surely Fabio has an explanation.
The elevator doors open. Fabio sees me and strides right over.
“Bev, dear. Let’s get out of here.” He drapes his arm around my shoulders and escorts me to the Cadillac waiting outside. He opens the car door. As I slide in, he asks, “Did you enjoy the museum?” Before I answer, he shuts the door, walks around the car, opens his door, slides in, and closes his door.
“Ready, sir?” asks the driver. He nods, and she drives.
“Um, the museum’s a lovely venue for a party,” I say. Fabio nods and checks his phone. “I had hoped to spend some time with you.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. My night was highly productive.” Once again, the music blasts, discouraging conversation. Maybe we’re going somewhere to get a drink.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into the parking lot at my condo. The driver turns down the music and says, “Sir, we’re here.”
He nods and pockets his phone before exiting the car to walk around and open my door. He extends his arm to me, but releases his hold as soon as I’m standing. We walk in silence to my door.
Fabio brushes my forehead with a cursory kiss, then says, “I can’t thank you enough for tonight. Do you have your key?”
I retrieve my key from my handbag and hold it up.
“Good night.” He nods, then walks away.
I open my door, rush inside, strip off my cute yet cumbersome jumpsuit, visit the restroom, and afterward, collapse on the sofa to wrestle out of my Spanx. What was this evening about?
Princess emerges from the hall to stand by the door expectantly. When I fail to stand up, she makes a throat-clearing noise. When I don’t move, she canters over to her leash, claims it with her mouth, trots to where I’m sitting, and uses the leash to slap me on the knee. To avoid what I anticipate might be her next action, I attach the leash to her collar, pull on sweats, a T-shirt, and slippers, and grab my combo self-defense club and heavy-duty flashlight even though I feel safe in the well-lit, gated community. Walking through the complex provides time to cool down, but my emotions run all over the map.
So many questions. What happened tonight? Did I do something wrong? What could I have done differently? And the most troublesome question of all, how can I face Sandy and Jodi?