Bikini Season (14 page)
Authors: Sheila Roberts
M
egan stopped by Femme Fit on her way home from work. The gym was practically a ghost town, with only a couple of women making the rounds on the exercise-machine circuit. Of course, it would be. Most women were home getting ready to celebrate a romantic evening with their significant others.
egan stopped by Femme Fit on her way home from work. The gym was practically a ghost town, with only a couple of women making the rounds on the exercise-machine circuit. Of course, it would be. Most women were home getting ready to celebrate a romantic evening with their significant others.
Raine Goldman, the owner, had decked the place out in honor of the holiday, hanging purple and red heart-shaped foil doilies in the window. A vase of red roses sat on the reception desk, and behind them stood Raine herself, wearing pink warm-ups and only a hint of a smile.
Megan walked up to the desk to deliver the small box of sugar-free chocolates she'd bought for the woman who had been so supportive when she first began this scary fitness journey. Megan didn't know if Raine had anyone in her life or not. She was a nice enough looking woman, with a flair for makeup and a great colorist somewhere who helped her keep her age something of a mystery. Megan guessed she was in her late forties, but who knew? Most women these days didn't look their age. No wedding band, but she
could have a boyfriend. As many times as Megan had come to the gym, the subject of men had never come up. Maybe Raine was depressed because it was Valentine's Day and she was alone.
could have a boyfriend. As many times as Megan had come to the gym, the subject of men had never come up. Maybe Raine was depressed because it was Valentine's Day and she was alone.
“I brought you something,” Megan said, offering Raine a heart-shaped box of chocolates. “Sugar free.”
Raine smiled. Sadly. “Oh, Megan, that was so sweet of you. Thanks. I wish everyone was like you,” she added.
If her mouth fell any lower it would pull off the whole bottom half of her face. “Are you okay?” Megan asked. Of course she wasn't okay, but Megan hoped by asking she would encourage Raine to get whatever was bugging her off her chest.
“Just having a bad day is all.”
“Bad day? You look like you just got sued for everything you own and then some,” Megan observed.
Raine's face went white. “Oh, my God. Don't even say that,” she said in a whisper.
And then Megan knew. “Is someone suing you?”
“Angie,” Raine called to her assistant, “can you come man the desk?” Then she grabbed Megan by the arm and towed her back to her office. Megan was barely seated when Raine burst out, “What can I do if someone is ruining my reputation?”
“You have legal recourse,” Megan said. “Maybe you should give me some specifics.”
Raine bit her lip. “There is someone who has been telling customers that my equipment isn't safe.”
“Is this someone from another gym?” Megan asked.
“No. She was a member here. For about two weeks,” Raine added in disgust. “She was out of shape. We advised her to go slow. She claims she hurt her back on our equipment, and that no one taught her how to use it properly, but that's not true. We show everyone how to use the equipment, and besides, she wrote on her medical history form that she's had chronic back troubles.”
Suddenly Megan knew exactly whom Raine was talking about. She'd only seen the woman once, and once had been enough for
Megan. The woman had been a real downer for the others, who were trying to make the most of their misery by joking and chatting as they made the rounds. Not this babe. She'd moaned and complained her way through the whole workout. And one of the things she'd complained about had been her back. She'd looked like a nuisance lawsuit waiting to happen.
Megan. The woman had been a real downer for the others, who were trying to make the most of their misery by joking and chatting as they made the rounds. Not this babe. She'd moaned and complained her way through the whole workout. And one of the things she'd complained about had been her back. She'd looked like a nuisance lawsuit waiting to happen.
“You have insurance, right?” Megan asked.
“Yes, but I think she's after more than free physical therapy. She told someone the other day she was going to sue me,” Raine said. Her mouth trembled. “I was just about to start franchising. She'll ruin me.”
“No she won't. Have your lawyer send her a letter telling her to cease and desist slandering you or you'll be forced to take legal action. That should make her go away.”
“I don't have a lawyer on retainer,” Raine said, sounding panicked.
It was like a gift from Cupid, a little gray cloud right here in front of her. “As a business person, you should. And meanwhile I'd be happy to write this woman a letter on our Weisman, Waters, and Green stationery. That should put the fear of God in her.”
“Would you? That would be great.”
“Not a problem,” Megan said, standing. “Just get me her name and address and I'll take care of it for you. But you really should think about what I said. It's a good idea to have a lawyer on retainer, especially as your business grows.”
Raine looked at her eagerly. “Would you be my lawyer? Do you handle this sort of thing?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. And I'd be happy to be your lawyer,” Megan said.
She was grinning like a woman who had just won a landmark case when she left. Yes! She had just brought in her first client. Granted, it was a small business, but hey, small businesses needed love, too. Maybe becoming a rainmaker wasn't so much about working a room as being interested in people and what happened to them. That, she was finding, was something she could do.
She got in her little gray Saturn and punched on the radio. Gwen Stefani was singing “Sweet.” That was a good word to describe how this day had ended. No big romance, no tangled sheets, but Megan had just taken a bite of a sweet future, and that was a big enough buzz for her.
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Kizzy had promised to serve Lionel all his favorite food for Valentine's Day. She'd stopped on the way home and picked up a bucket of fried chicken and some Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Then she'd made garlic mashed potatoes, cornbread, and a big tossed salad. They were going to have a Valentine feast tonight.
But Lionel came home with little appetite, not even for the sugar-free chocolates he'd brought her.
“What's wrong, Lion?” she asked, reaching across the table and laying a hand on his arm.
He shoved away his plate. “I guess I'm not very hungry.”
“I can see that. But you've been waiting all week for this meal. What's going on?”
“You remember Joe Moran?”
“From work? The big man with the beard?”
Lionel nodded. “He had a stroke today.”
“Oh, no. Have you heard anything? Is he going to be okay?”
“I don't know. He was diabetic.”
“Stroke sometimes comes with the territory if you don't watch it. Poor man.” Kizzy was borderline, herself. She pushed her plate away, too.
“He said once that the doctor had been after him to lose weight, that if he didn't things were just going to get worse.”
Kizzy looked at Lionel's gut and felt a shadow pass over her. What would happen to Lionel if he kept on snacking for two?
“On the way home I heard something on the radio,” he continued morosely.
Had someone famous died? “What?”
“Did you know that some doctor has found a link between prostate cancer and obesity?”
Lionel wasn't obese. He was just ⦠on his way. The shadow got bigger. “Does that worry you?”
He frowned. “Hell, yeah.”
“Maybe you need to make some changes so you won't get obese,” Kizzy said, trying to keep her voice gentle.
He pushed away from the table and marched off.
Well, this was a romantic Valentine's Day. “Lion,” Kizzy called, running after him.
He didn't say anything, just kept marching to the garage. She followed him and watched gape-mouthed as he made a raid on his junk-food stash. He flipped open the toolbox, yanked out the candy bars, and hurled them into the garbage. Next went the Pringles. She watched in amazement as he pulled junk food from places she never would have dreamed of looking.
“Go, Lion,” she said, and applauded him.
When he was done he marched back over to her and stood, legs apart, hands on his hips, like a gladiator claiming victory. “I don't need that shit.”
“Oh, Lion, that's the best valentine you've ever given me!” She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “You're my hero.”
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Brad had offered to take Angela out to dinner, but she'd turned him down, telling him it was too hard to get a babysitter on Valentine's Day. “Anyway, tonight you get the surprise I was planning.”
She'd taken the girls to the park that afternoon and worn them out on the play equipment. Then she'd fed them early and gotten them in their jammies. Now it was seven o'clock and they were tucked away in bed sound asleep, and it was showtime.
She set the tray with Brad's and her dinner on the hope chest at the foot of the bed, then stepped back to survey the room. It looked good. There was the steak and baked potatoes with fresh
asparagus, Brad's fave. Asti Spumante, her fave, sat chilling in the ice bucket on her side of the bed, and she had the little plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and a can of whipped cream ready and waiting on her nightstand. The bedroom looked very sexy, if she did say so herself. She'd draped red and white silk scarves everywhere, put red light bulbs in the bedside lamps, and scattered rose petals all the way from the door to the bed. The flowers Brad had brought home for her sat in a vase on the dresser. The CD player was all set up and ready to go. She'd already tried her routine, so she knew the bedpost would hold her. She grabbed her rose spray perfume and gave the room one final spritz. There. She smiled and cinched her bathrobe belt more tightly around her costume. Time to get her audience.
asparagus, Brad's fave. Asti Spumante, her fave, sat chilling in the ice bucket on her side of the bed, and she had the little plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and a can of whipped cream ready and waiting on her nightstand. The bedroom looked very sexy, if she did say so herself. She'd draped red and white silk scarves everywhere, put red light bulbs in the bedside lamps, and scattered rose petals all the way from the door to the bed. The flowers Brad had brought home for her sat in a vase on the dresser. The CD player was all set up and ready to go. She'd already tried her routine, so she knew the bedpost would hold her. She grabbed her rose spray perfume and gave the room one final spritz. There. She smiled and cinched her bathrobe belt more tightly around her costume. Time to get her audience.
She went downstairs to the living room, where Brad had been confined ever since he'd gotten home from work. “You can come upstairs now.”
“What are you up to?” he asked with a smile.
“Come see,” she said coyly, and took his hand and led him up the stairs. Oh, this was going to be good. She'd like to see Rachel the puttana try and compete with this. She threw open the bedroom door. “Dinner is ready. Are you?”
He looked around, his mouth hanging open. “Wow, Ang.”
She took his suit jacket and slipped him out of it, then draped the jacket over her slipper chair. The shirt and pants and shoes followed. She barely had to nudge him to get him on the bed. Then she played geisha and removed his socks. “Now, how about something to eat?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning.
She passed him his plate and he sat on the bed, feet stretched out in front of him and dug in. She watched him eat, feeling very pleased with herself. This had been a great idea. They hadn't eaten a meal in bed since their honeymoon. She uncorked the champagne and poured them both glasses.
“This is great, baberino,” Brad said. “Much better than going out.”
“I thought so,” she said smugly and took a sip of champagne.
Bene.
She took another sip.
Bene.
She took another sip.
“Aren't you going to eat?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah.” She retrieved her plate and hopped onto the bed next to him. And took another sip of champagne. “How's your steak?”
“Just the way I like it,” he said. He nodded at her bathrobe. “What've you got on under there?”
She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “You'll see. Have some more champagne.” She freshened his glass. And, well, well, hers was almost empty. She drank the last of it and freshened her glass, too.
Wooh!
Wooh!
“You know, we should put the girls to bed early more often,” Brad said.
“Yes, we should,” she agreed and had some more champagne. She took a bite of potato and closed her eyes, savoring the treat. Sour cream, butterâshe was going to have an orgasm right now. She took another bite and washed it down with champagne. Okay, one more bite of potato, then she should probably quit. Well, make that two. The skin was the best part. You couldn't not eat the skin. Oh. Where'd the potato go? Inside of her, every little bit, and all those calories were now swimming to her tummy as fast as they could. Who cared? It was Valentine's Day.
Salute!
She finished off the contents of her glass.
Salute!
She finished off the contents of her glass.
“Are you going to finish that steak?” Brad asked, pointing to the meat on her plate.
It wasn't good to eat too much before a performance. She'd read that somewhere. She held out her plate. “No. You can have it. I'll just have a little more champagne,” she decided and hauled the bottle out of the ice bucket. It sloshed a little going into her glass.
Oops.
Oops.
She posed seductively next to him, knees curled up, one arm draped over the bed pillows, and rubbed her lips with her glass.
“I'll finish this later,” Brad decided, and set his plate on the floor. He took hers, too.
Now it was just the two of them, the champagne, and the bed. “Close your eyes,” she cooed as soon as he'd sat back up.
He smiled and closed them. She set down her glass and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the plate. “Okay, open your mouth.”
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