Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (10 page)

The movie is still on mute, but it doesn’t look familiar. I spend a few minutes watching the actors stroll across velvet green lawns. Once the golf carts appear, I know why I’ve never seen it. A golfing movie? Talk about boring.

“I own the DVD. You can borrow it if you want.” His eyes light up underneath a tousled thatch of burnished blond hair. “Do you play?”

Me, golf? He’s got to be kidding. Golf is a rich man’s sport. Not to mention it requires the right kind of clothes. Cute little white skirts, showing lots of leg. Plus, the right kind of body. A trim, athletic body. The kind of body I’ll never have.

I skip the question and run one finger slowly across the laptop. If I had something like this, life would be so easy. “I suppose you’ve got all your lesson plans saved on it.”

He stretches in his chair, shoots me a lazy grin. “Say again?”

“Your classroom files,” I explain. Surely he knows what I’m talking about. “The forms we use every week.”

Nick shrugs. “I don’t bother with stuff like that.”

I stare at him with an uncertain smile. “But it’s so simple. All you have to do is create a form. Once you’ve got that, it’s merely a matter of updating it each week.”

“I’m not much of a computer geek. I bought it mainly for DVDs and poking around on the internet. Keep in touch with my sisters, Facebook, Twitter, that kind of thing.”

Nick bought a laptop with all the bells and whistles and barely knows how to use it? What is his problem? He went to college, just like me.

“Hey, maybe you could teach me.” He brightens. “Show me which programs you use and how they work.”

“It’s super easy once you get the forms set up.”

“That would be great.” He sounds impressed.

I can’t believe it. He really has no clue. Maybe I
can
teach him a thing or two. “Nick, trust me, this computer is going to make your life so much simpler. You’ll be able to update your schedules, prepare all your lesson plans, prep for classes—”

“Plan a field trip?” he interrupts with a sly grin.

I grin right back. “Exactly.”

His face softens as he watches me and I feel myself start to melt.

“How’d I get so lucky, having you next door?” he asks softly.

Nick’s got it all wrong. I’m the lucky one.

“Tell you what,” he says. “You teach me this computer stuff and I’ll give you golf lessons. You’ll be swinging a club in no time, just like the pros. What do you say? Have we got a deal?”

I’m no golfer. Then again, on second thought, a golf course might not be so bad. Lush green lawns, rolling hills, and sitting close to Nick in one of those little golf carts. Warm sunshine brushing across my face and his arms around me, cradling me close as I practice my swing. Guaranteed I’ll need lots of practice. And Nick is just the man to teach me.

“It’s a deal.” Another ten pounds and I might actually look halfway decent in one of those cute little golf skirts.

Except for my knees. I’ll always have fat knees.

He leans over the desk and flicks the mouse, shuts down the screen. “What about your friend? Sure he won’t mind? I don’t want any problems with him.”

“My friend?” None of my friends play golf.

“Your boyfriend. That guy in your classroom today.”

I suck in a deep breath, sink down on top of the nearest desk. Nick thinks I’m dating Sam? I could just cry. “Sam and I aren’t together.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “The two of you looked pretty chummy when I walked in. And he’s a big guy. I don’t want him coming after me.”

“It’s strictly a business relationship. Sam’s my accountant. He’s helping me get my finances in order.”

Nick grins. “No need to explain. Everyone’s entitled to their private life.”

“But it’s true.” I hear the panic in my voice. Nick doesn’t believe me. Somehow I’ve got to make him understand. “Sam and I aren’t friends. Well, I mean, we’re friends but we’re not friends like… well, friendly. You know?”

I realize I’m blathering and shut my mouth. If I keep talking, Nick will think I’m a fool. He probably already thinks I’m a fool.

A fat fool. With a fat boyfriend.

Nick grabs a tablet off his desk. “Let’s get working on that field trip. I don’t want Sam mad at me. Plus, the two of you have dinner plans, right?”

Sam.
I glance at the clock mounted on the wall. He’ll be at the restaurant soon and I promised to meet him. What if I don’t show? How long will he sit there, nursing a drink, before he realizes I’m not coming? Before he gives up and finally goes home?

But I promised Nick I’d help with the field trip, and we haven’t even started organizing things. From the clutter scattered around his desk, this could take awhile.

“We don’t exactly have dinner plans. At least, nothing that can’t be changed.”

Because I just changed them.

“Great. At least we got that settled.  Do you like pizza?”

My stomach drops. Pizza isn’t on my diet. “Doesn’t everybody?” I answer weakly.

Nick flips open his cell phone “I’ll call and have one delivered. My treat. We’ll plan the field trip over dinner.”

I think of Sam, sitting across from an empty chair, waiting for me to show up. He’s a professional. He’ll understand some things take precedence. Things like helping out a colleague. Planning a field trip.

Sharing a pizza? That doesn’t qualify. I force away the thought of Sam’s face as he finally grabs the check and leaves… alone.

It’s not fair. I shouldn’t do it. I promised Sam.

But I promised Nick, too. How can I say no to Nick Lamont and pizza? I take a deep breath and attempt a smile. “Make it double pepperoni and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

# # #

I touch the brakes, slow the car to a crawl. The restaurant’s parking lot is crowded, but the autumn twilight provides just enough light to recognize the steel-blue Jeep parked near the front door. My heart pounds against my chest. I’m two hours late and Sam is still inside waiting for me.

I never should have stayed so long at school. Why did I insist on planning the whole damn field trip? What I should have done is show Nick how to get things started, then let him take over. But he hadn’t the slightest clue. And once the pizza arrived, we ended up talking, eating, papers and pepperoni spread out across his desk. Granted, I ended up organizing most of everything, but at least next time Nick will know how. As for me, I’m exhausted and want to go home, collapse on the couch. But not yet. There’s one promise I need to keep.

Circling the parking lot, I spy an empty spot in the last row. I’ll go in, have a drink with Sam. A glass of wine will help me relax, loosen my tongue. But I’m in no mood to discuss finances. This conversation is going to be personal, starting with the apology I owe Sam.

The two of you looked pretty chummy
. Nick’s words echo in my head as I inch my car toward the narrow spot. Nick’s got it all wrong. I’m not interested in getting chummy with Sam. He’s sweet, sensible, and smart but he’s not exactly Mr. Debonair.

And he’s not Nick.

I tap the brakes, sit there a moment, eye the parking spot. Stay or go? Sam’s been in the restaurant for over two hours. He’s probably nursed his way through a few drinks, eaten a big dinner, indulged in dessert. What happens if I show up now? That will definitely give him the wrong idea about where things are headed between us.

Because there is no
us
.

There will never be an
us
.

Did I really promise to join him? Or did I merely promise to try?

He’ll never miss me. He’ll never know I was here.

A car horn blares from behind. “Come on, lady, move it!”

On second thought, that narrow parking space probably isn’t big enough for my car.

I wheel out of the parking lot and head for home.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Patty, you’re being silly. They don’t look that bad.”

“Forget it. These jeans are too tight. I don’t care if they are on sale.”

I turn my back on Priscilla and the three-way mirror magnifying every inch of my chunky legs and thighs and storm back inside the tiny dressing room, slamming the slatted door behind me. Time’s running out. I’ve got exactly one week left to find the perfect pair of jeans for our fifth-grade field trip. Nick’s planned an excursion to an outdoor YMCA that doubles as a nature preserve. We’ll be tromping through woods, fields, and open meadows… and tromping means jeans. New jeans. Jeans not too snug in the rear. Jeans that show off my figure to its best advantage.

Is it too much to ask to find something comfortable and remotely in my price range? Obviously it is because I haven’t found it yet. I barely managed to fasten the zipper on that last pair I tried on. And no way I’m buying jeans with an elastic waist.

I hurl the jeans over the door and storm past Priscilla. “This shopping trip is over. I’m going home.”

And no use blaming my problems on our old dryer in the basement. My clothes aren’t shrinking. I’m expanding.

“I don’t understand.” Priscilla struggles to keep pace as we head for the exit. “I thought surely you’d find something here at Fordham’s. They stock designer labels. Designer clothes are supposed to be cut generously to size.”

It’s not the designer labels that are to blame. More like those coconut macaroon cookies I stashed in my sock drawer. And it’s not just cookies that are causing the problem. It’s this damn diet. Ever since I started it, I’ve been surrounded by food. Fancy food, finger food, forbidden food. Every minute of every hour is a constant challenge. Every morning in the teacher’s lounge, the table groans with fresh pastries stacked high beside the coffee urn. I never can decide which are my favorite: the sweet gooey cinnamon rolls or the glazed chocolate donuts. Things aren’t any better in the classroom. The kids mean well, but they have no idea how difficult it is to refuse their daily invitations to share cookies and candy at recess. Plus every week brings another birthday celebration. Cupcakes swirled high with sugary frosting and elaborate sprinkles. How can I say no? My students would think I’m punishing them for being polite.

A horrible message to send children, I decided after the most recent party as I finished off the last remaining cupcake. How can I resist?

But obviously, I need to start. My only other option is to buy bigger jeans. And with Teacher of the Year nominations opening soon, time is running out. If I don’t lose some weight, no one will vote for me. When you’re a regular shopper in the plus-size department, it takes guts to dress yourself in self-esteem and parade it in public.

“I still don’t understand.” Priscilla frowns as we head out of the store and merge into the flow of pedestrian traffic inside the mall. “You’ve been so good on your diet.”

I window shop as we walk. Better that than to face her and the guilt. Priscilla always believes the best of me. If she only knew…

“Don’t let this get you discouraged, Patty. Maybe you should try weighing yourself when you get home. I bet you’ll be surprised.”

Weigh myself? I did it three times last night, shoving the scales around to a different spot on the bathroom floor each time.
Location, location, location
—ha! It didn’t change a thing. Thank God Priscilla hasn’t suggested we participate in weekly weigh-ins. She’d have been shocked last night to see that little needle move. Two pounds… in the wrong direction.

Damn cookies. Damn candy. Damn diet.

“Ohmigod, I don’t believe it.” Priscilla yanks my arm and pulls me flat against the store window. “He’s here.”

“Who?” I glance around the open space before us. The mall looks like it always does on a Saturday afternoon. Hip young mothers pushing baby strollers, giggling teenagers owning the aisles as they chat on cell phones, elderly couples arm in arm cautiously fielding their way through a fast-flowing sea of people. “Who? Where?”

“Right over there.” Priscilla points across the aisle with a wobbly finger.

I focus on a short, slim man ambling through the mall. “Who’s that?”

“Dr. Brown.” Her voice trembles.

I crane my neck for a better look at Priscilla’s boss, a busy internist with a thriving practice. She’s talked about him non-stop for months.

Priscilla tugs me back into the store and takes up surveillance behind a rack of trench coats. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”

“Probably the same thing as us… shopping. What else is there to do in this town on a rainy Saturday afternoon?” I grab her by the arm and pull her out of the coats. “Let’s go say hello. You can introduce me.”

“No!” Priscilla heads for a nearby clearance rack of summer sweaters and frantically paws her way through them, eyes darting back and forth between the hangers and her boss. “We can’t interrupt him.”

I venture a peek in his direction. “Interrupt him from checking out the latest releases in the window of that music store? I don’t think he’ll mind.” I coax her with a firm tug. “Come on, quit being silly. I want to meet him.”

“Patty? Is that you?”

I groan at the silky voice floating from close behind me. Bad enough I’m forced to co-exist with Amy during school hours. Do I have to endure her on weekends, too?

“And is that Priscilla? Whatever is she doing… playing hide and seek in the clothes?”

Priscilla peers out from behind the clothes rack. “I’m helping Patty find a pair of jeans.”

“They don’t stock jeans with sweaters.” Amy shifts her shopping bags from one hand to another.

I bite my tongue and throw Amy a polite smile. The preliminary voting round for Teacher of The Year starts next month and I can’t afford to alienate any potential voters. Not that I think she’ll vote for me, but I don’t need her bad-mouthing me all over school. “We’re looking for matching sweaters and jeans.”

“You ought to try Clarice’s. I bought these last week. Aren’t they cute?” Amy twirls before us in a pair of tight jeans molded to her hips. “Of course, they’re on sale now so there might not be any left. I never wait for sales. I’d rather pay full price and get exactly what I want.”

I conjure up my best evil eye. I’d like to see Amy get exactly what she deserves—reserved seating in the clearance bin.