He Loves Lucy (27 page)

Yes, this was a fitting end to one shitty day, and as Lucy rummaged through her pitifully stocked kitchen cabinets, she wanted to crawl in behind the brown rice and garbanzo beans and hide.

This day alone, she’d turned down fourteen requests for print or broadcast interviews, including two from major national magazines. Her weight gain was the subject of newspaper columns, radio call-ins, conversations at bus stops. She knew it would be just hours or minutes before some halfway-bright reporter somewhere put two and two together and figured out she was the Lucy Cunningham of Pitt State Slump Buster fame.

Plus, her boss had gone missing. Not that this was a tragedy, but it was inconvenient, because Friday was payday.

And she hadn’t had anything to eat since her breakfast of yogurt and a banana.

All these things conspired to make Lucy cranky and fidgety, and she moved to the refrigerator, where she stood in front of the open door, tapping her foot.

She gave up. There was only one thing she truly wanted, one thing that could save her. It was hot and filling, and in all the time she’d been in Miami, it had never failed to relax her, soothe her.

She would call Luigi. A twelve incher would be just right tonight.

But as Lucy picked up the phone she had to laugh at herself-she couldn’t remember the number for Luigi’s Pizza! It had once been No. 1 on her speed dial, but she’d deleted the number last November, and at the time it felt like getting closure on a soured relationship. And now, nine months later, she was crawling back to him and even had to stoop so low as to look up his number in the book.

Her fingers trembled but managed to hit all the right buttons on the keypad. Luigi answered. Lucy froze.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

Lucy eventually spit out her order-a large stuffed crust sausage with extra cheese-and it sounded like the lyrics to a bittersweet love song from her past.

“Lucy? Is that you?”

Good God! She couldn’t even order a pizza with impunity. “Hey, Luigi, how have you been?”

“Great, great, but you shouldn’t be eating pizza no more, Lucy, especially with the weight gain. I hate to turn down a sale, but you’re lookin‘ too good to eat my pie.”

Though Lucy stood at her kitchen counter, she knew she was really standing at a crossroads. She could agree with Luigi, open a can of garbanzo beans, and feel good about herself, or she could lie.

“It’s for my sister,” she said.

“She likes the sausage and extra cheese just like you, eh?” Luigi didn’t even try to hide his amusement.

“Yes, she does.”

“You need anything to drink with that?”

“Do you still carry ice cream?”

It was Luigi’s turn for silence. After a couple of seconds he asked, “Your sister like butter brickle same as you?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, she can’t get enough of the stuff.”

“It comes to eighteen ninety-five. Twenty minutes. And you’re breakin‘ my heart, Lucy.” He hung up.

It was done.

Lucy poked her head into the bedroom to check on Mary Fran, who was now sleeping, thank God. The twins and Holden were with Mom and Dad for the night. This time, it seemed Mary Fran had finally followed through on her threat to leave Keith for good. She and Lucy had talked most of the evening, and as far as Lucy could see, the problem with Fran and Keith was a continuing failure to communicate.

Mary Fran said they’d tried counseling, but after Keith missed one appointment because of a last-minute business trip, they never got back on track. Mary Fran said she’d hired a nanny for two half days a week to give her some alone time but found it only made her lonelier. So two days ago, when Keith called to say he’d be another week in Houston, she hit the wall. Mary Fran left him. And she ran to Miami, the city where she’d come so many times to sleep or dance away her heartache.

Lucy left the bedroom and shook her head, realizing this was a far cry from the wild single-girl lifestyle Mary Fran had once pined for. She flopped down on the couch and surfed aimlessly through the channels, allowing her mind to rehash all the latest weirdness in her life.

Stephan had been missing for four days now-just gone. Though he sometimes left town for weeks on end, he always gave them a heads-up. But this time, nothing. No one could track him down, and Lucy had the misfortune of pulling the short straw to call his ex-wife. Upon hearing Stephan was nowhere to be found, she’d laughed. Everyone at the office agreed that if he didn’t show up tomorrow, they’d have to bring in the authorities.

Also that day, Tyson called to inform her that Lola DiPaolo had been canned. Apparently, Ramona had warned Lola to keep her mouth shut after she made those mean-spirited comments to the
Herald
, but just that morning she’d phoned into a morning radio show to repeat the same drivel-that Lucy was no longer even trying. Ramona canned Lola the minute she showed up for work. Good riddance to her.

Lucy clicked away at the remote control, eventually stumbling onto an
Andy Griffith Show
marathon. The pizza came, and she whispered her thanks to the delivery boy so Mary Fran wouldn’t hear. Lucy put away the ice cream and returned to the couch, the box balanced on her knees. She studied the red, green, and white map of Italy and the cute little illustration of the pizza guy holding out a steaming pie pan. She opened the lid and feasted her eyes on the sight-twelve inches of crisp white heaven topped with spicy sausage and a homemade tomato sauce, smothered in a velvet veil of melted mozzarella. It had been far too long.

Lucy managed to eat the entire pizza while watching Sheriff Andy Taylor orchestrate the budding romance between Goober and Flora, the new diner waitress. During the episode where Opie befriends a hobo, Lucy ate the pint of butter brickie. And while Opie searched for his lost baseball in the haunted Rimshaw house, Lucy lay on her side moaning.

“Lucy? Are you out there?” Mary Fran’s voice sounded stuffy, like she’d been crying again.

Lucy managed to get up off the couch and fought back dizziness as she raced to the bedroom door, noting the empty pizza box on the counter as she went. She’d have to find a way to get rid of that.

“I’m here, Frannie. You want a cup of tea?”

“No. Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you’re still here. Please don’t leave the apartment.”

“No problem.”

“Do I smell pizza?”

It seemed more untruths would be required, and Lucy had to wonder if pizza was worth repeatedly lying to family members and small businessmen. “I nuked a Weight Watchers pasta bowl. Want one?” She winced when she heard herself say it.

“No thanks. I’m going back to sleep.”

Lucy turned to shut the door, but Mary Fran’s soft voice stopped her. “Wait, Luce.”

“Sure.” Lucy leaned against the doorjamb and cradled her stomach.

“Thank you for everything.”

“No problem.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute? I… I want to apologize for something.”

Lucy straightened up. “For what?” She moved to turn on the lamp, but Mary Fran asked her not to. ‘This will be easier for me to talk about in the dark,“ she whispered.

“All right.” Lucy waited. In the indirect light from the kitchen, she watched Frannie push herself up to sit cross-legged on the bed.

“First, I want to apologize for not being a very good sister to you lately, or ever, really. I’ve been so focused on my own problems that I haven’t been there for you when you needed me.” Mary Fran studied her hands, her voice choked with sadness. “I know things aren’t great with you and Theo, and I haven’t helped you at all. I’m just making things worse by showing up here and crying. I am sorry.”

Lucy was dumbstruck. In all her life, Mary Fran had never been this frank. Lucy cleared her throat. “It’s all right.”

“No, wait-it gets worse.” Mary Fran blew her nose in a tissue and hung her head. “I need to admit something awful to you. It’s really been weighing on my mind lately and I need to just tell you.”

“OK.” This sounded ominous.

“I’ve always been jealous of you, Lucy. There’s this mean and nasty part of me that was always glad you were heavy, because being thin was the one thing I had mat you didn’t. I am ashamed to tell you this.”

“
Whoa
.” Lucy’s knees gave out and she landed on the edge of the bed.

Fran looked up at her, and Lucy could see more tears welling in her eyes. “I think I’ve been feeling a little threatened by your weight loss success. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sure you hate me now.”

Lucy sighed. It seemed they were doing some house-cleaning tonight, so she’d better do her share. “I’ve always been jealous of you, too.”

Mary Fran frowned. “Because I was thin?”

“Well, yeah. Thin and pretty and popular. Everyone always compared me to you. ‘The Cunningham girls- the pretty one and the fat one.’”

Mary Fran laughed. “I always thought it was ‘the Cunningham girls-the brilliant one and the ditzy one.’”

They laughed, and Mary Fran reached out for Lucy and they threw their arms around each other. Lucy held Mary Fran’s little body tight to her as they rocked back and forth. Eventually Lucy pulled back and stroked her sister’s short hair. “We’re both ditzes, Frannie.”

“You don’t hate me?” The sincerity in her sister’s expression touched her.

“How could I hate you? Do you hate me?”

“God, no.” Mary Fran fell forward on the bed and stretched out. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have you to come to these past months.” She turned to look at Lucy. “It’s really scary, discovering I may have made a mistake when I married Keith. I’ve got so many decisions ahead of me.” She smiled sadly. “But I’m going to figure out my life. I promise.”

“I know you will. You’re strong. And I’ll always be right here for you.”

“You’re strong, too, Lucy.” Mary Fran rubbed her eyes and rested her cheek on the pillow. “And I’m so proud of you. So proud of everything-”

In seconds, her breathing was deep and slow and Lucy leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to figure out my life, too,” she whispered.

Lucy closed the bedroom door behind her, and her eyes immediately went to the pizza box on the counter-top. It dawned on her that if she and Frannie had gotten around to that conversation an hour earlier, the pizza wouldn’t have been so appealing. As usual, expressing her feelings felt more satisfying than stuffing them down with food.

With a sigh, Lucy pulled out the plastic kitchen garbage pail and shoved the pizza box and ice-cream carton inside. But wait. What if Mary Fran opened the lid to the trash can? She’d be found out. And going to the garbage chute was out of the question, since she’d promised Mary Fran she’d stay in the apartment. So how would she get rid of the evidence?

Lucy picked up the garbage bag, the colors of Italy plainly visible under the thin plastic. She got a pair of scissors from the drawer. She cut the box in half, then fourths, then eighths, and kept going until she had a nice stack of little tomato-stained cardboard squares. She shoved them inside the ice-cream carton, replaced its lid, and shoved the pint back in the trash bag. Then she returned to the couch.

A few minutes later, Lucy realized that wouldn’t work, either. What if Mary Fran saw the ice-cream container? Was ice cream any less damning than pizza? What if the lid fell off the ice-cream container and Mary Fran saw all those little cardboard cutouts? She’d think Lucy was off her nut!

Lucy ran back into the kitchen, where she stood in the center of the room and plotted how to remove all evidence of her binge. Surely this was how ax murderers felt in the aftermath of their crime. Her gaze drifted to the sink, and inspiration hit her.

By the end of the episode where Barney Fife gets his first new car, the sink of hot tap water had done its job. One quick stir with a wooden spoon and Lucy was satisfied the cardboard had disintegrated into an unidentifiable blob of gray pulp. She had begun to scoop the amalgam into a fresh trash bag when the doorbell rang.

“
Where is she
?” Keith stood in the harsh hallway light, his tie askew and his hair wild. “Mom said she’s here.”

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and blocked the door. “She’s sleeping.”

“I have to see her.”

Lucy was suddenly afraid something bad had happened. “Is everything all right? The kids-”

Keith barged right past her. “The kids are fine. But I’m not. I get out of a meeting this afternoon and I get a voice mail that my wife is leaving me. I get dumped via voice mail.”

Keith spun around, obviously looking for the door to Lucy’s bedroom. “Where is she?”

Lucy pointed, watching her handsome Brooks Brothers brother-in-law jog through her tiny kitchen. He suddenly stopped, staring at the mess in the sink, dripping down the cabinets into the trash bag.

“What the hell is
that
?”

Lucy grimaced, forcing her mind to spring from its pizza-induced stupor. “Uh. Papier-mache?”

Keith looked her up and down. “You look great, Luce. Whatever it takes.”

Lucy spent the next few moments desperately trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place in her bedroom. She turned up the volume on the episode where Aunt Bea makes the metric ton of pickles, its plot line meshing with Fran and Keith discussing work, sex, economizing, family dinners, Holden and the twins, and whether they should downsize and sell the manse in Buckhead so that Keith could get a less demanding job.

Lucy even heard Fran say something about going back to work part-time.

Moments later, Fran and Keith exited from the bedroom holding hands. Keith looked in shock but calmer, and Frannie looked happier than Lucy had seen her in months. Her smile was so wide it pushed up the pink apple of her cheeks. In his free hand Keith held Fran’s overnight bag.

“We’re checking into the Four Seasons tonight. I’ll call Mom and let her know.” Fran walked to the couch and kissed Lucy good-bye. “Thank you, sweetie. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”