Pretty soon I'd be in the wayback machine section of the closet, and I'd return to the things I haven't worn when I was in college, not that they fit anymore. I'd paid a lot for them and haven't quite given up hope of wearing them again. Then again, chances of that would be higher of losing that extra twenty pounds on my hips if I could go to Florida stay on South Beach instead of going on and off the South Beach diet every thirty minutes. Hey, I follow the program at night when I'm drinking my water watching exercise videos; I'm not so good when I eat the miniature Snickers bars that I scrounge from the bottom of a purse I was going to give to charity. Pretty soon I was going to have to stop salting the damn purse with candy I don't particularly like from the dollar store. If I'm going to eat something high in sugar, fat, calories, and sin, I should enjoy it; punishing myself for not looking as pretty as everyone in Grady's family was never going to get me anywhere.
"Bernie, sweet pea, you need to look perfect on Saturday night," he said. "I mean his message said it was an important dinner, life changing." He waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"Oh, please," I said, "he probably wants to talk about going back to school and getting a degree in eyebrow waxing." I was beyond ready for Grady to get a job, one that paid money. When Grady and I were both undergrads, I knew I was a workhorse and he was smart, ambitious, and dreamed big dreams. Unfortunately, he was like a kindergartener, not knowing what he wanted to do or be when he grew up. He was incapable of dreaming just one dream. Just as he was about to fulfill his, and what I now thought of as my, dream, he would change his mind. First it was a masters in computers, then it was an MBA, then he wanted to be able to work internationally, so he moved on to an international MBA, and now we were in law school. Actually it is wrong to say we because he was the one attending, but I'm paying for most of it so I want my name written on the diploma in lemon juice so I'll know my contribution is there.
Vic fingered his eyebrows and said, "Where can you do that? Mine never turn out quite right when I do it myself, I over-tweeze." He licked his finger and smoothed his eyebrow. "And yours could stand to be professionally done for a change."
Probably. But money had been tight, I was exhausted, and the last time I went to a makeup counter at a department store for a makeover, I looked scarier than a clown in one of those horror movies.
"Life as a living Ken doll must be difficult," I said as I pulled a shirt out and immediately put it on the bed before Vic could say anything. The shirt had been stuck between two other shirts for probably two years, it now looked like it had been made of seersucker and it was actually a polished Pima cotton.
"Let's just rip the band aid off quickly, shall we?" he asked. "We'll go shopping."
"No." Not that I didn't want or need the help, but some of Vic's outfits looked like he was going to be on Dancing with the Stars and he'd merely left the feathers home for later. Everything he wore was perfectly starched, pressed, and color coordinated right down to his socks. Possibly his boxers coordinated, but we weren't that close and I didn't feel the need to know him quite that well. "I'll just wear what I always wear." It was a basic black wrap dress. It worked for important meetings at work, funerals, dealing with my mother, and when nothing else was clean. Did I mention it was out of some kind of space age fabric that didn't wrinkle, absorb odors, shrink, fade, stretch, or change it any way? It was basically a little black titanium dress. It always returned to its original form. I loved that dress. Change the accessories and it looked different. I liked to pretend I was French; one basic outfit you dress up or down depending on the need, the season, or the whim. Just because I'm of Irish and Scottish heritage means nothing, my heart had always been French. Sort of.
"I'll buy you something," he said. "That dress has more mileage than my car."
"You bought the car four days ago and you only live three miles from work. My shoes have more miles on them than that car." Besides, I owned the black number three times over. If the manufacturer had made it in any other colors, I would have bought one of each. "I love that dress. And I don't want you to spend that kind of money on me."
"If you're in a fire, that dress will melt to your body and your skin mars easily. You have a scar on your thumb from a papercut six months ago. And I'm afraid to use my lighter in front of you in case there's a breeze of any kind."
I shot him a dirty look. Just because he might be right didn't mean he needed to be quite so blunt about it.
"Come on, it won't cost anything to look," he said.
I glared at him as I looked for my purse. I had to dig about twelve inches down the stack of clothes to get to it, but at least it was on the bed. It was pleather, had a lot of scratches on it, and was due to be replaced sometime this winter.
"I still owe you for paying for lunch twice this month," he said.
"Ten bucks," I said. "It isn't like you don't buy lunch for me sometimes." Besides, I tend to feed Vic from the dollar menu, he says it is what he wants and I no longer argue with him. Vic's a big guy probably around six foot one or two with broad shoulders and a sturdy frame. My grandmother met him once and she thinks he looks kind of like the old Hollywood stars Tyrone Power or Clark Gable; dark hair, strong chin, dimples, and an ever present cigarette. "And you've met me at the garage when I've needed a ride in to work."
"Think of it as an advance against future lunches you'll get to buy." He winked. I had a feeling the dollar menu wouldn't be on the menu for much longer. "I'd like to see you get your sexy back."
So would I. When was the last time I felt sexy and not just the kind of sexy after I'd used a fresh razor when I shaved my legs? Probably about six months after Grady and I moved in together, it had been a weekend of bubbles at a bed and breakfast with a couple of bottles of champagne and an oversized bathtub for bubble baths. Right after that weekend was over, Grady announced that he didn't want to go into IT, he'd rather be in management and since multi-tasking wasn't his thing, he wouldn't be working while he studied.
Sure initially it had been my idea that he devote himself one-hundred percent to his studies and the way he presented it it was only eighteen more months. It didn't sound like it would be nearly six years of footing virtually all of the bills with no end in sight. If we had kids, would I have qualms about him as a stay at home dad, no. Well, that's a lie. We'd agreed whoever had the better career would continue working if and when we had kids. The way his tuition bills continued to mount, I doubted I would ever feel solvent enough to consider having kids with him.
In the beginning, there'd been a lot of romance: wine, roses, exotic long weekends. That was before. It continued a little when we moved in together. Then I realized got to pay for all of my supposed treats, I settled for a glorified beer and pizza existence. Somehow I just didn't look forward to going out to dinner and spending a couple of hundred dollars and spend the whole night thinking about the interest charges on the meal and wonder what would be on sale at the grocery the next week.
After I redid the budget and evaluated how money really needed to be spent, I moved our relationship to coupons for two-for-one dinners at family restaurants, matinee movies, and anything that was free within a two hour driving distance of home. Nothing to sneeze about and definitely lower pressure on my wallet, but it didn't make me want to go out and splurge on lacy undies to have the early bird special.
Eventually all of the matching, lacy undies and matching bra wore out. Once they got replaced with granny panties and bras that actually offered some support, our sex life stalled. Last year for my birthday I found a matching set on clearance, it was my present to us. On the three occasions I'd worn them and made sure Grady was aware, nothing happened. I know law school is a lot of pressure, but so are two jobs, all of the bills, and all of the responsibility for our home life.
Sexy? Hardly.
I dragged the top t-shirt out of my dresser, found a pair of jeans, and evicted Vic from my bedroom.
"Please, it isn't like you're going to turn me on," he said. "If you were Grady, there'd be a reason for me to leave."
"You know, I wasn't going to take more than about two minutes to change my clothes, but now, I'm thinking it might be the better part of an hour and three wardrobe changes." It isn't like I haven't known both Vic was gay for years, I just didn't like the reminder that I was an also ran to both his boyfriend Kevin Green and Grady. My ego was stinging a little and this was my only free night until Grady and I were going to have dinner together. I wasn't sure if I wanted to pout and lick my wounds or go shopping with Vic.
"Tell you what, Bern, if you get rid of some of that crap in your closet, I'm willing to wait. There are some great women's shelters that need donations."
"That's low even for you." It isn't like I'm against donating to a worthy cause, I want to be the one who chooses when and what goes to charity. "Out."
tbc and tbe (to be edited)
word count 1943
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