The Whole Package Read online

  Doug, of course, was clueless. He finished off the rest of his appetizer with gusto, while telling her some story about work. Doris sipped champagne, smiling at the punch line.

  “Should we get more wine?” Doug asked when the busboys took the appetizer plates away and the food runners approached with entrees.

  Doris glanced at her almost empty glass, surprised. “Um . . . sure.”

  On Doris’s plate, a plump chicken breast swam in a light purple wine sauce with fresh mushrooms. Doris admired how neatly it was partitioned next to garlic mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. Doug’s steak also looked fantastic. Perfectly cooked, a solid brown heart cradled between green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. Fried onion strings decorated the top of the plate.

  They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. “I’m in heaven,” Doug finally said.

  “Me, too.” Doris nodded. After a minute, she said, “I can’t believe it’s been twenty-three years. Time goes so fast. You know, Katherine Rigney looked awful. She looked old. Do you think we look old?”

  Doug took a long drink of wine. The color on his cheeks deepened, as though the liquid went from his mouth directly into his skin. He signaled to Jonathan to bring another.

  “We look great,” Doug said. “You look great.”

  Doris’s heart leaped. “Really?”

  Doug laughed. “Yes, really. We’re in our prime.”

  “Well, she isn’t,” Doris said, biting into a piece of asparagus. “I felt bad for her.”

  Doug picked up a knife. Deftly, he cut through a bloody piece. After a minute, he set down the knife and looked at her. “Doris, what’s this about?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do you keep bringing up Katherine Rigney?” Doug asked. “I have no interest in talking about her, especially on our anniversary. I haven’t even seen her in, what? Twenty years?”

  Doris reached for another bite of chicken. Suddenly, she stopped. “Wait, what?”

  Something on Doug’s face changed. A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “What?”

  “You haven’t seen her in twenty years?” Doris repeated, watching him carefully.

  Shifting in his seat, Doug stabbed a bite of steak. “Do you want some steak?”

  “Doug, I asked you a question,” Doris said, ignoring the approaching fork. “Katherine said she saw you.”

  “She did?” Doug said, his voice unnatural. “Oh, right. I guess I forgot about that.”

  The harpist hit a high note. Suddenly, the clinking of the silverware and murmurs in the restaurant seemed too loud. Doris wanted to run out the door, cover her ears, do something to stop the question she was about to ask. But she couldn’t.

  “Doug . . .” Doris said slowly. “Did something happen between you and Katherine Rigney?”

  Doug dropped his fork with a clatter. He sat back in his chair, staring at her in shock. Immediately, Doris felt awful. Horrible. What a stupid thing to say, on her anniversary of all days. So what if Doug had seen Katherine Rigney and then forgotten? Why on earth would he remember?

  “I’m sorry,” Doris said quickly. From her purse, Doris heard her cell’s shrill ring. She fumbled for it. “Please forget I just said that.”

  “I . . .” The flush had left his face.

  Doris fumbled for the phone, rambling, “It’s just that you saw her, you know, at the mall and didn’t tell me, so I thought that . . .”

  “I . . .”

  The ringing had stopped by the time she’d pulled out the phone. The real estate maven was now eyeing them angrily. “Probably shouldn’t have my phone on in here,” Doris muttered, embarrassed.

  “I saw a movie with her,” Doug said softly.

  Doris gaped. “Huh?”

  Doug looked up so quickly, eyes so panicked that something inside Doris went cold. She thought of the way Katherine was eyeing her in Macy’s, chomping that gum like she had won a victory. Doris’s heart started pounding. Her palms went wet.

  “A movie?” Doris repeated. She barely had time to process this when her phone lit up, ringing again. Cheryl. Blankly, Doris watched the familiar name cross her caller ID. It could have been written in Chinese. “You saw a movie with Katherine Rigney?”

  The phone kept ringing, vibrating in her hand. Doris ignored it.

  “I bumped into her.” Doug sighed. “I had intended to see it alone.”

  “Did you pay for her?” Doris asked, her mouth dry.

  “Doris—”

  “Did you?”

  The ringing started again, loud.

  “It would have been rude—”

  “What was it?” Doris asked. “What movie?” She tried to picture Doug and Katherine walking up to the ticket counter, laughing about some R-rated film. They’d go get a bucket of popcorn, order a Coke with one straw, sit in a dark theater and . . .

  “Turn off your cell phone,” the silver-haired man at the next table boomed.

  Doris looked down and sent the call to voice mail. But the ringing started again an instant later and Doug grabbed for it this time, pulling it roughly from her hands. “Yes, hello? . . . Yes. This is her husband.”

  Doris cringed at the word husband. What on earth did that mean? The chicken churned in her stomach.

  “Okay. We’re on our way,” Doug said. He clicked the phone shut and handed it back to Doris. For a brief moment, their hands once again touched.

  The real estate maven leaned over and said, “I hope someone is dying.”

  Doris froze, remembering the way her mother’s shoulders had shaken with grief when she finally told them about the cancer. Doris could still remember the feeling of that thin frame in her arms, the fragile body like a little bird, heart beating sharply.

  “It was Cheryl,” Doug told Doris, ignoring the other couple. “She just has a concussion. Someone from work’s driving her home now but she can’t be alone overnight.”

  “A crash?” Doris whispered.

  “No, honey. Just racquetball.”

  Tears streamed down Doris’s face.

  “Don’t worry,” Doug said. “She’ll be okay.”

  Suddenly efficient, Doug pushed back his plate and stood up. He pulled several one hundred dollar bills from his wallet and threw them onto the table. Walking over to Jonathan, he said something and the waiter nodded. Doug came back, grabbed Doris’s hand and pulled her up. He led her over to the real estate maven’s table.

  “I just paid for your meal,” Doug told the couple. The man started to protest and Doug held up his hand. “Please. Let me finish. We disturbed your dinner so I wanted to take a moment to express my deepest apologies . . .”

  The man nodded, dignified. His wife sipped her martini, a smug look in her eyes.

  “. . . that you married such a bitch,” Doug finished. The woman’s face went red with rage and her husband’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. Doris couldn’t even muster a small giggle.

  “Come on, honey,” Doug said, straightening his shoulders. “Let’s go see about your friend.”

  Doris clutched her husband’s hand. He led her out of the restaurant.

  Chapter Seven

  “WHAT, THIS BEAUTY?” JACKIE CROONED INTO THE REARVIEW mirror. “I asked George to rent me a car and he thought this would be a scream—it was! I screamed.”

  Jackie fluffed her hair, then sat back against the springy seats, satisfied with her story. Crafting a lie ahead of time was a critical part of fooling Doris and Cheryl. She didn’t want them to start asking questions when she rolled up in a car that was decidedly un-Jackie-like.

  Even though the compact rental seemed perfectly efficient, it was oddly shaped and had gleaming chrome hubcaps and a cherry red paint job. The red paint looked like someone had taken an unattractive baby and dressed her in a prostitute’s lipstick. Still, Jackie knew she was lucky to be driving out of the airport in anything at all.

  After the flight, Jackie had made her way through customs, grabbed her luggage, and found the car rental counter. Eyeing the late
st Mercedes pictured under the luxury models, Jackie crossed her fingers, pulled out a credit card and handed it to the young ticket agent. The girl was wearing a blue bowling shirt and dangly silver earrings with little balls at the ends. They made a jingling noise as she swiped Jackie’s credit card through. A minute passed, then the credit card machine beeped.

  “Hmm . . .” the girl said. “It doesn’t seem to be going through. Got another card?”

  “Yes, of course,” Jackie said, fumbling through her wallet. “Here.”

  The girl gave a half nod, once again jingling the earrings. Jackie wondered if the sound gave her a headache.

  “No luck,” the girl said, after swiping it.

  “Darling,” Jackie said, resting manicured fingers on the dirty counter. “We simply must try again. My credit is quite fine.”

  With a sigh, the girl ran the card several times. Finally, she shrugged. “Declined, declined, and”—the girl held up the receipt the machine had just spit out, as though to emphasize the point—“declined.”

  Jackie’s heart started to pound. Although her bank account had been drained, she had been counting on her credit cards to carry her through. If that option was gone . . . well, Jackie simply didn’t know what to do.

  “Well,” Jackie said, desperately fumbling through her wallet and in the process dumping out a multitude of receipts from high-end French boutiques. “Try this one.”

  The agent stared at Jackie with unblinking hazel eyes. “But two of your cards have been declined. Several times.”

  “Please.”

  With a big sigh, the rental agent swiped the final card. The machine beeped. “Nope,” the girl said. “I guess you had a little too much fun on vacation.” Pointedly, she eyed the multitude of receipts and array of diamonds sparkling from Jackie’s fingers.

  Jackie forced a brave smile. “I don’t think fun is the right word.” Lowering her voice to a near whisper, Jackie said, “To tell you the truth, I was mugged.” Her blue eyes pricked with tears. “The police found my purse by the Seine. I had no idea what cards to call in and report. It was a terrible experience but I . . .” She sniffled. “I was just happy to get out with my life.”

  “That’s awful,” the girl said, face flushed in excitement. It was clear she was torn between compassion and digging for details. “I’m so sorry.”

  Jackie let a single tear roll down her cheek. “The whole thing was a terrible ordeal,” she said. “I’m not surprised some of it has followed me home. Anyway,” she said, making a point of gathering her things slowly. “Merci for your trouble.”

  “Wait.” The girl reached out a skinny hand and leaned forward, glancing around. “Let me help. I can give you a free promotion on one of our lower models if you bring it back in a few days. Just don’t tell my manager.”

  “Free?” Jackie said, startled. She had only expected her performance to garner her a discount. “As in, gratis?”

  The girl nodded, those silver earrings winking in the light. Jackie made a big show of rushing around behind the counter, arms outstretched. Gratefully and tearfully, Jackie accepted the keys.

  Even though the car was a total hunk of junk, Jackie was grateful to have it. Thank goodness the girl had believed that ridiculous story. If it wasn’t for her, Jackie would have had to hitchhike home. She felt a tiny pang for the deception but quickly shoved it aside. Survival was more important than guilt. Jackie had learned that a long time ago.

  Turning the key, the car sputtered to life and something dusty shot out of the vents. After giving a slight sneeze, Jackie shut them off and pulled out of the parking lot. The car bounced along like a little red wagon.

  “Only the best for me,” she sang.

  Hesitating at the turn, Jackie considered her options. Doris had a gorgeous spare bedroom, whereas Cheryl had most likely converted her spare room into a home office. Plus, Doris had time on her hands while Cheryl would have to be at the office all day. Staying with Doris made the most sense. It would be seen as a delight rather than an imposition, but since Doris and Cheryl were fighting, it could also be tricky. Jackie didn’t want Cheryl to think she was choosing sides. Maybe she should pick up the phone and explain the situation to Cheryl, just as a preempt.

  “I’m only staying with Dori because you work too much,” she’d say, leaving out the unnecessary detail about not wanting to sleep on a couch. “Waiting for you to get home would be ever so dull.”

  As Jackie was thinking this through, her cell phone rang. To her surprise, the caller ID said Cheryl. “You’re psychic,” Jackie screamed, snapping open her phone.

  “Uh, hello?” a male voice said. “This is Stan, Cheryl’s boss.”

  Jackie looked at the phone in confusion. “Is everything all right?”

  “Cheryl’s fine,” Stan said. “You’re on her speed dial but this number is European so . . .”

  “Darling, it’s Jackie,” she drawled. “We’ve met.” In fact, Jackie had met Stan several times. He was a thick, hairy sort of man. “What happened to Cheryl?”

  As Stan explained the racquetball incident, Jackie couldn’t help but think he sounded rather proud of the situation. Jackie hung up on him midsentence. Manhandling the car into a U-turn, she hit the gas and ten minutes later was pulling into Cheryl’s driveway. Looking at the light blue shutters and stone chimney on her best friend’s house, Jackie found it hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been in a French apartment, staring at a cheese wheel.

  The lights were out, which meant Cheryl was still on her way back from the hospital. Turning off the ignition, Jackie rolled down the windows and breathed in the crisp, fall air. Somewhere down the block, one of Cheryl’s neighbors was burning leaves. The smell was so perfectly October in the Midwest that Jackie wished she could bottle it and sell it as a perfume. A big smile stretched across her face.

  “I’m home,” she said softly.

  Even though she was happy, it did feel a little strange to be sitting outside Cheryl’s new house. In Paris, it had often slipped her mind that Cheryl had even moved from the two-story Tudor she’d shared with Sean. During one of their many transatlantic calls, as Jackie enjoyed a glass of Bordeaux on her wrought-iron balcony and chatted with Cheryl, she would picture Cheryl’s life all wrong. She had imagined Cheryl in the wrong kitchen, using the wrong utensils, looking out the wrong window. Once, when Cheryl started talking about painting those shutters blue, Jackie had almost burst out with, “What an odd choice for a Tudor,” before realizing her mistake. She had laughed out loud but refrained from sharing the joke. Cheryl wouldn’t have appreciated the irony, considering how guilty she’d felt about the divorce. She would have just gone silent in that way she had.

  When white headlights finally bounced down the drive behind her, Jackie leaped out, arms already open. Instead of Cheryl, Jackie saw the silhouette of a heavy, disheveled woman stumbling out of the passenger side of a Lexus. The woman’s mouth practically dropped to the ground. “Jackie?”

  “Dori?”

  Before Jackie could stop herself, a hand flew to her chest in surprise. Doris looked like a completely different person from when Jackie had left town; she was at least thirty pounds heavier, and as she got closer, Jackie could see touches of gray at the roots of her light brown hair. Since the glare of the headlights was shining in Jackie’s face, she was careful to mask her surprise. Pasting on a huge smile, Jackie rushed forward and engulfed her friend in a perfumed, busty hug.

  “Mon chérie,” Jackie cried. “I’m back! Finally, finally back.”

  “Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” Doris said. She grabbed Jackie’s hands and regarded her with those pretty eyes.

  Doris had been voted Best Eyes for the high school yearbook, thanks to those thick black lashes that barely needed mascara and the way her blue irises shone like half moons. Still, she had kept her best feature hidden behind glasses for years. It drove Jackie and Cheryl crazy but no matter how many times they tried to get her to go for
Lasik, contacts, or even blindness, Doris refused.

  “You have the type of eyes that men go to war for,” Jackie insisted.

  “It’s hard to picture Doug at war,” Doris had said, laughing.

  Tonight, those pretty eyes were rimmed in red. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Jackie said, clutching her friend’s hand. Doris looked back at Doug, then at Jackie. At her pained expression, it was obvious the tears weren’t just about Jackie’s homecoming. “Oh no,” Jackie said. “Tell me everything.”

  Doris dipped her head and mumbled something but just then, a second set of headlights bounced into view. “I appreciate your help,” Cheryl was saying, already half out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  As the car backed out of the driveway, Cheryl stumbled toward them, hands to her mouth. She was dressed in a tiny gym outfit and looked tan and wiry, as always. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “This is the second time today I’ve thought I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Then she squealed, barreling straight into Jackie’s arms.

  “Be careful.” Jackie laughed. “You’re injured.”

  “I’m fine,” Cheryl insisted, holding her tight.

  Jackie breathed in her familiar scent. Ever since they were kids, Cheryl had smelled like a cross between saltwater taffy and metal. Jackie liked to joke it was the scent of determination. “Oh, darling. I missed you,” she said, affectionately stroking Cheryl’s hair. The ends were brittle from all the highlights but masked with a thick hair serum. At the touch, Cheryl cringed slightly. “Oh no . . .” Jackie said, pulling back and eyeing her with concern. “Tell us where it hurts.”

  Cheryl lifted a limp arm and gestured at the general area of her head. “Eh.”

  The three friends stood silent for a moment. Then Doris gushed, “Jackie, you look so good. Cheryl, doesn’t she look good?”

  “Are you kidding me with this?” Cheryl demanded, whirling on Doris. “Don’t just start talking to me like we’re friends.”