Cheesecake and Teardrops (24 page)

“Okay. And you?” she asked.

“I'm good.”

“Maybe we can get together sometime.”

“Umm. I don't think that's a good idea. I met someone, and I've been really busy lately,” he lied.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “Well, can I at least stop by and pick up my things? I left a couple of things over your house.”

“You know what? I'm on my way out, but I'll mail 'em to you, okay?”

“All right.”

“I'll talk to you later.” He disconnected the phone, holding it to his chest momentarily before putting it back on the cradle.

 

“He's seeing somebody else,” Tangie exclaimed to Charisma and Heather over Tangie's one night.

“How do you know for sure?” Heather asked.

“Because he told me,” Tangie said, pouting.

“Oh,” Heather said. “Well, you can meet someone too.”

“It's not that simple,” Tangie admitted.

“Why not?” Charisma said. “Maybe it's time to move on. Apparently, he has.”

“You don't understand. We were supposed to be married till death do us part. I can't just turn it on and off like that,” Tangie insisted.

“We just hate seeing you depressed,” Heather told her.

“Excuse me, but it hasn't even been two months yet. Don't rush me,” Tangie said.

“We're not rushing you, Tangie, but look at yourself. Have you checked your mirror lately? When's the last time you stepped foot in Daisy's?” Charisma asked. “I've had enough of your ponytail. Not to mention your bushy eyebrows.”

“I know. I've been busy,” Tangie said.

“Too busy to take care of yourself? Is this coming from the woman who was crowned Miss Hot Fudge Sundae in college?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah with a cherry on top,” Tangie said sarcastically.

“We know that when you're down you let yourself go,” Charisma told her.

“We just wanna help,” Heather added. “Let's go to Cinderella's Saturday and hit Daisy's Sunday.”

“We'll see,” Tangie said.

“Okay. That's a start,” Charisma said, standing.

“Thanks for the pizza.” Tangie walked them to the door and gave them a hug.

“Hang in there,” Heather said.

“What else can I do?” Tangie tried to laugh.

 

A few days later Tangie received the package from Tony. She opened it up, hoping for a card, a note, something from him. She removed her nighties and toiletries. There was nothing else in the box. It was empty.

Against her better judgment, Tangie picked up the phone and dialed Tony's number. When his answering machine picked up, she quickly debated leaving a message or hanging up. At the beep she sang her response in her best Stephanie Mills impersonation of “If I Were Your Woman.”

Tony picked up the phone. “Tangela, you are bugging.”

“But I still love you, Tony,” she began to cry. “I still love you.”

“Let me call you back. Will you be home tonight?”

“Of course, Tony.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.”

Tangie stayed home that night. In fact, she stayed home for the next seven nights, waiting by the phone. She even took the phone into the bathroom with her when she bathed. Tony never called. Reaching a new low, she felt completely humiliated.

The next morning she made a phone call of her own. She called Charisma and Heather.

“Another man, another scar,” Tangie sighed. “But don't count me out yet.”

“It ain't over until the fat lady sings, and I haven't said a word,” Heather said.

Heather finally did it. After years of ignoring Tangie's advice, she joined Canyon's Club. It was rough fitting exercise into her schedule, but her weight had reached a plateau. Her metabolism was slowing down. The library left her drained enough, but forty-five minutes at the gym on top of that left her totally exhausted. Her goal was to start slow. She'd limit herself to a steady half-hour walk on the treadmill and some exercises on the Nautilus machines twice a week. Tangie came over and showed her how to use the equipment since she had never used them before.

“You expect me to walk for
how
long?” she asked Tangie as she punched in sixty minutes. “What ever happened to starting slow?”

“You
are
starting slow,” Tangie told her. “I'm starting you at a level three. You can probably do that in your sleep. An hour will fly by.”

“How about half an hour?” Heather negotiated.

“Forty-five minutes,” Tangie insisted.

“Okay already,” Heather sighed as the treadmill started.

She kept her towel over the time display and tried concentrating on the overhead TV. Oprah's guest, her fitness coach, Bob Greene, was saying how it was impossible to maintain permanent weight loss without exercise. Just what Heather wanted to hear. She snuck a peek at the timer. One minute and fifty-eight seconds had gone by. She rolled her eyes at the clock as though it actually gave a damn. It was going to be a long forty-three minutes.

 

“I'm whipped,” Heather told Charisma and Tangie one night after her workout.

“How long have you been working out?” Charisma asked.

“Twice a week for three weeks,” Heather said.

“Have you been watching your diet and not eating past eight o'clock at night?” Charisma asked.

Heather nodded.

“Then I guarantee you, you'll see results in a couple more weeks, but we need to step up your workout. Those elliptical machines burn more calories than the treadmill, and they're easy on your joints. And don't be afraid to try the other equipment,” Tangie advised.

Three times a week Heather began taking aerobics. She waddled out of the class pooped, but sure enough, Heather began seeing results. Within the next couple of weeks, Heather's clothes began to fit her less snugly. Encouraged, she finally stepped on her bathroom scale. She was five pounds lighter. Pleased with that—along with lost inches—Heather practically kissed the reflection of her nose in the mirror. On top of that, Don from the modeling agency called. They had developed her photos and liked what they saw. She photographed well. Heather hugged herself as she hung up. Yes, she'd definitely keep up the good work.

The next few weeks Heather's determination to lose more weight reached a new high. She stepped up her game, working out at the gym four times a week and taking long walks for lunch. Even with her secret ritual, the pounds would not budge.

One evening after work as she climbed on the elliptical machine, someone gently called her name. She looked to her left and locked eyes with a somewhat familiar face. She gazed at her for a moment, but she couldn't quite place her.

“Heather Grey,” the woman said, smiling. “We went to Bayside High School together. Don't tell me you don't remember me.”

Heather thought for a second. “Oh my goodness, Paula, is that you? I almost didn't recognize you. You lost so much weight.”

“It's me,” Paula laughed. In high school Paula wore nothing but skirts and dresses after her jeans split wide open in her sophomore year when she bent down to pick up her books. She quickly covered herself by tying a cardigan around her waist. The news spread faster than a New York minute. By the end of the day, the entire school was abuzz and Paula parted crowds of students like Moses parted the Red Sea.

As a fellow full-figured female, Heather felt compassion for Paula as snickers followed her in the weeks to come. That's when Heather befriended her by offering her a tampon during gym when the locker-room dispenser was empty. Paula thanked Heather for her unsolicited kindness and a week later invited her home to study for the upcoming biology exams.

Despite being one to study alone, Heather decided to take Paula up on her offer. She met her one Saturday morning and within minutes they took over the kitchen table with textbooks, notebooks, highlighters, and pens. Paula's mother checked in on them around noon, fixing them tuna-salad sandwiches on giant kaiser rolls. They stopped, had lunch, and picked up studying where they had left off.

Somewhere around three, they called it a day. They hung out for awhile in Paula's room listening to music as they stretched out on her bed with a plate of chocolate chip cookies between them. Paula leaned over and gently brushed Heather's lips with her own. Heather wiped her mouth, got up, and never spoke to her again.

“So how've you been, Heather?” she asked, increasing the intensity of her workout.

“Pretty good,” Heather said simply. “You look great.”

“Thanks. I've lost eighty-six pounds since graduation.”

She wore a cropped T-shirt with skintight leggings. Her shoulder-length auburn dreads were pulled up and away from her face into a loose bun.

“How'd you do it?”

“Just good old-fashioned exercise and portion control. There's no magic potion, just a hell of a lot of hard work.”

She took a few swigs from her water bottle and with a towel dabbed at the sweat forming on her brow. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

“Please.” Heather shook her head. “I'm trying to get to where
you
are. Are you married, any children?”

“Divorced, no crumb-crushers, thank heavens. What about you?”

“No to both.”

“So how often do you work out?”

“About three to four times a week,” Heather said.

“That's the way to do it. Hey, I have an idea. Why don't we get together one of these days. Maybe I can give you some pointers on losing weight.”

“I'd like that,” Heather told her, determined to meet on neutral ground. Fool me once . . .

 

Heather and Jamal met later that night at his place. After a full day at work and an hour and a half in the gym, she was exhausted.

“I ran into an old high school classmate at the gym, and I couldn't believe it,” Heather told him. “She's like eighty pounds lighter. Eighty pounds. She looks amazing.”

“You look amazing,” Jamal said.

“But I still have a ways to go.”

“You'll get there. You're already on your way.”

“Anyway, we're meeting next week so she can give me some tips.”

“Sounds good, but don't lose too much.”

“Why not? Afraid someone might snatch me away from you?” Heather smiled.

“It's happened before.”

“Well, I know who I want. I'm looking at him.”

“That's what you say now.”

 

The following week Heather and Paula got together after work at Yum's. Heather arrived at the Austin Street restaurant first and grabbed a table near the bar. She ordered a mudslide while she waited for Paula. By the time Paula arrived, she was on her second drink.

“Sorry I'm late,” Paula apologized as she sat across from Heather. “Traffic was murder on the Van Wyck. Some knucklehead got pulled over for talking on his cell phone and tried to flee from the cops. They chased him from Jamaica Avenue. all the way to Queens Boulevard. What a mess.” She shook her head. “What are you drinking?”

“A mudslide.”

“This is where the tips begin. Do you know how many calories are in that thing?”

“No, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me.”

“Put it like this. If you had half a glass, you'd still be in a whole lotta trouble. Cut out alcohol and all the white stuff and the pounds will run for dear life.”

“That's how you did it?”

“Uh-huh,” Paula admitted. “You're already on the right track as far as exercising is concerned. Just tighten up your mouth.”

“It's not like I don't try,” Heather said. “My kitchen is packed with low-fat, fat-free, sugar-free, but I'm plateauing.”

“Just be careful. Sometimes that can work against you.”

“Tell me about it. If something has half the calories, I eat twice as much.”

“I know, girl. Who you telling?” Paula motioned for the waiter, who came right over. “I'll have a diet 7UP.”

“That's all well and good,” Heather said. “But every now and then I like to treat myself.” She took another sip of her mudslide.

“And you should. Actually, what I do is eat the straight and narrow during the week and splurge on the weekends.Come Monday morning, I get back on track. And another thing, have a meal plan. Know what I mean? Don't ever wonder about what you'll have for dinner when you get home. That's a surefire way to screw up.”

“I know. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Uh-huh, and calories galore. Oh, and try to eat small meals and snacks every few hours to raise your metabolism and control your hunger pangs.”

“Just a lot of common sense,” Heather summed it up.

“Exactly.”

“And that's how you lost eighty pounds?”

“Don't forget the other six,” Paula warned. “They were as hard as all the rest. But yes, that's how I did it.”

“Just like that?” Heather asked.

“Just like that.”

 

Heather made it home just in time to rush down the stairs and answer the ringing phone. It was Don from the modeling agency.

“How are you, Heather?” he asked.

“I'm fine.”

“Good. Let me get straight to the point,” he began. “I know you haven't reached your goal weight yet, but we want to sign you on as a client.”

“Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much.”

“You're more than welcome. By the way, do you have a fax machine?”

“No, I don't, Don.”

“No problem. We'll mail you a contract. Look it over. Call me if you have any questions.”

“I don't believe it. You'll have to pinch me.” Heather laughed.

“I'll FedEx that contract out to you first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, and check in with us once a week for possible modeling assignments, okay? Sweet dreams, Heather.”

“Thanks again, Don. Take care.”

 

“Let's celebrate tonight,” Heather told Tangie and Charisma the next morning over the phone.

“What exactly are we celebrating?” Charisma asked.

“I just signed on with the A+ Size Modeling Agency.”

“Get outta here!” Tangie shrieked. “That's wonderful.”

“Where do you want to go?” Charisma asked.

“Let's go to Cabana,” Heather said.

“Nah, I was there last week. Let's go to Pssst,” Tangie suggested.

“Okay,” Heather agreed.

“Parking'll be tight. Why don't I pick you guys up, say, around eight?” Charisma asked.

“Okay,” Tangie said.

“See you then,” Heather agreed before hanging up.

She spent the rest of the day running errands, stocking up on groceries at Pathmark, and picking up her dry cleaning.Once her laundry was done, she took a few moments to exhale on her sofa. The phone rang, breaking the mood.

It was Paula. “Hey, Heather, what's going on?”

“Nothing much. What's new with you?”

“I'm out trying to get my brows done, and the shop is all boarded up. So, I'm really in a bind. My brows look a mess. Where do you get yours done?”

“When We Were Queens. Cinderella does them.”

“Where's that?”

“In Springfield Gardens across from Pathmark on Merrick Boulevard.”

“Oh, I know where that is. Is she good?”

“The best.”

“I'll give her a try. Talk to you later.”

Heather had barely hung up the phone when it rang again. It was Jamal.

“Hey, babe. I want to see you tonight. Let's get together.”

“You should've called me sooner. I already made plans. Can I take a rain check?”

“Oh, okay,” he said, his voice tainted with just a touch of disappointment. “How about we do brunch in the morning?”

“That'll work. See you tomorrow.” Heather napped for a couple of hours before getting ready for a night out with the girls. A long hot shower mellowed her out. A pair of bootcut indigo blue jeans and a black T-shirt totally relaxed her. She combed her damp hair into a ponytail and before long golden curls trailed down her back. She applied copper eye shadow to her lids, mascara, blush, and lipstick, smiling at her reflection in the mirror—until her eyes latched on to her nose. She still thought about plastic surgery. Unfortunately, she didn't have the time to dwell on that tonight.

An hour later the trio were seated in Pssst, sipping blackberry-tinis and bouncing to Jennifer Hudson.

“Heard anything from Tony?” Heather asked.

“Nope. It's over, but you know what hurts the most? I really, truly thought that he was the One. You know? I mean, he was my soul mate.” Tangie sighed.

“I used to believe in soul mates. Many moons ago,” Heather added.

“What changed you?” Tangie asked.

“Life,” Heather said. “Remember Omar? I thought he was all that, but when he pulled that stunt on my birthday, I was devastated. I hit rock bottom. After that I vowed to never let a man get too close. Now, it's hurt or be hurt, and I don't intend to be hurt anymore.”

Heather and Omar had been going together for four years. Her birthday was drawing near, and Omar was hinting about proposing. Unfortunately, two days before her birthday, he had to run out of town unexpectedly on business.

Heather's heart sunk to her knees when she stopped at the grocery store the morning of her birthday and found his car parked in the lot. Stunned, she sat glued to her car seat, devastated. A few moments later, he waltzed out of the store, groceries in hand, without a care in the world.