Chapter 5 Geneva
Geneva
Sunday came and I found myself staring down at the only four outfits that I assumed would be appropriate for the luncheon. And by appropriate, I mean that they fit.
A turquoise sleeveless summer dress; a black linen flare skirt with matching camisole top; a pair of white capris and a floral orange and green sheer poncho; and a red and white Captain & Tennille sort of getup. All size eighteen.
I looked down at my bulging gut and slapped it in dismay. “Why won’t you just go away!” I wailed, and then reached over and plucked a sugar-coated doughnut from the green and white Krispy Kreme box on my nightstand.
Turning back to my sparsely filled closet, I stared at my out-of-date wardrobe. The only clothes I owned that fit perfectly were sweatpants, T-shirts, and my work uniforms.
“Shit!” I bellowed.
“Shit!” echoed behind me, and I spun around to see Charlie standing there, mimicking my stance.
“Don’t say that, baby,” I said as I bent over and tweaked her nose before walking around her and back toward the bed.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s not a nice thing to say,” I mumbled, examining the waistline of the black skirt to see if there was a secret dart there that I could open.
“Is it a potty word, Mommy?”
“Yes, it is.”
No dart. Damn.
“Then why you saying it then?”
“Mommy made a mistake.” I reached for the turquoise dress and pressed it up against my body for the fifth time.
“Why?”
“Why what, baby?”
“Why can you use potty words and I can’t?”
I gave her an exasperated look. “Because I’m an adult.”
Charlie considered my response, and then her face scrunched up tight. I tossed the dress down in favor of my pack of cigarettes that sat alongside the doughnut box.
Reaching for the matches, I looked down at Charlie and said, “Go on to your room, baby, so Mommy can have a cigarette.”
Charlie pinched her nose and began her nasal chant, “Secondhand smoke kills, secondhand smoke kills,” as she marched out of the room.
I lit my cigarette and inhaled the calming nicotine. Three puffs and my mind cleared. “I know what I’m going to do,” I mused out loud to the curl of smoke. “I just won’t go.”
Proud of my decision, I picked up the phone and called Crystal’s apartment.
The phone rang twice and then her recorded voice came on. Hanging up, I racked my brain for the number to her cell phone. Another three puffs from my cigarette and it magically comes to me.