Chapter 27 Annabelle Mad Game
Annabelle
Mad Game
Lovey always says that the right outfit can totally change your outlook. No matter what her financial situation when she was younger, she always made sure to buy one new, fabulous outfit every season, complete with shoes, hat and bag.
I had never been much of a shopper but had definitely inherited Lovey’s taste for the finer things. Like her, I would rather have one gorgeous designer outfit than ten from the mall. But, looking through my closet, nothing seemed quite gorgeous enough to be Spring Fling worthy.
It was the first time in my life I wanted to buy a dress to impress another woman. But, upon occasion, you know you are the amateur at the Masters, so, instead of looking like a total rookie, you get the same putter Tiger’s using.
The thing about Laura Anne was that she was sort of like one of the saints.
I heard about her all the time, and I believed that she existed.
But I had never actually seen her. You would think that would have been difficult, given that we co-chaired the same event.
But, somehow, we managed to coordinate the entire thing via e-mail and never actually made it to a meeting together.
It gave me plenty of time to build up Salisbury’s star quarterback—and my husband’s ex—in my mind.
I had her pictured as tall, at least five eight or so, with those blue eyes so rich you think they must be colored contacts, and long, naturally blond hair that perfect shade that is luscious and stunning without looking like a floozy.
She also, of course, had a perfect body in my mind and, for better or worse, she did my physique a lot of good.
In the weeks leading up to that event and our first meeting, I became quite the runner and yoga goddess.
I told myself it was because I didn’t want to come face-to-face with my husband’s ex without him thinking that I looked better.
But, in all honesty, I think it had less to do with what Ben thought and more to do with what everyone else thought.
I was so tired of hearing about this perfect, infamous Laura Anne that I needed to prove I wasn’t the consolation prize.
My paycheck seemed to go as quickly as it came, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask my new husband for the kind of money I was planning on dropping on my attire. So I did something that I had always been too proud to do until that moment: I called Lovey.
“Hello, my darling Annabelle,” she said when she answered. I loved that my eighty-seven-year-old grandmother read her caller ID.
“Well hello, my darling Lovey.”
“How’s life in Food Lion country?” It was a special question from my grandmother because she and D-daddy had made a good part of the fortune they had amassed on the grocery store’s stock.
“All is well, Lovey. I just wanted to tell you that I am chairing the biggest gala of the year next weekend.”
Lovey gasped. “You need to get here immediately. I must buy you a new dress for your formal introduction to Salisbury society.” She sighed. “I know all you young people have gotten casual, but in Salisbury they dress.”
I smiled. I don’t know if she instinctively knew that’s why I was calling or if the offer was her own idea. I said, “Oh, Lovey, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Darling, I insist.” I could hear her flipping through the pages of her calendar. “I have bridge on Monday, book club on Tuesday, D-daddy has a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday . . . How about Wednesday afternoon? Thursday I’m having my hair done.”
“Do you think that’s enough time before the party?”
“Oh, heavens yes,” she said. “I’ll order everything I think might work from Neiman Marcus, and I’ll have Sun here in case we need any alterations. Easy breezy!”
I laughed. It really was something to have had the same tailor so long that she would make house calls. “Well, I can’t say no to that, Lovey. I’ll call Mom and see if she can meet us.”
I took the day off, realizing that I was a little bit sad that I wouldn’t be there for that morning’s adventure.
How many people could take a day off of their job and feel like they wished they were there?
I was feeling so blessed that it had all fallen into place so seamlessly.
My husband was a god who worshipped me, my job was so fun it didn’t feel like work, and I was going to look hot Friday night.
Father Rob and I talked all the time about counting our blessings, about being thankful for the present without the “if onlys.” But, until I had my baby in my arms, I’m not sure I could fully embrace anything else.
After the gala, I promised myself again, we will go to the doctor and find out what’s wrong.
When I got to Lovey’s, she and Mom were sitting on the floor, flipping through old photo books. To see an eighty-seven-year-old cross-legged is sort of like spotting a tiger in the wild. It made me happy that, like Lovey and Louise, I had started a daily yoga regimen.
“Well, we’ve found what you should wear,” Mom said without even getting up to hug me.
Lovey nodded and pointed to the book. She and D-daddy were posed casually, his arm around her shoulder.
She was holding a swaddled, infant Mom, while my aunts hovered around in their Easter bonnets, squinting uncomfortably in the sun.
“I wore that to our first party in Raleigh, right after we moved,” Lovey said.
“So I think it’s fitting that you wear it to your first party in your new town. ”
It was a stunning black sleeveless dress with a thin ribbon around the tiny waist, just the right amount of flair, and just the right amount of skin. Mom pointed to where the dress was hanging on the door, and I gasped. “It’s perfection!”
“Well, go try it on,” Lovey said. “This old thing would love to think its dancing days weren’t over.”
As I sucked all the air out of my stomach, I couldn’t imagine that, after just giving birth, Lovey had been tiny enough to fit into this thing.
Mom and Lovey managed to get it zipped, which was nothing new. The “two-person dress” was something we all wore more often than not. Assuming, of course, that it didn’t produce bra fat, VPL, or any other travesty of too-tight clothing, it was the perfect recipe for looking your best at any event.
As expected, Mom said, “Just go on the three-day diet, and it will be perfect.”
The three-day diet was a dreadful grapefruit and hard-boiled egg situation with the occasional spare square of toast that was guaranteed to produce at least a five-pound weight loss in record time. And five pounds could easily turn a two-person dress into a one-person one.
When I produced my egg and fruit combination at work on Thursday, Father Rob came down the hall immediately. “What is that stench?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Hard-boiled egg.”
He shook his head. “I will take you to lunch. You can’t possibly eat that.”
I sighed. “I don’t really mind boiled eggs, for one. For two, I have to be crazy thin by tomorrow. Thinner than Laura Anne,” I added, under my breath.
Father Rob laughed. “You’re nuts. And you’re thinner than her anyway.”
I brightened. “For real?”
He shrugged. “Seriously. You’re Heidi Klum, and she’s someone’s mom in the carpool line.”
The momentary sting of wishing I was someone’s mom in the carpool line was soothed by the spine-straightening thought that I was like Heidi Klum. “For someone who’s abstinent, you sure do know what to say to a woman.”
He winked. “I’m abstinent by choice, not because I don’t have mad game.”
I laughed so hard it shook the table, and that damn egg rolled right onto the floor. “Now look what you’ve done!” I said through my giggles.
He took my hand, pulled me out of the chair and said, “Perfect! Now let’s go get some real food, Heidi.” He looked me over and said, “You’re looking much too thin.”
I put my hand on my heart. “You can keep my paycheck this month. That was all I needed.”
We walked through the double doors of Sidewalk Deli and into the building, the tall, white fountain in the middle and the walls painted with outdoor scenes; real, iron balconies affixed to the bricks. I inhaled, “Ahhh, food smells so good.”
Rob laughed, reached in his pocket and handed me a penny, as had become our custom when we came to the restaurant together.
I was closing my eyes as he said, “Wait!” He winked. “Be careful what you wish for.”
I closed my eyes and tossed my penny, making the same wish I always did. I wish I would get pregnant!
“Do you want to tell me yours?” I asked as we stepped into line.
“If I tell you,” he said, “it won’t come true.”
A few minutes later we were sitting at one of the black iron tables with the glass top, and Father Rob was putting his pickle spear on my plate.
“So, I’m coming to your party,” he said between bites of the roast-beef-filled Bell Tower.
I was having a particularly torrid affair with the grilled pimento cheese that might as well have been handmade crème fra?che for as decadent as it tasted after two days of near starvation.
“That’s so nice!” I said, swapping sandwich halves with him and licking my finger. “But you hate parties.”
He nodded. “I do. But I think you’re going to need moral support. Anyone on the edge of anorexia over an ex-girlfriend needs a shoulder to lean on.”
I nodded. “Maybe you could make up some stuff within her earshot about how gorgeous and brilliant and talented I am?”
“I could,” Rob said, taking a sip of his sweet tea. He grinned. “But I wouldn’t be making it up.”
· · ·
You have to take care of yourself or you won’t be able to take care of anyone else. And, that day, I needed some downtime, preferably a day of glamour-inducing pampering. But I was forced to realize that I made a commitment and I must honor it.