CONTESTS, BRAIN TEASERS, MYSTERIES AND MORE

WINNER and ANSWERS TO THE LAST CONTEST:

On FaceBook, many winners (from April – September) received “their choice” of book from the first nine books in the Booger and Beans mystery series. They were entered into a Spinning Wheel for random selection after guessing multiple “Eyeball Bender” photosgraphs! Keep an eye out for these contests which run periodically throughout the year!

Congratulations to all!

SHORT STORY –

“Not on the Menu” (“Pas Sur le Menu”)

*Also available in French at Short Edition’s website – 

https://short-edition.com/fr/oeuvre/nouvelles/pas-sur-le-menu

A lumpy mattress and an icy shower. Neither was what she’d bargained for at the Marriott. But she sucked it up and managed to wake up in spite of both.

In two hours Chloe would meet up with her old high school friends at The Patio within the Saratoga Race Track, an annual ritual of brunch then horse-betting. Each year was a different racetrack but the same old bullshit.

Every spring since high school the four friends kept their tradition alive. Twenty-two years sped by, and Chloe suffered through too many superficial conversations every time they met. No matter how much time the women spent sharing photos of their kids, now even grandkids,  and updating news from back home in the Garden State (because none of them lived there anymore), the talk would eventually come around to their weight. It was the one subject that Chloe dreaded.

These friends had been obsessed with the almighty scale since cheerleading days. And unfortunately, Chloe was never a girl in a skinny package. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried, feeling shamed into a more lithe sexy version of herself. She just didn’t have the kind of will power or drive that these narcissists had. Even when they were pregnant, they barely gained the expected twenty-five pounds as recommended by their obstetricians. Their fear was never finding their thin skin again.

Fortunately for Chloe, her husband Gary always approved of his wife, no matter what – the cellulite, the baby flab, the excessive freckles, the rest.

In contrast, the three women would ooh and ahh over their trim physiques each time they reunited. They’d compare Pilates classes or Zumba. Then they’d study Chloe. In their own separate way, they’d toss her a pathetic look accompanied by a sigh. But this year would be different. She’d show them.

When her watch hit eleven fifteen, Chloe pulled on her button up sweater, a salmon match to her trendy short dress, then slid her toes into a pair of seven inch heels. Although a size ten, her feet appeared smaller when sloped on an angle. A final check in the mirror above the chest of drawers made her adjust a few stray brown hairs on her wig. She turned to the side, glazed her hands over her abdomen and grinned. In the last year, she was down eighty-six pounds, reaching one hundred and fifteen for her five feet five inches. It was a first since her sixteenth birthday.

After a final coat of red lipstick, Chloe shut the hotel door behind her.

For the first time, Chloe would feel glamorous and seductive among the country club members. And her girlfriends would be dumbfounded.  Even jealous.

Marie was the first one she spotted. Her hand was in the air, juggling a martini while beckoning Chloe toward the table by the windows. The room was bustling with an early lunch bunch, and like them, Marie held a racing form in one hand and her drink in the other. Her flaxen hair was in a bob, sharply contrasting the dark brown tan on her shapely arms. She chose to wear a simple royal blue sleeveless shift that showed them off.

From behind Chloe came a familiar voice.

“Well, lookie who it is?” declared Deanna with a chuckle.

The laugh always seemed put on and fake, definitely annoying, developed over years of hobnobbing with the rich country club scene.

The woman slipped her arm through Chloe’s and led her to the chairs by Marie. When Chloe looked into her face, she once again saw the image of Big Bird, an analogy she couldn’t shake.

“Aren’t you looking smart?” Deanna bent down and pecked Marie on the cheek.  “Looks like we’ve all beaten Caroline again.”

That god awful laugh hit an ear piercing pitch this time as Deanna lowered her jumpsuit onto the cushion. Four clunky gold chains circled her neck and heaved against her cleavage. She had ample bosoms, nearly popping out with nipples at attention beneath the silk leopard print. Her hair was a shocking yellow that didn’t complement her ivory skin.

“Did you get menus yet?” the woman asked as Marie exchanged her stem glass for a pen, instantly circling her choices in the first race.

“Yoo hoo,” Caroline slid over to them, filling the remaining seat. She plopped her copper clutch onto her placemat.  “Sorry I’m late,” she blushed a little. “You know how it goes.”

“Some things never change,” Deanna jabbed and flagged down their waiter.

Once he delivered four of them, Caroline added, “Well, seems to me some things do change.”

Marie looked up to see what Caroline was hinting at.

“I noticed, too,” Deanna chimed in, her side ponytail swinging as she shook her head. “Didn’t you notice our Chloe here? She’s lost that baby weight . . . . finally. What did it take, Chloe? Ten years or more?”

Chloe could feel her face flush in anger but she kept her cool.

“You look fantastic,” Marie said.

“How did you do it?” Caroline asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”

Caroline was the kindest, sincerest one of the bunch, but she still couldn’t help being involved in the weight game. Caroline kept herself at around a hundred pounds for her short five feet. There were times she’d confessed to purchasing her clothes in the juniors department at Macy’s. Today she was sporting a cute denim romper with simple white t-shirt and sandals.

“I bet it was Weight Watchers,” Marie suggested.

“About time, right?” Deanna threw in her typical dig, laughing all the while.

Chloe calmed herself.

This was her moment.

“I have cancer,” she announced. “Stage four.”

The three women shot each other a glance

“Now, if you don’t’ mind,” Chloe added. “Let’s order. I’m famished.”

And Chloe knew that if she died tomorrow, she’d feel fully satisfied.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED – copyright 2016

(French translation available upon request.)

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