The Battered Body (6 page)

“This parade is so cool!” she exclaimed. “Do you see how psyched all those kids are? Staying up late and being given all this free loot? And are those
real
chickens on the roof of that ancient school bus? You’d never see anything like this in New York. It’s all so … I don’t know …”

“Fun?” James suggested.

“Yes, but without the glitz and glam of a Macy’s parade.” Willow unwrapped a chocolate kiss and popped it in her mouth. “Take the candy, for example. In the city, we’d be looking inside this chocolate for razor blades or white powder. But here, you feel safe. Everything seems more genuine. More pure. I feel like I’d be welcome here no matter how much money I made or what I wore.”

“That part’s true, but we’ve got plenty of crime here too. Trust me,” Lucy countered, and then quickly softened her tone. “But you’re right about the sincerity. I’m glad you were able to see our hillbilly Santa at any rate. After all the years I’ve seen this parade, I still don’t know who he really is.”

“Maybe it’s not a costume.” Bennett winked and nudged Lucy.

At that moment, raised voices could be heard emanating from within Gillian’s house. The supper club members exchanged worried glances, for one of the voices was clearly Gillian’s and she rarely shouted. James could also discern that Milla was yelling at both Paulette and Gillian and wondered whether he should go inside or let the women sort things out for themselves.

Willow must have sensed that James was torn over what course of action to take. She touched his arm lightly and timidly said, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. She’ll just turn on you if you’re in her line of fire.”

“But Gillian’s my friend and Milla’s my …” He paused. “Well, Milla is Paulette’s sister. I guess she knows better than anyone how to handle the Diva of Dough.”

Suddenly, Gillian’s screen door was flung open and Paulette strode outside, clinging to the fox-fur collar of her coat. James couldn’t help but notice that the blouse she wore underneath seemed to be covered by some kind of wet stain.

“I’m soaked to the bone!” Paulette raged and turned a pair of angry gray eyes on Willow. “Get my umbrella open, you dolt. I’m already in danger of coming down with pneumonia, no thanks to the liberal, tree-hugging lunatic that owns this house. Milla! I mean it! I’m leaving this minute!”

Without a word to anyone else, Paulette stomped down the stairs. Willow followed a half-step behind, holding a black umbrella covered by gold interlocked Chanel Cs over the Diva’s head.

“I apologize for my sister’s behavior,” Milla said as she and Gillian stepped onto the porch. “I know how much you love animals. I do too, and I had no idea she could be so cruel about them.”

Gillian was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m sorry too. I should never have asked her if that fox fur on her coat was real. If only she hadn’t gone into all that detail about the fur farms and …” She choked back a sob.

Milla squeezed Gillian’s shoulder and then shot an embarrassed glance James’s way. “It was a mistake to come over here—I just wanted Paulette’s first evening to be a positive one, and I knew there’d be good tea and wonderful company here. Oh dear, I hope we didn’t completely tarnish your time together.”

James enveloped his future stepmother in a tight hug. “Don’t worry about it, Milla. You just added more color to a colorful night.”

Milla smiled at him in gratitude and then trotted after her sister.

“What happened in there?” Bennett asked Gillian.

“That
woman
said such horrible things about the mink and fox fur farms where they get fur coats like hers. She told me how the animals … how they gnaw at their own limbs because they’re so upset to be in such tiny cages.” Gillian sniffed as another tear rolled down her cheek. “She told me she was proud that the fox cub used on
her
coat had obviously been electrocuted before he could cause any damage to his pelt.” After blowing her nose, Gillian balled the tissue into a tight wad inside her fist.

“Don’t think about it any more,” Lindy stopped Gillian from dwelling on the morbid subject by putting her arm around her sniffling friend and pivoting her toward the front door. “Let’s all go inside for a bit and talk about something else, okay?”

Gillian nodded and allowed Lucy to pick up the tray bearing the teapot and cups.

“Well, you must have done somethin’ to fight back against the Wicked Witch of the North,” Bennett said, searching Gillian’s face. “She left here pretty steamed, so I’d say she didn’t get the last word anyhow.”

“Steamed is right,” Gillian replied and blew her nose with finality. “I poured an entire cup of jasmine pearl oolong tea on her. I thought she might be able to sympathize over the plight of an electrocuted animal if
she
felt a little heat herself. I knew it wouldn’t burn her. The water hadn’t boiled yet. Still, now I’ve wasted a particularly delicate handful of tea leaves on that fur-wearing
monster
! And I cannot
stand
waste!”

“I just can’t believe that someone who makes such tantalizingly sweet and beautiful cakes can be so, well, sour.” Lucy closed her thermos and went inside.

James was the last one on the porch. He took a brief look down the street, where the school bus had already turned the corner and was heading down Main Street at a steady crawl, and then blinked. For a moment, he was positive that he had seen a small, red elf duct taped to the yellow vehicle’s rear emergency exit door.

“Glowstar?” James called in confusion, and then he shook his head. How could the library’s elf have found his way onto the hillbilly school bus? Who would kidnap their elf and then tape him onto the last vehicle of the Christmas Cavalcade?

“Nah,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “It couldn’t be Glowstar. Must be some other elf.” Still, he couldn’t help watching the small red form as it disappeared into the distance. Its plastic face looked very familiar. James knew that come Monday, he’d have to at least mention the sighting to the Fitzgerald brothers. He also knew that they wouldn’t rest until the mystery of the missing elf had been solved.

Lucy’s Hot Buttered Rum

1 pound butter

1 pound brown sugar

1 pound powdered sugar

1 quart vanilla ice cream, softened

1 tablespoon cinnamon

1 tablespoon nutmeg

1 bottle dark rum

6 ounces boiling water per serving (approximately)

To prepare batter: Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the sugars until they dissolve. Remove from heat and blend in the ice cream, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Pour the mixture into a container and freeze.

To serve: Remove the batter from the freezer. Allow it to soften. Place 2 rounded tablespoons of batter in a coffee mug. Add 1 to 2 tablespoons dark rum. Add approximately 6 ounces of boiling water (more or less depending on the size of the mug) and stir until the batter is melted. Sprinkle with cinnamon, nutmeg, or both. Prepare to feel warm and fuzzy all over.

“I’ve never been thin,
Dr. Ruth,” James admitted as he stared at the kind face of Ruth Wilkins, Bennett’s nutritionist. “And I don’t need to look like Brad Pitt. I just want to feel comfortable in the tuxedo I’m wearing to my father’s wedding—in all my clothes, actually. I’d like to be healthy, but not in exchange for eating a bunch of tasteless food for the rest of my life.”

The nutritionist nodded and uncapped her pen, keeping it poised above a yellow legal pad. “You can just call me Ruth, Mr. Henry. ‘Dr. Ruth’ always makes people think of the famous sex therapist, and that’s not
quite
my area of expertise.” She shrugged self-effacingly, laced her fingers together, and smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you start off by telling me what kinds of foods you like? And you can be honest with me. I’m not going to pass judgment on what you enjoy eating. I’m not here to ask you to change your tastes in food, but to help you achieve your goals.”

James released the tight grip he’d been applying to his leather armchair, which faced Dr. Ruth’s desk and was adjacent to a coffee table filled with synthetic food. Bennett had called the nutritionist “doctor,” so James had also come to think of her as Dr. Ruth. He picked up a piece of fake food from the table next to him—a plastic chicken drumstick—and examined it curiously.

“I like meat and potatoes,” he answered as he replaced the chicken leg and scooped up a pile of peas, which had the consistency of hardened Play-Doh. “I’m not a big seafood fan, but I do like a lot of green vegetables as well as all kinds of fruit.” He paused. “I love salty stuff like cheese puffs, peanuts, buttered popcorn, and Doritos. And I’ve got a sweet tooth as well. I feel like my meal isn’t really done until I’ve had something sugary, especially after supper.”

“That’s not uncommon. Many people need dessert to provide a sense of closure to their meal.” Dr. Ruth took a few notes. “It sounds like you eat a nice variety of healthy foods. That makes my job easier.” She gave him an approving smile. “It’s also encouraging that you have a specific aim, such as wanting to fit more comfortably into your clothes. When is your father’s wedding?”

“In less than two weeks. On Christmas Eve,” James said.

Dr. Ruth tapped her pen thoughtfully against her notepad. “Healthy weight loss is gradual, Mr. Henry. You might lose four or five pounds by the wedding, but not fifteen or twenty. I don’t want you to go into this with unrealistic expectations.”

James nodded. “Oh, I know. The wedding just gave me the motivation I needed to make an appointment with you. I probably won’t lose
any
weight now that my father’s future wife’s sister is in town. She’s a famous baker, and she’s going to be making the wedding cake. Somehow or other, I promised to taste a sample of all of her favorite recipes and pronounce which cake I think should be served at the wedding.”

“That’s quite an honor,” Dr. Ruth said with an amused grin. “And actually, you could still lose weight while being the official cake taster. Two or three bites are not going to make a difference as long as you’re not combining those high-calorie samples with other unhealthy treats in the course of one day.” She turned to a wooden letter tray near her right elbow and pulled out a sheet of computer paper. Sliding on a pair of reading glasses, she looked up at James over the lenses and asked, “The baker’s name wouldn’t happen to be Paulette Martine, would it?”

“That’s her. The Diva of Dough,” James replied, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from his tone.

“I’m doing a television show with her this Thursday. The crew from the CBS affiliate in Charlottesville is driving up here to interview us about how we approach holiday feasts. I’m supposed to talk about practicing moderation in order to avoid weight gain, and Paulette is going to illustrate examples of decadent foods that are worth blowing a diet for. Of course, I don’t support diets, but a change of lifestyle. Still, it should be an interesting show.” She picked up a framed photograph on her desk and showed it to James. “Channel 19 plans to run clips from the show on their evening news program as well. I’m hoping to gain a few more clients from the deal so that I can keep up with the cost of tuition.”

As James examined the photograph of Dr. Ruth’s three sons, who all resembled NFL linebackers, he wondered whether he should warn Dr. Ruth about Paulette’s waspish manner. The nutritionist, a petite brunette with lovely skin and glistening blue-green eyes, was markedly gentle and soft-spoken in comparison to Paulette Martine. James hated the idea that Paulette might browbeat Dr. Ruth in front of thousands of television viewers. “Well, I’ll definitely tune in,” he said. “But look out for Paulette. She’s got a rather venomous tongue.”

Dr. Ruth returned her family photo to the corner of her desk and nodded. “I’ve watched Madame Martine’s Diva of Dough show several times. I’ll be focusing on the nutritional content of her beautiful cakes, but like I told you, I don’t recommend depriving oneself of desserts or food treats, so Paulette and I shouldn’t find ourselves at odds. After all, life isn’t about eating broccoli. Healthy eating entails choosing a wide variety of foods, including an occasional Twinkie or a bag of salt and vinegar chips.”

Confident that Dr. Ruth could hold her own against Paulette, James asked, “So what do I do now?”

“I’d like you to start a food log. You should write down everything you eat over the course of the day and the calorie amount in each food. Then, write a total for all the calories at the bottom of each day. I’ve written down a couple websites to help you find out how many calories are in the most common foods.” She handed him a piece of paper showing a sample food log and a listing of three website URLs. “I’d also like you to add any exercise you’ve done per day, including walking, weight training, or other cardiac activities. You can deduct those calories from your food total.”

“What about drinks?” James inquired as he glanced at the paper. “I have a bunch of coffee every day.”

“Do you add cream or sugar?”

James nodded. “Yes. Both.”

“Then you need to add that on, because there are calories in your coffee.” Dr. Ruth touched James’s hand. “This is just for me to see what your eating preferences are. Just be as thorough and honest as you can. Remember, I’m not here to judge you.”

“Can I try to lose some weight while I’m working on this log?”

“That would be great!” Dr. Ruth declared. “If you’d like to try to restrict your daily caloric intake to around twenty-two to twenty-five hundred calories, then go for it!”

“Maybe Bennett and I can hype each other up,” James murmured as he wondered how much he could eat on a two-thousand-calorie-a-day plan. “It’ll be nice to talk this over with him. And if I get stressed about the wedding or he gets stressed about his upcoming taping for
Jeopardy!
then we’ve got one another for support.”

“Having a friend with similar goals is certainly a plus,” Dr. Ruth said as she glanced at her watch. “Unfortunately, our time is up. Let’s make an appointment for next week. We’ll start our session by getting your weight and see what your body fat number is, and then we’ll look over your food log and see where to go from there. Sound good?” She smiled warmly.

In spite of the mention of the words “body fat,” James felt a tingle of excitement. He felt absolutely sure that he could work with this woman to improve his eating habits. Dr. Ruth wasn’t going to lecture him or guilt him into changing his eating habits. Instead, she would act as a guide on his journey to a healthier future. The nutritionist seemed so sincerely optimistic and encouraging that James found himself wanting to please her.

“Thank you.” He stood and shook her outstretched hand. “I’m really glad I came today,” James said as he moved toward the door. “I really didn’t want to, to tell you the truth, but I feel like this is exactly what I need.”

“I’ve heard that a time or two.” Dr. Ruth laughed. “But you did walk through that door and now you’ve got a plan in addition to a refreshingly positive attitude. I think you’re going to be one of my success stories, Mr. Henry.”

James whistled as he walked down the hallway of the medical office building housing Dr. Ruth and a dozen other professionals. As he passed a vending machine stuffed with Fritos, Hostess Cup Cakes, and candy bars illuminated by soft lights and humming enticingly, his stomach issued a loud rumble. “It’s almost suppertime,” he said to himself. “I’d better have a big one too, since this is the last meal I’ll be eating that Dr. Ruth doesn’t need to know about.”

“Something smells delicious,” James remarked as he entered his house through the back door leading into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw Paulette bent over the kitchen counter, working a rolling pin over a layer of dough dusted with flour. Jackson sat silently at the kitchen table, studying Paulette’s every move.

James looked around in confusion. “Where’s Milla, Pop?”

“She drove to Harrisonburg to get us a hunk of meat, but she should be walkin’ through that door any second now,” Jackson answered. “Paulette here is gonna fix us a dinner that’ll make our bellies stick out for miles.”

“I think I’ve got that down pat.” James turned to Paulette. “What are you treating us to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A
divine
beef Wellington, made with succulent filet mignon, liver pâté, portobello mushrooms, and my homemade puff pastry.”

James was impressed. “Wow. Here I thought your specialty was cakes.”

“It is,” Paulette replied. “But I’m quite adept in all areas of the culinary arts.” She paused in her work and turned to Jackson. “Can you see me well enough?”

“Sure can. I’m sketchin’ in my mind.” Jackson tapped a gnarled finger against his wrinkled temple. “Don’t need no paper. By the end of the evenin’, I’ll know your hands as well as you do.”

Paulette looked quite pleased by this declaration. She gave Jackson an indulgent smile and then gestured at the plastic tumbler sitting next to a frying pan filled with sautéed onions and mushrooms. “I’m ready for a refill, brother-in-law.”

“Yes ma’am! Three fingers comin’ right up.” Jackson jumped out of his chair and poured some of his favorite Cutty Sark into her glass. “I didn’t reckon you for a gal who could knock back the sauce. Figured you’d be one of those fruity rum and umbrella kind of drinkers.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Paulette replied with a sly grin. “Besides, Milla and I grew up in Mississippi, remember? We practically bleed scotch whiskey. And I was quite relieved to discover that you’re not a beer drinker. Such a crude beverage.” She gave a little sniff to underscore her disapproval.

James couldn’t believe his ears. Paulette and his father were actually getting along. Not only that, but they were apparently intent on getting drunk together. As he headed upstairs to change clothes, he heard the sound of Milla’s van crunching up the gravel driveway.

Thank goodness—another sane person has arrived. I wonder if Milla and her sister have patched things up since Saturday
, James thought, recalling Paulette’s scurrilous behavior at Gillian’s. When he reentered the kitchen a few minutes later, the room was filled with Milla’s tinkling laughter and the bass rumble of Jackson’s more reserved chuckle. Paulette placed each portion of the pastry-wrapped meat into a casserole dish while doing a perfect imitation of Martha Stewart.

“
Everyone
thinks I’m jealous of her because she’s got her own exclusive cookware and bedding line with Macy’s, but
please
.” She rubbed her hands vigorously with a red and green plaid dishtowel. “Macy’s is
so
colloquial.
I’ve
been approached by Nordstrom’s to come up with the desserts for their café menu. Clearly they recognize
real
talent, wouldn’t you agree?”