Going For Broke (18 page)

             
“It’s 6:30.  A little before my bedtime,” he said.  “Are we going for a walk?”

             
Fritz started pulling at the leash, jumping up and down upon hearing the word ‘walk’.

             
“Trying to,” Victoria said, pushing past Mike.

             
Mike cheerfully caught up, though Victoria insisted on walking one step ahead of Mike.  The three of them walked along for the next block and a half, Victoria leading, Fritz behind her and Mike just behind Fritz.  They paraded up the block, Victoria not giving in and Mike not giving up. 

             
They passed a house where a woman was kneeling, planting flowers in a bed next to the driveway.  Victoria didn’t even give the woman a second look, she kept marching forward.  Fritz, on the other hand, had other ideas.  He wandered over and went nose to nose with the woman on her knees.  Fritz stopped and wouldn’t budge, leaving Victoria no option but to stop as well. 

             
The woman was bottle-blonde, in her mid-40s by Mike’s guess.  She was wearing a very deep V-neck jersey top and skin-tight pedal pushers.  Bending over it was easy to see her breasts swinging above the flowers as she worked.  Victoria noticed that Mike didn’t feel a need to look away from the woman’s cleavage. 

             
“Well, hello puppy!” the woman exclaimed as she looked up to see who was attached to the dog.  Fritz nuzzled his nose in her blouse, deep into her cleavage. 

             
“Fritz!  Bad dog!” Victoria cried as she pulled Fritz out of the dark hole.  “I’m so sorry.  It’s not my dog.”

             
“He’s adorable!” the woman said as she stood up, brushing the dirt off her pants. 

If her breasts seemed impressive when she was bent over, they were downright overwhelming upright.  She looked at Victoria and a flash of recognition passed over her face.

             
“Vicky?  Vicky Patterson?  It’s me! Martha Morrison!  Oh my god, what are you doing here?” Martha teetered on her high heeled mules.

             
Victoria inwardly cringed.  “Martha, of course,” she said with her coolest reserve.  Anyone who knew Victoria knew would know when she used that voice that the person she was talking to was socially crucified.  Martha Morrison was voted Most Likely To Do Anything in high school, and from the looks of things, she hadn’t changed much.  Victoria was surprised that she even knew who she was, now or then.  Martha didn’t spend a lot of time with the girls. 

             
“You look exactly the same - I would have known you anywhere,” Martha said. For someone who had spent the good part of the past 30 years working on reinventing themselves, that was the cruelest cut.  “How are you?”

             
Miserable, Victoria thought.  “Fine, thanks.”

             
“When did you move back to town?” Martha asked.

             
When my husband left me in a pile of dogshit bigger than what Fritz is about to leave on your lawn.  “Oh, a few weeks ago,” Victoria answered.

             
“You sure did land yourself a handsome husband,” Martha cooed.

             
Victoria  thought for a split second that she was talking about Trip.  Martha was looking Mike over with an expert eye, and she clearly Martha liked what she saw. 

             
“Oh, no!  He’s not my husband,” Victoria cried.

             
“Really?” Martha almost purred the word as she looked Victoria up and down.  What, Victoria thought?  You think I’m having an affair?  A chubby housewife wearing sweatpants and no makeup?  Hardly the look of someone in the throes of a clandestine relationship. 

             
“No, no,” Victoria couldn’t miss Martha’s inflection.  “This is Mike, he’s a --” she hesitated for a minute, “a friend.  Just friends, that’s all.”

             
Martha looked Mike over anew.  “I’m divorced,” she told Mike in a half-whisper, as she wrinkled her nose and smiled.  She gave Mike her hand, “Martha Morrison.  Sooo nice to meet you.”

             
“We really have to be going.  Mike?” Victoria gave him a glaring look. 

             
Mike smiled charmingly at Martha, “It looks like we’ve got to run.  Really great to meet you.”

             
Victoria was three paces ahead of him, dragging Fritz behind her.

             
“No, it was great to meet you!” Martha cried as she watched Mike catch up to Victoria.

             
They walked for a minute without saying anything.  Mike couldn’t contain himself.  “Nice girl,” he said.

             
“Nice girls, you mean,” Victoria answered.  “I swear to God, not a soul knew me in high school and now that I’m back suddenly it’s like old home week.  First Scott, now Martha.  I’ve got to get out of this town.”

             
“Who’s Scott?” Mike asked.

             
Shoot!  She didn’t mean to bring Scott up.  “Some guy I went to high school with.  They’re everywhere.  Didn’t anybody leave this town?”

             
“Some people like where they grew up.”

             
“Hah.  You’re not living in
your
hometown.”

             
“They wouldn’t have me.  It was all worked out in an agreement with the Pennsylvania State Police.”  

             
“Hilarious,” she said.  “You are the cops, if you hadn’t noticed.”

             
“Please.  That hurts.  Never call me a cop.  I’m a highly trained agent,” he said, feigning dismay.

             
“Did you ace the dog walking class?” she asked.  “Tough duty.”

             
“It has its perks.” 

             
“Oh, like Martha,” Victoria was just a bit miffed that Martha was all over Mike.

             
“Yeah, like Martha,” he said sarcastically.

             
They walked in silence for a bit, and then Victoria blurted out, “Are you married?”  She had noticed he didn’t wear a ring, but didn’t know if that was part of his uniform.

Like the sunglasses.

             
“This line of work doesn’t really lend itself to long-term relationships.”  He had his fair share of women back in New York, although only for one or two dates.  In fact, he hadn’t had a long-term relationship since Brooke.  Sometimes he missed it, though work filled the void nicely. 

             
“I don’t think I’d like my husband to be following unsuspecting women around 24/7.”   As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back.  She didn’t want to talk about
her
husband.

             
Mike ignored the reference to her husband and laughed.  “It can be a deal-breaker.  Especially when I have such intriguing subjects on my watch.”

             
“You probably have a woman in every port,” she said, hoping it wasn’t true.

             
“Jealous?”

             
“Of the sketchy women in your life?  Hardly.”

             
“Too bad.  I think you’d look good in jealous.”

             
“I look much better in Gucci, thank you.”

             
“I bet you look good in almost anything,” he said.  Again, he was looking at her in a way that made her feel flush.  Neither of them knew where to go with this, so they just walked in silence all the way back to The Brewster’s house.  They stood awkwardly in front of the house for a moment, and then Victoria said, “Well, goodnight.”  They did that clumsy little dance when two people don’t know which way to go.  When she finally got a clear path, she shot up to the door.  She turned just as she opened the door.  Mike was standing on the sidewalk, smiling, and waved to her.  It was  kind of sweet.  She raised her hand and went inside. 

             
She shut the door and pressed her back against it.  She was flushed, and a bit breathless.  What was
that
?

             
Bud looked up from the TV when she came in.  “That walk sure looks like it did you a world of good.  Really got your color up,” he said.

CHAPTER 12

             
The next morning, Victoria stood in front of her closet wearing Bud’s bathrobe.  Lately she didn’t feel so comfortable walking around naked.  Funny what 15 pounds will do for your confidence, even when you’re alone.  She stared at her closet, willing something to jump out as a possible contender.  She had tried in vain to find something that fit, but it just wasn’t going to happen.  It was too depressing to try anything on anymore.  She could only take so much humiliation.  She thought about going back to her mother’s closet, however that was worse than stuffing herself into her own clothes.  They fit, but they were horrible.  They made her skin itch.

             
So she pulled Bud’s sweatpants on and decided to go shopping.  She hadn’t bought anything new in ages.  She deserved it.  A girl can only scrimp for so long.  She knew that Nieman Marcus was out of the question.  Not only was it out of her price range, it was out of her cycling range as well.  With no other means of transportation, Victoria was still limited to riding her mother’s bike around town.

             
She rode up to town where they predictably had a similar yet different selection of women’s clothing stores.    She walked through the doors into a miniature J. Crew.  It was about a quarter of the size of one you would find at a mall (not that she had ever been to a mall since high school) and probably did six times the business.  The place was packed.  With middle school girls and middle-aged mothers. Victoria would never bought her own clothes at J. Crew.  Way too pedestrian.  Then again, if it was good enough for Michelle Obama, it might be good enough for her.   Victoria walked around the store, reluctant to commit to clothing she would see on every other person in town.  She lifted up the sleeve of a kind of cute cropped jacket and sputtered.  $249?   Suddenly the idea of J. Crew was too high end for her pancaked pocketbook. 

             
She poked her nose into the J. McLaughlin.  Did everyone have a “J” in front of their names in this town?  Preppier, if possible, than J. Crew, Victoria took a cursory walk around the store.  They were selling shirt dresses that looked like something her mother would have worn in 1974.  Again, she took a quick peek at the price tag.  $325.  She was interrupted by a teenage sales girl that appeared from nowhere.  She looked adorable - fresh-faced, sporting a darling headband over her shiny brown hair, a properly preppy J. outfit and the stench of a freshly-smoked cigarette.  Why do women insist on smoking?  It killed even the best outfits.  She fled the store before the Marlboro girl had a chance to get a “Can I help you?” out of her smoky mouth.