Читать книгу Hungry for Happiness - James Villas - Страница 11

I gotta admit I hate working out at Body Tech almost as much as I miss eating something like a big wedge of grasshopper pie I made not long ago for the church charity bazaar. Yep, that’s right: fixin’ something like grasshopper pie while you’re trying to knock off over a hundred pounds. Talk about self-punishment. Go figure. Don’t know what I’d do without the Nips I carry everywhere to suck on and curb my appetite.

But it’s all paying off in more ways than one. Eyes no longer puffy and really look hazel now. High cheekbones I never knew I had. My dark hair long and shiny since Roberta started styling it at Salon Magic and showed me how to wear it up sometimes with these designer clips. Much tighter skin on my arms, more tone and definition to my boobs and abs and thighs, and no more white splotches on my stomach. Yeah, incredible cosmetic changes, and don’t think for a second all this wadn’t connected to what happened with Vernon.

Just sauntered in the shelter one day looking for a dog, and the second I saw him and heard him talk, I whispered to Sally while he was flipping through our dog photos, “Boy, that’s one who could put his shoes under my bed.” I must have been about 185 at the time, but I remember I was wearing my shirt tucked in my jeans with a big turquoise belt buckle—something I’d never have dreamed of doing the year before. And I can tell you something else I never would have dreamed of: that this young, really well-built guy with gelled wavy brown hair and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen would give me the once-over that made me tingle all over and feel like the most glamorous woman on earth. I mean, by the time I’d finished asking him a few questions and helping him fill out the application we require of all adopters, it couldn’t have been more obvious that the man was flirting with me—downright flirting. Have to admit I really didn’t know how to handle myself.

Turns out the reason Vernon wanted a dog was because his young wife had been tragically struck dead by lightning at the nursery where she worked in east Houston. They hadn’t been married but a couple of years, and didn’t have chick nor child, and, plain and simple, he needed companionship while he was getting his life back together. At least that’s what he told me, though I couldn’t imagine a guy as nice and handsome and smart as Vernon having to look too long for a little human companionship. Wanna know just how smart Vernon is? He’s with a company called Freedom Computers that installs and services computers—and I don’t mean just in homes but in big corporations like Shell. Not bad, I say, for a kicker from Waco who’s determined to make something of his life.

So after he looked at the pictures, I took him around the cages out back, and the second he spots this adorable young Lab mix somebody found abandoned over in River Oaks, he’s like a kid; the dog licks his face and the two begin tussling right there on the concrete floor. We’re always real careful about releasing our animals to the right owners, but since the bitch had had all her shots and I could tell right off that Vernon was a safe bet, I suggested he take her home for a couple of days to make absolutely sure the two were compatible.

Well, the very next day he calls to ask me a million questions about feeding and house training and bathing and what have you. Then he wants to know the name of a good vet. And the third time, he actually drops by the shelter to say he definitely wants the dog, and has already named her Daisy, and hands us a donation of fifty dollars. And get this: He also asks point-blank if he can express his thanks by inviting me to have lunch at 20 Carats over on Montrose. I almost faint but try to put on a good front.

“Loretta Crawford, I hope to hell you told him yes,” Sally almost screamed, “and that you don’t screw it up.”

“Honey, I told him I should be thanking him for giving the dog a good home,” I said.

“But you did say yes,” she went on like he was Brad Pitt or somebody.

Well, of course I said yes, and the very next week we’re sitting across from each other in a booth at the café and I’m a nervous wreck about what to order that will look normal. Tell him about my fat problem and surgery? Not on your life. Anyway, he orders short ribs with mashed sweets and fried okra and a Coors, which almost make me drool, but I just get a Waldorf salad and Diet Coke.

“Is that all you gonna eat?” he asks with this big frown on his face.

“Yeah,” I say, “I go pretty easy at lunch so I don’t get sleepy at work in the afternoon. And you know how us girls gotta watch ourselves.”

“Married?” he then asks all of a sudden.

“Yeah, but now divorced,” I say without any further explanation.

He wants to know if I like my part-time job at the SPCA, and asks how long I’ve been there, and what have you. I tell him how much I’ve always loved animals and about my two Lab mixes, Sugar and Spice, and how I also love to cook and would like to do some real catering. But what really makes us hit it off is when he tells me how much he loves country and blues music and I tell him I blow tenor sax most weekends in the dance band at Ziggy’s over on Navigation to make a few extra bucks. Clint Black, John Lee Hooker, Vince Gill, Al King—he knows ’em all and can even run off a few lyrics.

“‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken,’” he then tests me, humming.

“Nitty Gritty Dirt Band,” I say as I pretend to finger my sax and hum along too. “Love ’em. Everything they do.”

“Well, I’ll be damned, gal,” he says as he reaches over and smacks me real friendly-like on the arm, which I hope and pray doesn’t look or feel too flabby to him. “I gotta get over there one night and hear you play.”

Time comes for dessert, and he says 20 Carats’s chocolate cheesecake is the best in Houston and that I have to order it. Of course I’d give my eyeteeth for a wedge but tell him what I really want is one scoop of cherry vanilla ice cream I saw on the blackboard up front.

“I love a cheap date,” he jokes, and when the waitress brings his cheesecake, I notice he waits till she serves my ice cream before he takes a big bite and rolls his eyes like he’s gone to heaven. Vernon’s a gentleman like that.

“Here, little lady, take a taste with your spoon,” he then says as he pushes the plate over. “You just gotta taste this cake.”

This was one of those times I always knew would come and always dread, but I didn’t want to act like a jerk, and am finally used to taking little tastes of things when I cook, so I cut off a smidgen with my spoon, and press it up on the roof of my mouth, and yeah, it was out-of-this-world delicious. Lord, I could have eaten that whole goddamn cheesecake, and make no bones about it, but didn’t think anybody wanted to watch me vomit.

“I can tell you know good food,” Vernon then says, which really upset me for a second till he went on to ask what I liked to cook most.

“Oh, mainly just honest Southern food. Spareribs, squash soufflé, smothered chicken, shrimp creole, persimmon pudding—things like that. And I’m not too bad at Tex-Mex either.”

“Gal, you’re right in my bull pen,” he says with this big grin on his face. Vernon has a cute scar or something on his cheek, but his skin is smooth as a jalapeño. “Maybe you’ll cook up something for me sometime—if I ain’t being too pushy.”

Since it’s pretty obvious he’s as crazy about food as I am, I just can’t resist asking if he never gains weight eating like he does. He waits a second like he’s surprised, then says, “Never gave it much thought. Just eat normal—anything I want. Don’t you?”

Well, I could have told him a thing or two, believe you me, but instead just changed the subject and asked him about his wife.

“Oh, Mona was a great gal, and we had a good marriage and lots of plans. Losing her was a real shock. Lightning, like I said. Killed instantly on the job with no warning. A real healthy gal, and so unfair at her age. And these last few months—been kinda rough for me, ya know. What about your own marriage, if I can be so nosy?”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Lyman’s not a bad man, and I don’t think I’m a bad woman. We really tried to make a go of it and had some good times the first year or so. But I guess our differences and financial problems and what have you got too much and, well, things just didn’t work out the way we hoped.”

Vernon sits staring at me with this really intense look in his eyes, then says, “Some things just ain’t in the cards—like what happened to Mona and your marriage. But I can tell a little bit, it was Lyman’s loss.”

Him saying something that sweet really made me feel good, and it also made me want to reach over and rub the soft hair on his strong-looking arm.

“Hey,” he then says as he snaps his fingers for the waitress and pulls this fifty-dollar bill off a roll held together with a big money clip with the head of a steer. “I promised to get you back to the shelter by two, and I’m a man of my word. Plus I gotta check on Daisy before getting back to this job over at Texas Life.”

I thought that was so gracious and was reaching in my purse for my lipstick when Vernon says, “Hey” again. “You like Italian food?”

“Sure,” I say.

“You know Amalfi Garden off Richmond?”

“I’ve heard about it, but hear it’s high as a cat’s back.”

“Bull! Whatcha doing Friday night? Wanna ramble over there with me after I finish up? Great manicotti.”

See there. Vernon’s got style. And there’s something else I like about him, and that’s the way he don’t mince words and just comes out with what’s on his mind. Anyway, I found it pretty exciting him asking me out a second time, so even though I’d told Mary Jane I might drop over to taste her new Texas caviar recipe and watch a Comets game on TV, I said I’d love to go to Amalfi Garden.