Читать книгу Hungry for Happiness - James Villas - Страница 12

I’m fixin’ to do something about this stupid apartment I’m renting and find me a decent little house that’s more in line with my new life. Of course the apartment’s not as embarrassing as that tacky mobile Lyman and I had over off Memorial, but it’s not a place where I can feel proud to have a few friends over, and it’s sure not right for two large dogs and a cat. Moved in with Mama for a few months to save money and pay the bills while I was going through my banding ordeal, but that was a big mistake. Oh, I worry myself sick about Mama being in that old house all by herself, but, I mean, who wants to live like trash way out near Hobby in that low-class neighborhood, and spend an hour driving back and forth to work, and listen to Mama ranting on and on about how I’m starving myself to death? Just this morning at the gym it dawned on me that if I ever plan to do any serious catering, I’ve gotta have a bigger kitchen. No question about that.

And if I’m convinced of anything, I’m convinced I could be one of the best caterers in Houston if I play my cards right. I know that, and Billy Po Cahill has told me so a hundred times. Billy Po’s the special events coordinator at Mutual Savings and Loan downtown, and that’s not chicken scratch. He’s also on the vestry at our Hawthorn Presbyterian Church, and it all began when Billy Po raved about a turkey and ham casserole and chocolate pecan pie I brought to a church benefit. Not that I myself have been exactly high on faith the last few years, but I do try to help out on benefits when I think the cause is right, and this time Billy Po was so impressed with my food he asked me if I’d be interested in fixin’ some goodies for a snazzy bank reception he was setting up. Three hundred bucks for a shrimp creole, and a Lady Baltimore cake, and a few platters of cookies and pralines. Well, that was the most money I’d ever made at one time in my life. Then Billy Po hired me a second time for another promotion he was doing, and the next thing I know the phone’s ringing, and this classy lady over in the Galleria who was at the gig is praising my crabmeat balls and lemon bars to the sky and wondering if I’d like to do some things for a private party she’s giving. That was another three hundred big ones and got me thinking maybe I could make a go of this on a regular basis with the right contacts and the right setup at home and the right confidence in myself.

Of course there are a few hitches, and Billy Po Cahill hittin’ on me is one of them. I guess I should’ve noticed that first day at the church the way he was looking me over months after I’d had the surgery—and he knew me before and after. But the truth is that at the time I was still pretty fat and didn’t think there was a guy on earth who would give me a second glance. Besides, everybody knows that Billy Po is happily married to Sissy Cahill with two grown boys and has lots of respect at the bank, so who would have ever dreamed that this upstanding family man could have a shady side to his nature? I’d say Billy Po’s around fifty, has a full head of thick hair graying just on the sides, and has puffy cheeks that always look pink. And even though he wears suits that cover up lots of sins, anybody can tell he’s had his share of brisket and pecan pie. I gotta say fifty is a little old for my taste, but, then, who was I to be choosy the way I still looked and when here’s this nice man offering to do me favors? Besides, Billy Po talks real well the way educated men do, and I like that.

What happened was after the second bank job, Billy Po just showed up in his white Cadillac Seville one afternoon at the apartment with two of my cookie platters and set Sugar and Spice to howling like mad dogs. Don’t ask me how he found out where I lived, but him just dropping by like that really caught me off guard. Jeans and just a tank top with no bra. No clips in my hair or lipstick. Powdered sugar on my hands. Kind of a mess, like the apartment. But I didn’t have much choice but to ask him in and offer him a glass of iced tea and some nutty fingers I’d just fixed for Gladys and the kids. Must say he couldn’t have been more cordial and gracious on the sofa telling me how much better I looked, and how impressed everybody was with my catering, and how he planned to keep me in mind for some jobs in the future.

“Loretta, you got talent,” he says, “and you could probably go to town if you know the right people and make the right moves.”

“Oh, Billy Po, you’re just puttin’ me on,” I say while I grab my lipstick.

“Not in the least,” he says as he maneuvers over a little closer and gives my thigh a friendly pop. “You’ve turned into a good-looking lady, you know, and between your looks and great personality and special flair with food, you could make a name for yourself in this town.”

“Why, gracious me, you really think so, Billy Po?”

He then moves over closer and squeezes my thigh and says, “Sure you could, and I could help you along if you play fair and square.”

Well, I’m not exactly dumb, and even though I never had many guys hitting on me before or after Lyman, I know when somebody’s making a pass at a gal.

“Why, Billy Po, I’m not sure I know exactly what you mean,” I say as I pull my open tank top up to cover my big boobs better.

“Oh, honey, I think you do, and bet anybody who’s all woman the way you are likes to have a little fun once in a while. Don’t mind saying I’ve had my eye on you for some time, and I mean that as a real compliment.”

Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather, but frankly, I guess I’d been waiting a long time for a real man to say something like that to me.

“I don’t know ’bout this, Billy Po,” is all I could drum up in my state of mind, but before I know it, he’s put his tea down and is flicking his fingers up and down my neck. Oh, I know I should have resisted at least a little, but I didn’t.

“Can I tell you something, Loretta?” he then says while he’s fingering me.

“You certainly can.”

“I hope you know how much I respect you.”

“Why, thank you, Billy Po,” I say, “and the feeling’s mutual.”

“Now, do you trust me?”

“Sure I do, Billy Po.”

“And can I trust you?”

“Of course you can.”

“You know I have a reputation to uphold, and you have a new career that could take off any day now, and we gotta kind of protect each other and not get in any trouble if we’re gonna be close friends and work together, don’t you think?”

“Sure, Billy Po. Whatever you say.”

He was now talking real nice and quiet in a kind of sexy voice, and the next thing I knew he’d moved his hand down and was rubbing his fat fingers on my breast, and breathing heavy, and making me tingle inside. I could smell his aftershave lotion and see some dandruff on his brown hair, which I thought he might have dyed a little. Don’t get me wrong. Billy Po’s certainly not my idea of Prince Charming, but at the time I was still pretty obsessed with my weight problem, and here’s the first guy in ages paying me lots of attention and compliments, and I figured if he was good enough to help me along in a career I really had my mind set on, the least I could do was let him have a few kicks. Oh sure, I knew Billy Po was fixin’ to take a little advantage of me, but I also knew he was taking a big risk behaving like he was—his family, the bank, the church, and all that. But, hey, like I say, I admit I got a wild streak in me, and always wanted to play around just like other gals, and what did I have to lose?

Anyway, I did let Billy Po pretty much have his way right there on the sofa, even with Sugar and Spice whining and barking and trying to nuzzle in, and before it was all over, I don’t know who was panting and puffing more, Billy Po or the two dogs. Gotta say Billy Po’s sure no amateur and has the equipment to back up his action. I also gotta say I gave him a four-alarm run for his money I bet he didn’t soon forget. Funny, but I don’t think it fazed Billy Po one iota that he was dealing with almost 200 pounds of Texan woman. In fact, while he was zipping back up and tying his tie and putting on his jacket and fixin’ to leave, he said, “Loretta, I can tell you that cooking’s not your only big asset.” That’s exactly what he said.

Okay, so we had a good fling, and yeah, this was all before I met Vernon, and I guess it’s what my ego needed at the time. But I sure wouldn’t say Billy Po was ever what I call a big deal in the romance department or that I was ever anything like his love slave who kowtowed to his every whim the way some of those idiot women do on As the World Turns. I guess we played around a couple of months, and it got to where I could almost expect to see that white Cadillac pull up on Monday afternoons when Billy Po said he always got his hair cut and his wife, Sissy, had her bridge club. Like I say, Billy Po’s basically a pretty sweet guy who once even brought me a beautiful hanging pot of red geraniums for my little patio and always had a few treats for Sugar and Spice, and yeah, I’m the first to admit there was something kinda exciting about our sneaky affair. On the other hand, I think we both knew it was more a “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” kind of relationship, and I was never dumb enough to believe those shenanigans could lead anywhere except frustration and maybe…big trouble.

And the truth is that things began to come to a head the day we had this big household auction at the church to raise funds for a new electronic organ, and I had baked three coconut cakes for the occasion, and Sissy Cahill happened to also be working at the refreshment table and made a couple of snide remarks that made me real nervous.

“Billy Po tells me you been cooking up a storm,” she said in this sugary tone of voice while she poured lemonade in cups, “and that you’ve even been whipping up some pretty fancy desserts for his bank promotions.”

“Oh, heavens, no.” I laughed as I arranged small nuggets of cake on paper plates. “Nothing really fancy. Just mainly old-fashioned cakes and lattice pies and plain cookies that Billy Po and everybody else loves to eat at those shindigs.”

“You know, that’s kinda funny,” she continued in her hoity-toity manner, “’cause the one thing Billy Po’s never had is a big sweet tooth—not even for my caramel brownies people rave about.”

“You don’t say,” was all I could think to utter.

“Well, honey, I guess you must have a special touch, ’cause I heard Billy Po raving to Lance Buckley about your chocolate-pecan brownies.”

I laughed again and said, “Oh, they’re just my mama’s plain old brownies, but now they’re a real no-no for me—if you know what I mean.”

Sissy’s eyes gave my body a quick glance, then she said, “I did notice, honey, how you’ve dropped a few pounds. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, but I’ve still got a long way to go,” I said as I rushed to finish the plates, and felt my heart pounding, and pretended I needed to pass the cake among the crowd milling around the hall looking at all the lamps and crystal bowls and what have you.

Well, that’s when I decided then and there that I could be playing with fire, and that I’d done too much to improve my physical self-esteem and maybe start a real catering business, and that I was gonna have serious words with Billy Po the next time he dropped by for me to light his firecracker.

“But I thought we were having fun and agreed to play fair and square,” he said when I told him at my kitchen table I wasn’t just a piece of meat, and I thought tongues were beginning to wag, and we both had our reputations and future to think about.

“What tongues?” he asked like he was a little shocked.

“Well, let’s start with your own wife’s.”

“Whadda you mean? Sissy’s got nothing to do with this.”

I told him point-blank what comments she’d made at the auction, and when he heard this, he did get this real worried look on his puffy face for a minute.

“What else did Sissy say?” he mumbled as he ate another cheese stick and fingered the side of his hair.

“Oh, nothing really touchy or ugly,” I said, “but I could tell she was wondering about lots of things.”

“You sure you’re not just imagining that?” he asked.

“Listen, honey, we do have fun, and you know how grateful I am for all your help,” I went on. “But the truth is I’m trying to pull my life together, and this hanky-panky isn’t getting you or me anywhere, and I think we gotta cool it before something happens we’ll both regret. Don’t you agree, Billy Po?”

Well, I was pretty proud of my gumption, but then I notice he’s looking daggers at me, and, I swear, for a second I thought he was fixin’ to reach over and smack me right in the face.

“So that’s the way you want to play,” he then said as he fiddled with his gold cuff links in the form of oil rigs.

“Billy Po, I’m trying to look out for us both and not risk any scandal, so, well…Billy Po, it’s got to stop—that’s all there is to it. I want us to be just good friends, honey, and, goddammit, if that means you can’t use me for jobs any longer…well, honey, I hope you won’t be that mean.”

He then changed his expression and took my hand real easy. “Now, now, just hold your horses, little lady. You ought to know I’m not a mean man and just like to cut up now and then. So okay, I’ll back off if that’s what you want. Tell you what: why don’t we let things simmer down a while, then just let nature take its course.”

Yeah, I figured. Let nature take its course. Right to the sack whenever José wants his enchilada, and maybe right to the front page of the Houston Chronicle. Oh, I was real sweet to Billy Po before he left that day, and I’d be lying if I said we didn’t have as much fun as ever, but when he left, I was pretty sure the guy knew exactly where he now stood with me. If I’ve learned nothing else lately, I’ve learned that sometime a girl just has to take control.