LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Four

      Jessica stood in the doorway of her walk-in closet, hoping an outfit she’d overlooked would magically catch her eye. It wasn’t going to happen. She kept standing there, unable to accept defeat.

      It wasn’t too late to make a mad dash to the mall. But she’d be darned if she’d treat her neighbor’s request for back-road guidance as a date, no matter how appealing he’d tried to make it sound.

      He’d apologized for being pushy. He’d offered to make it up to her by showing her the new landscaping center in Jonesboro.

      What a load of baloney. She suspected what he really wanted was somebody to show him the shortcuts between Sacred Arms and that Metro place so he could shave five minutes off his commute.

      If he had a fuel-efficient vehicle like hers, instead of a gas-guzzling hot rod or monster truck, he wouldn’t have to worry about a few extra miles a week. She shrugged to herself. What else would you expect from a testosterone-saturated creature who probably bought underwear in a package of six for ten dollars?

      The door slammed and Frasier’s manic barking heralded Becky Jo’s arrival. The fashion consultant was here at last. Jessica tossed the only two possible options on her bed.

      “Jessica?” Becky Jo called from the foot of the stairs.

      “Up here, Beej. I’m having a crisis and I need your special brand of advice.”

      “Be right there,” she yelled back. “Let me stop off in the kitchen for a soda.”

      Jessica surveyed the pitiful selections. One pair of jeans, size fourteen and miserably tight, lay on the bed like a virgin sacrifice. Steadfastly refusing to buy anything larger, she struggled into them on rare occasions, hiding the bulge at her waist with a shirt worn untucked. Probably the oldest fat trick in the book, but the only one she knew.

      Second choice was a relatively new pair of khaki walking shorts. She’d spent so much time outdoors lately that her legs had a little color. When she sat down, her thighs spread out to twice their size. If she put her weight on her toes and pressed upward, it lifted her legs off the seat and that helped some. But she’d never make it all the way to Jonesboro like that without getting a cramp.

      Dressing was a no-win situation. She’d go next door, say “no, thanks” and offer to draw him a map.

      Becky Jo made her entrance. She drank deeply from a crystal goblet, sighed dramatically and affected an exaggerated swoon onto the bed, never spilling a drop. She admired her own abundant form and new gold lamé hostess pajamas.

      Frequent trips to the thrift shop paid off, but yesterday she’d hit the jackpot. The new supply of plus-size silks and satins clearly indicated some rich society hostess had either lost weight or been shopping. Either way, Becky Jo was the beneficiary.

      “Okay, what’s the occasion, and who do we want to impress?” She cast a disapproving scowl at the jeans and shorts. “Please tell me I’ve got more to work with than this.”

      Jessica slumped to the bed and raked the clothes onto the floor. Her friend was right. Compared to the fashionable, bare midriff combinations she’d worn a year ago, these clothes were matronly.

      “Our new neighbor asked me to ride down to Jonesboro with him tomorrow. He wants to learn the country roads, so he offered to show me a new garden supply near that garage of his.”

      Becky Jo sat up. “A date, huh?”

      “No, it’s not a date. Stop looking at me that way. I haven’t had a date in months and I’m not likely to have one any time soon.”

      When Becky Jo pressed her lips together and squinted, Jessica knew her lack of self-confidence was showing again.

      “You’d be amazed how many men would like to take you out, if you’d just give them the chance,” Becky Jo insisted.

      “Yeah, right.” Jessica’s self-pity simmered just below the surface.

      Becky Jo wiggled her index finger at Jessica. “You’re thinking ‘What nice-looking guy would be interested in a fat woman?’ Aren’t you?”

      Jessica gasped at her best friend’s bluntness. “I was not, and I never think of you that way.”

      Becky Jo’s smile was sympathetic. “I know, Jess. I don’t think of me as fat, either. Neither do the men I date. That’s because I’m voluptuous and Ruben-esque and bountiful and all the other great superlatives they use in fashion magazines to describe women of substance.”

      She stood and preened before the mirror, smiling in self-appreciation. “Plenty of men out there aren’t set on a relationship with a scarecrow. Jess, if you’d lighten up a little bit, you’d find out for yourself.”

      Becky Jo’s blue eyes brightened. “I’ve been waiting for just the right time to give you something. You dig out the sexiest tank top you have. I’ll be right back.”

      Jessica began to pull spaghetti-strap tanks from her armoire. Finding a personal favorite, she fingered the butter-colored cotton and hand-tatted lace.

      “Oh, that’s perfect! Put it on.” Becky Jo was back with something made of stonewashed denim slung over one shoulder.

      “It’s too small now.”

      “Baloney! Will you stop whining about what’s wrong with you and start taking advantage of what’s right? For the first time in your life you have a chest that will stop traffic. Enjoy it.”

      Jessica had to agree with her friend. During her years of food deprivation there’d never been much up top. This fullness was new to her, too.

      She’d changed costumes in theater wings a thousand times. Bodies weren’t important then. Only talent seemed to matter. Now, self-conscious even with her dearest friend, she turned her back. Pulling the T-shirt over her head, she replaced it with the delicate lace garment that was hardly more than a camisole.

      “As long as you’re being shy, stay there and put this on. I picked them up for you at a garage sale.”

      Pale blue denim landed at Jessica’s feet. She stepped out of worn work shorts into stretch cotton overalls. After the straps were fastened, only a hint of yellow lace showed above the bib and beneath her arms.