Alternate Beauty

chapter one At noon on a Tuesday in early April, I hesitated in the stark archway separating the lobby from the muted dining room of one of Seattle's downtown, upscale restaurants. Pale white silk-textured walls relieved only by shining mahogany chair rails enclosed a roomful of identical tables that held gleaming white, gold-rimmed plates and polished silverware, spotless stemmed glasses, and napkins folded like little tents--all placed just so. I sighed and scanned the room. Why did I say yes? I hated being away from the shop during the busy lunch hour. But when Audrey called, the called rushed forth. A hum of polite conversation ebbed and flowed around me, accentuated by the irregular tinkling of silverware against china. The civilized aroma of butter and basil drifted my way. I swallowed the saliva that came unbidden, like I was some distant relation to one of Pavlov's dogs. I spotted Audrey seated at a table in the middle of the room. Her tailored cream crepe pantsuit blended nicely with the room's decor. Of course. She was holding court to a couple of men standing next to her table; both wore ubiquitous gray European-cut suits. I headed toward my mother. My high heels sank into the ridiculously thick emerald carpet, making it difficult to keep my balance. My normal ponderous waddle became a graceless lurch. Struggling to maintain some dignity, I lifted my chin. But I was aware of the futility of my upright bearing. I stopped at the right side of the nearest suited man. Glancing at Audrey, I noted the pucker between her perfectly arched brows as she inspected me. I adjusted the skirt of my teal linen suit and made sure my silk blouse wasn't gapping open. "Tell Charlene I'm thinking of her," Audrey said, turning toward the second man. She reached for his hand with her slender mauve-tipped fingers and squeezed it--grace and warmth in concert. "If there's anything I can do for either of you, let me know." The two men murmured good-bye and moved on, ignoring me. "Veronica, dear." Audrey's voice was low and even. She'd waited until the men were on the far side of the dining room before greeting me. "Hey," I said, gripping the table edge and lowering myself into a straight-backed chair. It was ridiculously small--just another example of rampant fat bias. I love myself exactly as I am, I repeated several times silently in my head. My gaze roamed over the menu, lingered on the French Dip and the Broiled Crab and Cheese sandwiches and went obediently to the salads. "I will have a small green salad, please," Audrey told the waiter. "With oil and vinegar on the side." I sighed and pictured the Butterfingers I had stashed in my desk drawer back at the shop. "Same for me." Audrey nodded. Her frosted blond pageboy didn't move. "I am pleased to see you working on your diet, dear." I shot a glance at the hovering waiter and remained silent. The only thing I was working on was remaining sane for the duration of the lunch. I flicked my gaze over Audrey. Beyond slender, bordering on bony, she looked like she'd been cut out with sharp scissors. By contrast, I looked like I'd been sketched in with pastel chalk, all soft edges and smudgy. Her face was a collection of angles--flat forehead, high, prominent cheekbones, a triangular nose. She had wide-set eyes capped by aggressively plucked brows in an inverted V. Of course, her skin was perfect, nearly unlined--the result of a myriad of creams, lotions, and other potions and the services of a talented dermatologist and an even more talented plastic surgeon. "I had an unsettling conversation with Cheryl Landing yesterday," Audrey said, stroking her smooth neck. Though Cheryl was in one of my mother's women's groups, I wasn't aware they were more than simple acquaintances. But,Waggener, Andrea Rains is the author of 'Alternate Beauty', published 2005 under ISBN 9780553382983 and ISBN 0553382985.