J Stanley - The Battered Body

“Do you add cream or sugar?”

James nodded. “Yes. Both.”

“Then you need to add that on, because there are calories in your coffee.” Dr. Ruth touched James’s hand. “This is just for me to see what your eating preferences are. Just be as thorough and honest as you can. Remember, I’m not here to judge you.”

“Can I try to lose some weight while I’m working on this log?”

“That would be great!” Dr. Ruth declared. “If you’d like to try to restrict your daily caloric intake to around twenty-two to twenty-five hundred calories, then go for it!”

“Maybe Bennett and I can hype each other up,” James murmured as he wondered how much he could eat on a two-thousand-calorie-a-day plan. “It’ll be nice to talk this over with him. And if I get stressed about the wedding or he gets stressed about his upcoming taping for Jeopardy! then we’ve got one another for support.”

“Having a friend with similar goals is certainly a plus,” Dr. Ruth said as she glanced at her watch. “Unfortunately, our time is up. Let’s make an appointment for next week. We’ll start our session by getting your weight and see what your body fat number is, and then we’ll look over your food log and see where to go from there. Sound good?” She smiled warmly.

In spite of the mention of the words “body fat,” James felt a tingle of excitement. He felt absolutely sure that he could work with this woman to improve his eating habits. Dr. Ruth wasn’t going to lecture him or guilt him into changing his eating habits. Instead, she would act as a guide on his journey to a healthier future. The nutritionist seemed so sincerely optimistic and encouraging that James found himself wanting to please her.

“Thank you.” He stood and shook her outstretched hand. “I’m really glad I came today,” James said as he moved toward the door. “I really didn’t want to, to tell you the truth, but I feel like this is exactly what I need.”

“I’ve heard that a time or two.” Dr. Ruth laughed. “But you did walk through that door and now you’ve got a plan in addition to a refreshingly positive attitude. I think you’re going to be one of my success stories, Mr. Henry.”

James whistled as he walked down the hallway of the medical office building housing Dr. Ruth and a dozen other professionals. As he passed a vending machine stuffed with Fritos, Hostess Cup Cakes, and candy bars illuminated by soft lights and humming enticingly, his stomach issued a loud rumble. “It’s almost suppertime,” he said to himself. “I’d better have a big one too, since this is the last meal I’ll be eating that Dr. Ruth doesn’t need to know about.”

“Something smells delicious,” James remarked as he entered his house through the back door leading into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw Paulette bent over the kitchen counter, working a rolling pin over a layer of dough dusted with flour. Jackson sat silently at the kitchen table, studying Paulette’s every move.

James looked around in confusion. “Where’s Milla, Pop?”

“She drove to Harrisonburg to get us a hunk of meat, but she should be walkin’ through that door any second now,” Jackson answered. “Paulette here is gonna fix us a dinner that’ll make our bellies stick out for miles.”

“I think I’ve got that down pat.” James turned to Paulette. “What are you treating us to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A divine beef Wellington, made with succulent filet mignon, liver pâté, portobello mushrooms, and my homemade puff pastry.”

James was impressed. “Wow. Here I thought your specialty was cakes.”

“It is,” Paulette replied. “But I’m quite adept in all areas of the culinary arts.” She paused in her work and turned to Jackson. “Can you see me well enough?”

“Sure can. I’m sketchin’ in my mind.” Jackson tapped a gnarled finger against his wrinkled temple. “Don’t need no paper. By the end of the evenin’, I’ll know your hands as well as you do.”

Paulette looked quite pleased by this declaration. She gave Jackson an indulgent smile and then gestured at the plastic tumbler sitting next to a frying pan filled with sautéed onions and mushrooms. “I’m ready for a refill, brother-in-law.”

“Yes ma’am! Three fingers comin’ right up.” Jackson jumped out of his chair and poured some of his favorite Cutty Sark into her glass. “I didn’t reckon you for a gal who could knock back the sauce. Figured you’d be one of those fruity rum and umbrella kind of drinkers.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Paulette replied with a sly grin. “Besides, Milla and I grew up in Mississippi, remember? We practically bleed scotch whiskey. And I was quite relieved to discover that you’re not a beer drinker. Such a crude beverage.” She gave a little sniff to underscore her disapproval.

James couldn’t believe his ears. Paulette and his father were actually getting along. Not only that, but they were apparently intent on getting drunk together. As he headed upstairs to change clothes, he heard the sound of Milla’s van crunching up the gravel driveway.

Thank goodness-another sane person has arrived. I wonder if Milla and her sister have patched things up since Saturday, James thought, recalling Paulette’s scurrilous behavior at Gillian’s. When he reentered the kitchen a few minutes later, the room was filled with Milla’s tinkling laughter and the bass rumble of Jackson’s more reserved chuckle. Paulette placed each portion of the pastry-wrapped meat into a casserole dish while doing a perfect imitation of Martha Stewart.

“ Everyone thinks I’m jealous of her because she’s got her own exclusive cookware and bedding line with Macy’s, but please .” She rubbed her hands vigorously with a red and green plaid dishtowel. “Macy’s is so colloquial. I’ve been approached by Nordstrom’s to come up with the desserts for their café menu. Clearly they recognize real talent, wouldn’t you agree?”

Milla slid the baking dish into the oven. “How lovely, dear. And Willow tells me that you’re going to be on one of our local shows on Thursday. That’s very exciting.”

Paulette took a slug of her drink and shrugged. “It’s only a Virginia morning show with a few thousand viewers, but I’ve got a new cake recipe I’d like to try out before I film it for my show. I was going to make it anyway for you and Jackson to sample, so why not prepare it on air?”

“Yummy.” Milla poured herself a glass of merlot and then filled a second glass and handed it to James. “You’re still going to help us taste all the wedding cake candidates, aren’t you, dear?” She clinked the rim of her glass against his and sighed contentedly. “I’m so glad to have y’all gathered here together. My old family and my new family. Perfect.”

Settling regally into one of the kitchen chairs, Paulette picked up the knife and fork laid out on the table and began cleaning spots from their surfaces with a paper napkin covered with rotund snowmen. “You were always disgustingly sentimental, Milla. I’m surprised you managed to muster up enough gumption to run your own business.”

“You’re not the only one who knows their way ’round pots and pans,” Milla retorted sharply. “And my classes have been quite successful, thank you kindly.” She sat down opposite her sister, but her posture was much less rigid than Paulette’s stiff-backed carriage. “I gotta say, though, I’m getting a bit tired of teaching all those classes up in New Market and then driving down here to be with my future spouse. Jackson and I have decided to live in this house after we’re married. My place is too small for the both of us, and I know Sir Charles will be tickled to death to run footloose and free around this yard.”