The Right Fit

Chapter 46

Maxine placed the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the oak occasional table in front of Carmine and took the squashy chintz armchair across from him. Her stockings were draped across the radiator, still wet from the snow she trudged through when the cab dropped her off a block short because the street was too slippery to turn down.

Carmine had welcomed her with his usual warm charm and fashionable wit. He’d listened patiently while she sobbed what Marc had vindictively told her, and then when Antony all but confirmed his brother’s accusations.

Instead of coming up with a story of heartbreak from his past or a quick solution of vengeance, he simply offered her a change of clothes—a long cream sweater and silk pajama pants. He’d turned off his Judy Garland movie and offered to make her something to eat and, of course, drink.

But Maxine needed to move about, keep her mind from slipping into a spiral of self-pity and offered to cook from them both. Besides, Carmine’s chest cold had rendered him breathless with even the task of getting out of the chair to answer the door.

They sat in the warm cozy living room in his apartment above the store, unlit candles were scattered around the living, anticipating a power outage. The

wind had picked up outside blowing waves of snow against the glass.

Carmine used his fork to push the eggs around the plate. “Too bad I didn’t have any avocado,” he said, reaching for his gin and tonic. “It really jazzes up the eggs.” He regarded Maxine from under the soft glow of the fringed Tiffany floor lamp.

She swallowed a fork full of eggs, not even bothering to chew. The glob slipped down her throat. “What am I going to do?” she asked the plate.

“You have to let him explain his side.”

“I don’t think I’ll like his side,” Maxine admitted. “I wanted him to deny all of it, to say his brother was a pathological liar. There’s obviously some truth to what Marc said.” She winced and put down her fork, nauseous at the memory of his words.

“Mistakes are human,” he said. “It’s better to forgive and to live, then you can live to love.”

She groaned. “I need real advice, Carmine. Not some generic inscription printed on a fake river stone.”

“You’re so unromantic,” he chastised. “You complicate things. Make your choices based on your own happiness, it worked for Ambrosia.”

“I’m not a drag queen trying to sell out the Jazz Club every Thursday night,” she replied. A dull silence fell over the room. The storm howled outside, shaking the windows. “Sorry. I’m rather hateful right now.”

He began to nibble on a piece of bacon. “I think I need to sell the shop,” he said. “I can’t handle the work load anymore.”

Maxine felt her jaw slacken. “What am I supposed to do when I need advice? And no one has the connections you do. If you sell the shop it will be turned into one of those Dollar Stores that smell like dusty plastic.”

He made a face. “What does dusty plastic smell like?”

“Fake dog shit.” She put down her plate. “I can help more, and Westley, too. Please don’t sell the store.”

He smiled and a few years came off his wrinkled face. “Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.” There was a thoughtful pause in his voice then he said, “Do you know what I love most about the store? It’s having someone come in and find that prefect dress—that right fit.” He poked the eggs with his fork again, taking a dainty bite. “Have you ever noticed you always gravitate toward the clothes that are too small? You still have the black Ralph Lauren in your closet, right? How dusty does that smell?”

“I still plan on losing that thirty…or maybe forty pounds”

“Why? That red dress downstairs is waiting for you.”

Maxine tucked her feet under her, leaning into the pillows of the armchair. “What are you trying to say, Carmine? Come out with it, you’ve got your Dumbledore face on. I’m ready for the life lesson.”

“I’m wondering if you’re using your weight as a mechanism to rationalize your life decisions. You’re not basing your choices on your happiness, honey. You are, in fact, denying yourself happiness because you think you’re too fat.”

“Too fat for happiness? Sounds like a new nail polish line,” she said, glumly.

His expression warmed. “Love equals freedom, the freedom to be who you are. If someone is really in love with you, they won’t try and change you. They’re your right fit.”

The right fit.

Maxine took one of the cushions and hugged it to her chest. She thought Antony was the right fit, but now she felt like he’d put a stake through her chest, pinning her heart in place, stopping it mid-beat.

That’s what you get, the small voice from the darkest parts of her heart whispered, for thinking someone like him could fall in love with someone like you.

****

The next morning Maxine yawned under a pile of quilts, the trundle of the snowplow outside had woken her. She blinked at the ceiling a few times, there were tiny sparkles on the ceiling catching the sunlight now streaming through the open drapes. Carmine had mixed the iridescent flakes into the paint.

“It makes me feel like all my wishes are hovering there, ready to ascend,” he’d told her when she first noticed them a few years ago.

Carmine was all about the anticipation.

He came into the living room with a cup of coffee for her. He was dressed and the color was high in his cheeks. She sat up and tried to tuck a bushy wave of hair away from her face. “You’re looking better,” she said, taking the steaming mug.

“Wish I could say the same, honey.” He pointed to her hair.

“Do you want me to go out and get some croissants?”

He gave her a look. “As much as I enjoy watching you delay the inevitable, you need to call your Antony.”

“He’s not my Antony.”

Carmine pushed the phone into her hand. With a jolt, she saw he’d already dialed for her. “Say hi to Ace, for me,” he said, making his way back into the kitchen.

With her heart straining against her ribs, Maxine waited as the first ring went through.

He answered, breathless but cautious. “Maxine?

Can I see you?”

“My apartment,” she sputtered out. “Now?”

“No. I’m at Carmine’s. I’m leaving soon so—”

“I pick up you,” he interrupted. “He lives above store, oui?”

“Uh, oui…I mean yes. But I don’t want—” “I’ll be ten minutes.” Then he hung up.

“—you to do that,” she finished into the dead air.

With Carmine’s help Maxine get her hair back in the ponytail, but her makeup had been cried off long ago. He let her wear the long sweater, but she only had her short black skirt and fishnet stockings to pair it with. Carmine had suggested she wear the red dress, but Maxine didn’t think that was funny at all.

With a kiss on the forehead, Carmine sent her down the stairs, her high heels clicking at each step. When she opened the door that edged the sidewalk and stepped out, her shoe disappeared into a foot of snow.

Antony appeared on the other side of the snowbank, his field coat open, only wearing a t-shirt underneath. He swooped over the snow and without uttering a word, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the passenger door that was already open.

The entire ride back to her apartment was in silence. She didn’t dare glance at his profile, scared she’d lose her nerve and start crying all over again. Maxine thought of that imaginary stake, sticking out of her chest, temporarily plugging the spill of blood.

Once in her apartment, they both stood awkwardly as if reliving that first night again, except this time there was no rush of a pulse or pinging electricity between them. With her coat still wrapped around her, Maxine sat down at the small dining table and slipped off her high heels.

“I was afraid you’d never call,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her. The stubble and dark circles under his eyes hinted at a sleepless night. The plea in his glance was impossible to ignore.

“Tell me the truth,” she said, “about everything.”