When she got on the bed and began to crawl toward him on all fours, Theo forgot all about the protecting and went right for the debauching. He rose to his knees. When she reached him, he pulled her up and kissed her, his hands clutching her upper arms, his mouth desperate with months of pent-up hunger.

Theo put his arms around her and clutched her close.

He could feel every bit of Lucy, from her knees to her lips, every curve, every swell and dip and soft place. He felt her breasts crushed against his chest, nipples like little rocks, and he felt the heat radiating from between her legs.

His lips and tongue caressed her mouth, opened her, dived into her, and though he loved the feel of her pressed tight up against him, he couldn’t stay like this long. He needed to move. Theo reached up under the back of the nightgown and pushed it up and over the round globes of her ass. He caressed her back, slid his hands around her waist, rubbed her tummy and hips and breasts all with the hem of the flimsy nightie resting on his forearms. He’d much rather have her buck naked, but if this little piece of cloth made Lucy feel comfortable enough to be here with him, like this, then he’d live with it.

“Touch me, Theo,” she whispered. “Oh God, please touch me.”

He put her fingers between her full, silky thighs and stroked her, coaxing her to spread her legs. She shifted, opening for him, and his fingers were instantly covered in slick heat.

“God, Lucy. You’re so wet. Are you always this wet?”

She laughed. “I don’t remember.”

He laughed with her, pulled her until they fell to the comforter, where they rolled and laughed more, and Theo knew he’d never felt this much joy in a woman’s presence, this much connection and happiness. It hadn’t felt this way with Jenna, or with anyone.

They fit. He and Lucy fit like they were made for each other. That’s all there was to it.

As if she’d heard his silent verdict, Lucy wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck in clear invitation. Theo gazed down into her face and saw his own certainty-and his own lust-reflected back to him in her shining eyes.

“I’m not running away anymore,” she whispered.

Theo pushed inside her, slowly, inch by inch, and the joy spread and grew and rushed at him with a force he’d never known was possible. Theo had found joy and pleasure and certainty in the paradise of Lucy.

Stephan stared at the television, watching Theo Redmond’s right hand flick against the metal, making a tap, tap sound. His heart flopped in his chest like a dying fish. “Dammit,” he hissed.

Chin in hands, Stephan watched the trainer flick his fingers again, tap-tap-tap. The camera zoomed in close to Lucy Cunningham’s fat face. Stephan hated that face. That fuckin‘ goody-two-shoes triumph-of-the-human-spirit chubber-nugget was really starting to fuckin’ annoy him.

Redmond kept going. The suspense was killing Stephan. Tap, tap… slide… tap, tap, tap.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop with the drama already!” He slammed back more coffee and rooted around in his desk drawer for his ibuprofen and a Snickers bar.

Finally, thank God, the scale’s balance found its equilibrium at 170 pounds and Lucy’s face lit up like a harvest moon.

Stephan was fucked.

“This month’s loss was a whopping seventeen pounds!” Redmond announced, smiling into the camera like a he was a spokesmodel for a laxative. “That’s phenomenal!”

Then Stephan had to endure the sight of the trainer lifting Lucy into the air like he’d just come home from the war, twirling her around on the set, her hair flying out around them. The nitwits in the audience were eating this shit up. The camera panned the rows of jumping and clapping housewives and that’s when Stephan froze.

A whole goddamn section of the studio audience was wearing matching T-shirts that read: WE LOVE LUCY!

Stephan let out a howl of agony. This was just too much!

All Lucy Cunningham had to do was not lose weight! How hard could that be? The woman had been as big as a house the whole time she’d worked here! For over a year he’d watched her pop Milk Duds from morning to night.

Wasn’t it true that every damn diet and exercise ad on the planet had to include the caveat results not typical! All he wanted was fuckin‘ typical! But Lucy Cunningham was actually doing it! She was doing the impossible, and causing a public relations sensation in the process!

His phone rang.

“The girl. She’s skinny.”

“I wouldn’t exactly go that far.”

“Hasn’t she been getting my deliveries?”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it-”

“Horse? How about horse’s ass! Because that is what I am going to look like if you keep doing such a bang-up job of making the Palm Club look bad.”

“Murray-”

“You said you’d take care of it!”

“It’s still salvageable.”

As Murray Goldstein cussed him out, Stephan glanced at the TV screen and watched with revulsion while Theo calculated the size of Lucy’s body parts with a tape measure.

Goldstein’s voice became hushed. “You disrespect me,” he said.

How was Stephan supposed to know that Lucy Cunningham would turn out to be his own personal big, fat walking Friday the thirteenth? A cow of bad karma grazing on the field of his life?

“I was there for you when you needed me, Sherrod, and this is how you treat me? Shame on you. You will pay the price for this disrespect, you lowlife piece of-”

Stephan hung up on Murray. With shaking hands he began to unwrap the Snickers bar. He shoved it in his mouth, all the while crying like a baby.

“Ohmigod! Mr. Sherrod! Are you all right?” Veronica King stood in his doorway, staring at him.

Stephan stopped chewing and shoved the candy in his desk drawer. He swallowed. “Allergies,” he said.

Veronica didn’t seem convinced. She scowled at him. “You look like death warmed over, Mr. Sherrod.”

Stephan wiped his mouth and smacked his hand on his desk. “Since when do you get in this early? And what are you looking at, you nosy little bitch? Close my door!”

If he didn’t find a way to stop Lucy Cunningham, he’d look like death, all right, the cold, hard, bloated, dead-weight-at-the-bottom-of-the-ocean kind of death.

The kind Murray Goldstein was rumored to prefer.

June

Journal Entry June 4

Breakfast: 2/4 c Kashi; 1 c skim milk; 1 c blueberries; decaf

Lunch: 3 oz grilled tuna; 1 c steamed zucchini; 1 whole wheat roll; 1 tbsp light butter

Dinner: 3 oz roasted lean pork; 1/2 large baked sweet potato; 2 c salad and raw veggies; 2 tbsp oil and vinegar

Snack: 1 c light yogurt; 1 apple

Affirmation for Today:

If I ever go out in public wearing spandex shorts, life as we know it will continue, and the time-space continuum will remain intact. Unless they happen to be a neon color. Then the fabric of the universe could be ripped asunder. Perhaps I should stick with basic black.

“Anybody home?”

Stephan entered Lucy’s office with Veronica in tow, and the manic look on his face had Lucy instantly on alert. Veronica rolled her eyes as she sat down in one of the chairs near Lucy’s desk and propped the notebook on a knee. Stephan sat next to her.

“What’s up?” Lucy asked.

“Well, I figured since the party was coming up, we needed to discuss our plan of attack.”

Lucy squinted. “Attack?”

“Well, yes. I think we need to introduce some fresh elements into the Palm Club campaign, maybe change direction here and there, and the party is just the place to do it.”