appeared nearly so often since she hooked up with Adonis—grooved her forehead. “You say he’s really nice, you’re so compatible, you have no issues. Rina, does he stimulate and challenge you? Make you examine what you believe and wonder if you’re right? The way Adonis did with me, about my obsession with work?”
Rina frowned too. “N-no.” She tried a smile. “But maybe I’m perfect already. Well, except for being fat, but you know, I’ve actually started doing yoga.”
“You’re not fat!” Jen screeched, as Suzanne said, “Yoga? I don’t believe it,” and Ann came in with, “I hate to say it, but no one’s perfect.”
“What?” They all stared at each other, then began to laugh.
“Yoga?” Suzanne repeated. “You hate yoga. We all hate yoga. It’s a Foursome Rule.”
Yoga was how they’d met. A couple of years ago they’d each signed up for a class, bitched about it in the change room afterward and ended up going out for coffee. An immediate bond had formed, and they’d been having dinner every Monday night since then.
“What I really hated about it,” Rina confessed, “was exercising in public. I feel so heavy and self-conscious.” When Jenny opened her mouth, Rina held up a hand. “Shut up, Jen. I know you’re going to say I’m not fat, I’m statuesque—”
“Stacked,” Jen interrupted. “Voluptuous, lush.” She went back to scooping a pile of hummus onto a slice of pita. Jenny, at five foot nothing, a hundred pounds on her heaviest day, could outeat all three of them and never gain an ounce.
“Whatever.” Rina waved a hand, dismissing the polite lies. No way, in a society where size 6 was considered big, would her abundant curves ever be acceptable. “You’re all sweet, but I have eyes in my head and I know what kind of women are considered attractive. If I lived in the days of Marilyn Monroe and Sophia Loren, I might be okay, but today curves equal fat.”
“Rina, you’re not—” Ann started
Rina cut her off. “You’re sweet, but I invoke the Agree to Disagree Rule.”
Ann sighed loudly. “All right. But we’re not being sweet. Well, Suze might be, but Jen and I don’t have it in us to be sweet.”
“Thanks, bitch,” Jen said cheerfully. “And yeah, Rina, Annie’s right.”
“Anyhow,” Rina said, “if I could get back to my point?”
They all nodded, and she said, “I decided to give yoga another try. At home, with a DVD, and only my cat Sabine to laugh at me. I’m kind of getting into it.” She raised her arm and pulled back the loose sleeve of her gauzy black top. “And even developing some muscle tone.” Then she frowned. “Not losing any weight, though.”
“Muscle weighs more than fat,” Suzanne said.
“Oh, great,” Rina groaned. “Now you tell me.” She forked up some hummus, foregoing the pita bread.
“Let’s get back to Al,” Ann said. “Rina, what was your first thought when he asked you to marry him?”
“Uh, shock, I guess.” She told them how he’d proposed.
“Jesus, men can be dunces,” Jen said with disgust.
“He said you should get married?” Ann frowned. “That’s more of an order than a proposal. Is that how it came across to you?”
“Kind of. Then when I said it was awfully soon, he got pushy. That’s not the way to win me over.”
“And it’s an indicator of what your marriage might be like,” Ann said firmly.
“I agree,” Suzanne said. “Damn, Rina, that’s too bad.”
“Better to find out now, before you invest more time in the loser,” Jen said.
A loser? Al? No, she didn’t believe that. He’d always been so considerate, until Saturday. “Damn, I’m exaggerating this. I shouldn’t have said he was pushy. Maybe he was just hurt. If he’d really thought we were heading toward marriage, and I so obviously didn’t see it coming…No wonder he reacted strangely.”
“True,” Ann said. “We shouldn’t write him off so quickly. You need to talk to him again.”
Rina nodded. Of course, he’d be wanting a “yes, I’d love to marry you,” and she wasn’t ready to give it.
“Suze?” Jenny asked, and Rina looked up to see Suzanne toying with her wineglass.
“Hmm?” she said. “Sorry. I was thinking. Rina, there’s something I’ve been wondering.”
“Yes?”
“About men. Special men. Remember a few months ago, when we were all talking about the best sex we’d ever had?”
“Giancarlo.” The thought of him sent a rush of adrenaline—the same kind of buzz as just before a performance, or in a sexy dream—rushing through her body.
“The piano man,” Jenny said. “Whose magic fingers made you come three times in a row, on top of a grand piano at Banff music school.”
“Wow, you have a good memory,” Rina said.
Jen gave a mischievous grin. “When it comes to great sex stories.”
“Anyhow,” Suzanne said, “when I tracked Jaxon down on the Internet, you were thinking about doing the same with Giancarlo.”
Rina took a breath, then admitted her guilty secret. “I did.”
“Way to go, girl!” Jenny said. “And?”
“I traced him through the alumni office at the Banff School of Fine Arts. He didn’t turn out the way I expected.” She sighed. “He was such a great pianist. Just a skinny, nothing-special-to-look-at Italian kid, but he had charisma as well as talent. We talked about our dreams and I honestly thought he’d achieve his and make it big on the concert circuit. You know, as a guest performer.”
“He was that good?” Suzanne asked.
“I thought so.” Rina shook her head. “But he sold out. Went over to the dark side.”
“The dark side?” Jen wiggled her eyebrows. “Sounds kinky.”
“He’s a music video director. Yuck. Should’ve known, with the last name Mancini, he’d go crass and commercial.”
The other three glanced at each other. “Huh?” Jenny said.
“As in Henry Mancini?” Rina said.
Three more blank looks. Rina sighed. “He wrote the Pink Panther theme? ‘Moon River’ from Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”
“I love the Pink Panther,” Jenny said. Predictably, because she was addicted to pink.
“And ‘Moon River’ is lovely,” Suzanne said. “Very romantic.
