The Not-So-Perfect Man by Valerie Frankel

Author:Valerie Frankel
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter 22

Saturday, June 7

7:34 P.M.

Peter hadn’t been to Aux-On-Arles since his five-year-anniversary dinner with Ilene. The French restaurant served the ultimate in haute cuisine, the prix fixe sampling menu costing a $150 per person. The crepe de chine curtains— off-white, eggshell or ecru, he wasn’t sure, nor did he care—reminded him of that long-ago night when he and his wife rearranged their chairs so they could hold hands under the table.

He looked across his table tonight, way across, miles outside of handholding range, at his dinner companion. She was pretty. Her curly brown hair shined with megadoses of vitamin A, the tawny bare arms glowed from adequate lutein consumption, her eyes sparkled with high-concentrate beta-carotene. He’d never felt less attracted to a woman in his life.

Peter said, “Explain it again. I have to pay for dinner, plus your standard session fee?”

“That’s right,” said Peggy McFarthing.

“Since you’re eating, shouldn’t you pay for your own food?”

Peggy rearranged her napkin on her lap and said, “Peter, I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t working. This is your graduation session. It’s both a celebration and a lesson on how to put your eating plan to practical use. Remember the adage: Humans used to have to hunt for food; nowadays, food hunts us. French cuisine is a particular challenge because of the sauces. And you were the one to suggest this restaurant. I’ve taken other clients to a Greek diner for the final session.”

Therefore, he’d stewed himself in his own pot au feu. Yes, he’d suggested the restaurant. But for a specific purpose: Peter planned on bringing Ilene back here to celebrate his forty-five-pound weight loss, their upcoming eleventh wedding anniversary, and her raise of $10,000 a year (not much, considering that he’d spent $6,000 on nutritional counseling in the past seven months, at a rate of about $140 per lost pound). Peter never thought Peggy would expect him to pick up her tab. He would order a la carte, cheaper, by far, than the sampling menu. If she tried to get the prix fixe, he’d object. He corrected his posture in the high, straight-back chair with the thin cushion (all cushions felt thin to him these days), and contemplated making a run for it. Did he really need Peggy to instruct him on how to order a French meal? He eyed the breadbasket. The baguette was particularly tempting.

Peggy said, “I’m very proud of you, Peter.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean it,” she said, draping a napkin over the bread, hiding it. “When you first came into my office, I didn’t think you’d have the discipline—or the support system—to lose the weight.”

He resented that remark, as he resented so much of Peggy’s assumptions about his weakness (the napkin over the breadbasket, case in point).

“You thought I’d fail but you took the money anyway,” he said.

“Perhaps spending the money was the motivation you needed to succeed.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. The money was certainly a motivation not to gain it back. He couldn’t stand to spend one more dollar on his vanity (don’t think “vanity”; think “health,” he reminded himself).

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