The Do-Over(25)

“Okay she said. ‘Yes, he’s a friend from the Hamptons and Fire Island. Really good guy. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Do you know him?’”

“No, but a friend thought she might.” Laynie responded.

“Well if Wes was spending summers out on Fire Island, he must’ve moved back from the coast a few years after I met him,” I conjectured, suddenly sad that our one degree of separation didn’t bring us together back then.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Laynie’s tone was chastising. “But remember, back then GOOGLE and the internet weren’t what they are today. And you might’ve already been with Frank and no longer single by the time he returned from the coast.”

Flipping to another picture of him, I acquiesced, “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” And she usually was.

“It appears the company turned five last year. So, they are a fairly new group. Nowhere in these articles does Wes talk about why, what was the catalyst that made him start C-Kicker. Yes, it’s a great idea. And yes, it fills a much-needed hole in a marketplace niche. But it just feels to me like someone would start a company like this when they’ve personally been touched, when they’ve watched their wife or their mom go through it and thought why is no one making clothes designed for their post-surgical needs? Why is no one out there making something useful and comfortable for them? And then saying, I’m in this industry. I have the contacts. I’ll start the company.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that is not very close to what happened, T. But the question is whose illness motivated him? It had to have been someone he loved very deeply.”

My heart hurt thinking about Wes in pain, but I also knew that I now had the opportunity to help in this quest, in my little way. And I prayed he picked our company to produce the videos.



“You have to come meet me over by my office for lunch,” Laynie was insistent later that week.

“Why?”

“No questions. Just come. Thank me later.”

“Give me an hour, I’m working on some designs for the C-Kicker presentation.” I was so focused on my screen that I laughed out loud when I got a text from Laynie forty minutes later telling me to leave.

On my way. I texted back.

Meet me in Saks in shoes.

The shoe department in Saks Fifth Avenue certainly sounded like a fun lunch, but I wasn’t sure it was going to include food.

Laynie was trying on silver gladiator sandals when I arrived at their fourth-floor shoe department. Sitting down next to her, I was instantly envious of her long legs.

“You need them,” I egged her on without any provocation.

“I do,” she agreed and told the sales girl she’d take them.

“Where are we going?” I asked. The store was packed for a weekday.

“Just across the floor. There’s something I need to show you.”

As we walked toward Women’s Clothes, my eye couldn’t help but be drawn to the vibrant palette of spring and summer clothes lining the racks. The flowers on the sheath dresses made me feel that if I held the fabric to my nose the scent of lilacs and roses would waft up right from the crisp material.

“So what did you want to show…” I didn’t even finish my sentence, because as we stood before it, I knew. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know, isn’t it.”

“The color…” I was still speechless.

“It’s exactly how I remember the jade outfit.”

Nodding, “Me too.” Reaching forward I let the silk knit dress slide through my fingers. “It must have some small percentage of spandex in it, I can’t wear this, it will cling to my body and I’ll look like a beast.”

“Shut up and try it on.” Laynie was halfway to the dressing room with the dress slung over her shoulder.

Grabbing it from her, I let the try-on room attendant lead me to a corner room that was larger than some studio apartments in New York City. Holding up the dress in front of me I could see the jade outfit in my mind’s eye. I wore it to the one fancy dinner we had on the windjammer, and I remember catching Wes looking at me approvingly when he thought I wasn’t looking. Slipping the dress over my head, it fell over my body and hung. It didn’t cling, it hung.

Stepping out of my room, Laynie was sitting in a white and gold boudoir chair texting. Hearing my approach, she looked up and shook her head, no.

“How much weight have you lost?”

“I don’t know. I was watching what I ate for the last few weeks before I met that *, Matthew, and then again this past week when I found out about Wes. And I’ve been working out with Jill early in the mornings.”

“Well, it shows.”

The attendant approached and offered to bring it in a smaller size. When she returned, I held the new one up in front of me. “Not a chance in hell,” was my assessment.

“Go try it on.” Laynie had no patience for me.

Slipping the new one over my head, I stood there in front of the mirror in shock. The dress actually fit and the way it hugged my curves made me look sexy, not fat. Standing on the balls of my feet to simulate heels, I turned sideways and looked in the mirror. Pulling my hair up, the look was sophisticated, feminine and hot, in an understated way.