Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) Read online

  “So, my life is crumbling in ruins, and your advice is to go have a quickie with Mason Godwin?”

  “Omigod, good choice! He is so hot, I love his turtlenecks.”

  “Jenny, I’m not going to sleep with a TA.”

  “Jenny, she’s not going to sleep with a TA,” Will reiterates. “Unless it’s Melissa Rollins. In which case I’m totally on board with the idea.”

  “God, you and your situational lesbian fantasies….She is pretty, though,” I say thoughtfully, finishing my onion ring and walking into the kitchen to wash the grease off my fingers.

  “How about Rich Duncan?” Jenny calls out from the living room. She won’t abandon her ‘schtup a TA’ idea.

  “What, you think I can’t score with Mason or something?” Now I’m insulted.

  “No, I’m just presenting options.”

  “Well, Rich Duncan is not an option.” I’m sprawled on the couch now, feeling the onion rings settle, not too pleasantly, in the pit of my stomach.

  “Why not?”

  “Socks and sandals.” Will and I say simultaneously.

  “Once!” Jen exclaims. “He wore socks and sandals once. And it was freezing outside.”

  “Once is one time too many,” says Will. “He must have a pair of big boy shoes lying around somewhere. What is he, like, twenty-five?”

  “Don’t be bitter, old man.” Will is thirty. Jen and I are twenty-seven. I never miss an opportunity to rub it in.

  “You can’t make me cry,” he says, his voice wobbly, and I laugh. Almost everything Will says makes me laugh.

  Will picks up the last empty bag of onion rings and shoots a three-pointer towards the corner trashcan. He misses spectacularly.

  “Okay, I’m out. You two carry on with whatever girly ritual you cling to when one of you loses a man.”

  “And what exactly do you think that might entail?” Jenny asks.

  “Well, I always figured manicures and ice cream. Maybe a tickle fight in your bras and panties.”

  Jenny rolls her eyes at me, but I just giggle. I can’t help it, he cracks me up. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

  “Hey.” Will turns as he opens the front door, and I can tell by the look on his face that he’s going to ask a favor. And I already know I’ll say yes. “Would you mind looking over my packet later tonight? I’ve got everything together except the research agenda and the student evaluations.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Luce. I’ll drop it off before basketball tonight.” He offers me a wink before shooting out the door. He’s left the beer behind for us, bless his heart.

  Will’s an assistant professor in the department, and he’s up for tenure next month. He’s been working furiously on his review packet, and I’ve been helping him out, proofreading his documents and basically being a sounding board for his basketful of insecurities. Will came from Michigan, and he’s an expert in the legislative process. He teaches a few classes per semester, in addition to his research agenda. Jenny and I are lowly lecturers, although now that I have my PhD in hand, my rank will go up to ‘visiting professor,” which is odd, since I have, in fact, been hanging around this place for the better part of four years. Also, since Jenny and I are not on tenure track, we are forced to teach loads more classes than Will to make a decent living. All in all, Will’s life is gravy, and ours is more like…ketchup.

  “So, what’s on tap for the rest of the day, Lucy-in-the-sky?” Jen loves to play with my name.

  I grin at her from the edge of the couch. “Well, I suppose we’ve put off the bra-and-panty tickle fight long enough.”

  Jen rolls her eyes and frowns. “Will is such a guy. It’s about time that he and Dax evolved, you know?” She looks suddenly guilty, talking about her boyfriend when Paul has just betrayed and abandoned me, but I wave my hand in front of her face, my “don’t even worry about it, I’m fine” gesture.

  “You know what?” I ask conspiratorially, to make the awkwardness go away.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to kill me,” I waver.

  “Luce…what?” She’s getting impatient now.

  “I am wanting a manicure…and some ice cream. I promise I won’t tell Will. We’ll take it to the grave.”

  “Promise?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Three

  It’s funny—you have the best day of your life, that quickly spirals into the worst day of your life, and you convince yourself that everything has changed—the sky’s a different color; food tastes flatter; the sounds on the street are muted and dull. People must be able to see through you, to see that the person you were on Friday is gone, and the new, psychically bruised person before them has deeper thoughts, and emotional wounds that won’t soon heal.

  But then you get to work on Monday morning and realize that’s all crap.

  So here I am, shuffling into Farrish Hall after sleeping in the apartment alone for the first time, which means I ended up watching Time-Life infomercials for classic rock until three in the morning (every song digitally re-mastered to give listeners “studio-perfect” sound). I stumble into my office and drop my purse and briefcase on the floor with a thud. I have nothing prepared for my classes today. I consider giving walks, then I consider showing some boring video on developing economies in the post-9/11 era. Get it together, Lucy. I take out my notes and begin to prepare my lecture.

  “Hey, Pumpkin.” Thank God! I’ve been at it for five minutes and I need a break.

  “Hey, Schmoopie,” I answer, as Will folds his long body neatly in my “student wailing” chair. Our pet name contest has been going on all semester. The one that actually induces vomiting wins, and so far Will is in the lead with ‘Kissy Pants’. I almost got him last week with ‘Numnums’, though, so I’m not giving up yet.

  “Frosted Lucky Chan’s for lunch?” Lucky Chan’s is our typical Monday lunch destination, but I’m not feeling it at the moment. Maybe because it’s ten o’clock in the morning.

  “I dunno. I’ve got class. I’m tired. My thighs are fat. I’m feeling a little nauseous.” I’m on a whine loop.

  “Your thighs aren’t fat, Huggy Bear…”

  “Did I not just say I was nauseous?

  “Hey, maybe you’re pregnant!” He says this with such surprised enthusiasm that I have to laugh.

  “Yes, that must be it. Now please leave, I’ve got two preps to get done in like, thirty minutes.”

  “Wow, you’re a little prickly pants this morning.”

  “That doesn’t count, you know. They have to be pet names, not insults.” But he’s already gone, presumably to hang out in the administrative suite and flirt with the student advisors. Will is a horrible flirt, and by horrible, I mean, he’s horrible at it. But he’s such a nice guy that everyone, girls and guys, flock to him. He’ll probably wander the halls, begging breakfast off people until ten-thirty or so, and then make it to his office to do some work. Like I said: Will’s life, gravy. My life…something a lot worse than gravy.

  I scrounge through my notes for ten more minutes. I am so out of time. I’m about to pack it up when I hear a quiet knock on the side of my wall. I lift my head and frown in annoyance.

  “Listen, Cuddlebuns, I realize that your life is charmed, but my life is shit right now, and if I don’t get this done in the next five…” I trail off as Will produces a folder from behind his back. A thick folder, with black sharpie letters on the front--“POLS 4360—DEV POL ECON”. Lecture notes. His lecture notes. I grab them quickly and hug them to my chest, like a precious child.

  “When did you ever teach Developing Political Economies?” I ask, still embracing the folder tightly. We may need a moment alone, me and the folder.

  “When I was on the job market. I wanted to make it seem like I could teach anything. Boy, do I feel sorry for my students that semester. They got a lot of ‘Ritchie Rich’ analogies.”

  “You. Are. A. Lifesaver!” I squeal, reach
ing up to hug his neck tightly. “I take back everything I ever said about your freaky fourth toe.”

  “It’s my special toe,” he says good-naturedly, because Will is constitutionally incapable of being offended. It would break his stream of constant, laid-back happiness. I realize I’m still hugging him, and let go quickly.

  “Okay, I’m off. See you for lunch, and thanks again,” I cry over my shoulder, already halfway to the elevator.

  “Bye, sweetheart,” he calls back.

  That one wasn’t even nauseating. He’s so off his game.

  ***

  “They changed the fucking numbers!” Jenny is pissed, in that way only Jenny can get pissed, because they’ve changed the menus at Lucky Chan’s. “What’s B-4 called now? I don’t even know the name of it. Do you think if I ordered the old B-4, they’d know what I was talking about?” She seems in a panic over this, and I want to tell her to get a grip. But Jenny’s a bit on edge lately, mainly because of her upcoming comprehensive exams, and her rocky, on-again, off-again relationship with Dax. I think she needs something to reduce her stress level. And I think I’ve got just the plan.

  “I suppose you guys are wondering why I asked you here this afternoon,” I begin.

  “You didn’t ask us here,” snaps Jenny.

  “We come here every week,” says Will.

  “Well, whatever. I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh my God--the answer is yes,” Will cries, dropping his chopsticks and untucking his shirt from his jeans. It’s halfway up his back before I can slap his arms down in horror.

  “Can we just sue him for sexual harassment and be done with it?” Jenny is so not amused.

  “Be serious for two minutes, Lambchop. I’m turning over a new, post-Paul leaf, and I need your help.” They both look at me expectantly. I really need to sell this, so I take a deep, fortifying breath.

  “I want to do the Rocket City Extreme Adventure Race. And I want you guys to do it with me.”

  Silence. I can almost hear the leprechauns frying wantons in the back of Lucky Chan’s kitchen.

  “Well?” I prompt.

  “Are you completely insane?”

  Oh, I am so prepared for Jenny’s backlash. “No, Jennifer, I am not insane. I am proving to myself, and to Paul, that I am not a fat person in a skinny person’s body. That I am a woman of substance and conviction. That I am woman worthy of love, and I’m every bit as tough and brave as Langley whatever-the-hell-her-name-is.”

  “Virginia,” mutters Will.

  “Close enough.”

  “You have nothing to prove to that limp-dick,” hisses Jenny.

  “Then I’m proving it to myself.”

  “Proving what? That you can torture yourself by running and biking and kayaking around in circles?”

  “That I have self-discipline. That I can set a goal and stick with it. That I’m not a helpless sot.” Wow, I’ve got a million of these.

  “Luce…I’m not trying to be harsh here, but is this some ploy to try to get Paul back?” Jen’s voice is gentler now, and it’s got more than a little pity in it. Will is looking at the new menu, and for some reason his face looks almost…angry. Or hurt. Goodness, they are both taking this menu thing a bit too seriously.

  “Listen, I’m not out to get Paul back. I mean, maybe the idea kind of started out that way, but now I just want to prove to myself that I can do something like this. Something that’s…physical, rather than cerebral, you know? Life’s about balance, and my balance is all out of whack right now.” This sounds so good—God, I’m on a roll! “And I was hoping to share it with my two best friends in this world. So sue me.”

  Jenny meets my gaze head-on, mentally measuring my bullshit meter. My eyes shift to Will, and he’s staring at me intently. I absolutely can’t read him, and it makes me uncomfortable. On a typical day, I can read Will like the back of a cereal box.

  “So, this is something that will make you feel better about yourself? It will make you happy?” I squirm under his unwavering eyes.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Then I’m in.”

  “Yessss!” I hiss, pulling a victorious fist-pump in the air. “So, you’re in, too.” I say to Jenny, but my attention is already drawn back to the new menu. Where have they hidden the General Tso chicken?

  “What do you mean? I have a mind of my own, you know.”

  “Oh please, what are you gonna do while Will and I are training? You’ll be bored in a day. Let’s just cut to the chase—you’re in.”

  “C’mon, Jen,” Will prods. That’s the great thing about Will—once he’s committed to something, he is a fountain of enthusiasm. “It’ll be fun. Plus, you’ll have this hot new, killer bod…and, you can quit the gym!” That got her. It’s no secret that Jen loathes the gym, but her Mexican food habit makes it a necessity. She never misses an opportunity to remind me that she was not born with blessedly forgiving genes.

  “Oh, fine,” she sneers, and I do a little clap and jump up to hug her, but she shrugs me off quickly.

  “So when is this race?” Will asks. He’s got his chopsticks hanging out of his mouth like walrus tusks. He does this every week. But it always makes me laugh, because we are both huge dorks.

  “In two months.” I’m still giggling, and Jen is looking at both of us like we’re the most annoying creatures on the planet. I make tusks out of my chopsticks, too, and finally she bursts out laughing.

  Oh my God, this race is going to be so much fun.

  Chapter Four

  Memorial Park, 7:10 am. Nope, that’s not a typo. We are at the park, at seven freaking o’clock. I’m already having second thoughts about this. It’s not like I’m lazy, but running has never really been my thing. I get so hot, and dirty, and it hurts my lungs, and then there’s the sweating…and the chafing, my God, the chafing…

  Jenny’s late, so Will and I are under a huge pine tree, stretching out. Or, more precisely, I’m stretching out, and Will is kicking a pinecone around like it’s a hacky sac. I so need to take him shopping. He’s wearing some ancient University of Michigan T-shirt, grey shorts with the hem ripped out, and jogging shoes that are so old I can’t even tell what color they are anymore. I, on the other hand, am looking the part—my $325 trip to Academy Sports netted me three fancy running tanks (with moisture-wick technology), three pairs of running shorts, four pairs of leggings, and a pair of jogging shoes with all kinds of shock absorption and air pockets and fancy crap.

  “Where’s Jenny?” I’m looking up the jogging trail, beginning to get annoyed. “If she’s not serious about this, we can always get another team member.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who?” Will’s grinning at me. He knows my threats are empty. I shrug my shoulders. “Give her a break, she’s probably coming from Dax’s apartment, and that’s like a hundred miles away.” He’s right, of course. Why is it that Will is so good and patient, and I am such a bitch?

  “Oh, no…oh, shit…” Will is looking up the jogging path as if he’s seen a ghost. I follow his gaze, and then give a little ‘eep!’ when I see Diana, Will’s ex-fiance. She’s jogging, towards us, wearing a pair of wireless headphones that wrap behind her perky blond ponytail. I never knew Diana very well—she and Will were engaged for about a year, I think. I met her once at a departmental party, but they broke up a few months after I started grad school. Unlike Jenny and I, who discuss every ugly twist and turn of our romantic relationships in excruciating detail, Will has never discussed Diana, or their relationship, or why it ended. All I know is that she hates his guts. She hates him so much, it makes me suspect that he cheated on her, but I just can’t imagine him doing something so horrible. Then again, he is a guy.

  “I’m just going over there,” Will says quickly, kicking his pinecone as hard as he can towards the parking lot, then jogging after it. Coward. I continue to stretch, and as Diana jogs by, she gives me one of those looks, like she knows me, but she can’t remember how. I return her look with a tiny
smile, then pretend to see something interesting over by the soccer fields, and her gaze follows mine, safely away from Will. He so owes me one.

  When the coast is clear, Will returns, looking a little sheepish.

  “Remind me again why she hates you so much?”

  “Because I asked her to marry me, and then I unasked her to marry me. You’re a girl—doesn’t that generally piss your kind off?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s got to be more than that. I mean, she really hates you. And you are not a guy that engenders feelings of hate, not even in women you dump. Unless, you know…you did something hateful to her.”

  Will gives me a sober stare. “I never cheated on her,” he says evenly.

  “I wasn’t…I mean, I wasn’t asking…” I pause, then sigh. “Okay, fine, that’s what I was asking.”

  “Of course you were. You’re naturally nosy.” He’s back to kicking his pinecone with the toe of his shoe.

  “Hey, you broke up with her years ago, and I’ve never asked before now.”

  “But you assumed, didn’t you? I’m a guy, I broke up with a girl, she’s furious with me, so I must have fucked around on her. Right?” Okay, so now I’m uncomfortable. Because that’s exactly what I thought.