Maddie Cochere - Susan Hunter 02 - Big Apple Hunter Read online

  Big Apple Hunter

  by Maddie Cochere

  Copyright 2012 by Maddie Cochere.

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by US copyright Law.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Breezy Books

  www.breezybooks.com

  Cover design by Gillian Soltis of Columbus, Ohio

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter One

  “Susan, Mrs. Colter peed on the floor again.”

  Angela, an attractive twenty-five-year-old brunette with a short, bob haircut, was my assistant manager at Slimmers Weight Loss. She had just stuck her head through the doorway of our small conference room and delivered the unpleasant news to me.

  My presentation to two potential members, Courtney, a plump nineteen-year-old waitress from the diner in downtown Carbide City, and Janet, a curvy, thirty-three-year-old, stay-at-home mom, was going to have to wait.

  A brief look at Courtney showed she was staring at Angela with her mouth hanging open. Janet put her head down and fidgeted in her seat with discomfort. “Ladies,” I addressed them, “please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  I rushed to the small bathroom and saw Mrs. Colter standing beside the sink staring at a puddle on the floor. My eyes widened. “Mrs. Colter, we talked about this before,” I said sharply. “Are you still peeing on keto sticks? You know we don’t do that anymore.” I raised my voice higher, “And how does it get on the floor?”

  “Oh, Susan, I’m so sorry,” said the gray-haired woman as she stood clutching her purse to her chest. She looked miserable and seemed genuinely sorry. “I manage just fine at home. I don’t know why it gets away from me here.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I told her shaking my head in frustration. “I’ll get the mop and clean this up, but if it happens again, you’ll be doing the cleaning. And please throw those doggone sticks away!”

  I had to restrain myself from swearing at the sixty-four-year-old woman. I took a deep breath, softened my tone, and said. “Mrs. Colter, if you follow the program and let us help you, you’ll keep losing weight. You don’t need to do anything else. Take a seat in the waiting room, and I’ll have Angela go over your food diary with you.”

  I made a nice salary managing the weight loss center, but some days it didn’t seem worth it. A quick peek into the waiting room showed two of the ladies waiting for possible enrollment had already slipped out. Grace was coming through the door to help us, and three more women interested in enrolling were right behind her.

  A national advertising campaign was being waged for two weeks to drive members to Slimmers Weight Loss centers, and we were slammed this morning. When I arrived at 10:00, twelve women were waiting either for weigh-in consultations or for information about enrolling in the program.

  Slimmers is a large national chain of weight loss centers. Our center was in an office building near the shopping mall on the east side of Carbide City. The layout was narrow with three sections. The waiting room was at the front of the center, the weigh-in area and a small bathroom were in the center, and beyond that was a short hallway leading to the conference room and my office.

  The center was decorated modestly with light blue and mauve throughout. Pink accents added a touch of brightness making the entire center warm and inviting, but there were plans at the corporate level to make major changes after the first of the year. Centers would be remodeled, there would be more food choices, and a men’s program would be integrated. But for now, it was women only.

  Our dress code was business casual, and today I was wearing a hunter green pencil skirt with a white silk blouse. I hated the thought of cleaning the bathroom in the silk and approached the detail cautiously.

  When finished, I entered the conference room and sat down facing the two women once again. I directed warm smiles to Courtney and Janet and said, “I’m sorry for the interruption. We’re busier than usual today because of our advertising campaign.”

  “We didn’t mind waiting,” Janet said sweetly. “Courtney and I have been talking, and she’s going to do some babysitting for me this weekend.” Courtney smiled, and the two ladies appeared to be best friends now.

  “Let’s start with why you’re motivated to lose weight right now,” I said. “Courtney, let’s start with you.”

  She blushed and said, “I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve put on twenty-five pounds since I started working at the diner. I need help to figure out how to work there and eat there but not gain weight. I take food home with me, too, so it’s diner food all day long. And the biggest problem is I love it. I just love me some mashed potatoes and meat loaf.”

  “Oh, I do, too,” chimed in Janet with her eyes lit up and shining. “I’ve been to the diner many times, and the meatloaf there is the best. Ooh, and your lemon meringue pie is to die for.”

  Courtney perked up even more. “Thank you!” she said. “I make the pies myself. I go in early before we open and make all of the pies for the diner. The lemon meringue is my mother’s recipe, and it’s my favorite.” She looked sheepishly at me and confessed, “I taste a lot of the fillings in the mornings, and sometimes I squirt whipped cream into my mouth right out of the can. Maybe I should get some help with that, too.”

  The two women were practically drooling. I needed to reel them back to topic. I turned to Janet and asked, “Janet, what made you want to come in today?”

  “Well,” she hesitated, glanced at Courtney, and then plunged ahead, “I want to lose weight, but I’m not really sure if I should.”

  “Why would you think you shouldn’t lose weight?” I asked. It was such an odd thing to say.

  She looked a little flushed and said, “I get too hot when I lose weight.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant. “Too hot?” I questioned.

  “When I lose weight I feel better about myself, and I feel sexier,” she said as she started to fidget in her chair.

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I prompted her.

  “Well, not really,” she said. She looked at Courtney again and then somewhat whispered her answer, “I get too hot. I want sex all the time, and it drives my husband crazy. He wouldn’t like it if he knew I was here.”

  I was stunned. My training manual didn’t cover how to overcome that objection to enrolling in the program. Courtney’s mouth was hanging open again. I clenched my jaw at her, and she clamped hers shut.

  Just as I was beginning to fumble for some words, Angela stuck her head through the doorway again with
another look of panic on her face. I’m usually mildly irritated when Angela brings up center business in front of potential members, but this time I was grateful for the interruption. “What is it, Angela?” I asked.

  She was nearly in tears as she replied, “Mrs. Colter had a hot flash and stripped down to her underwear in the waiting room.”

  The two women giggled. I hung my head in defeat.

  I didn’t leave the center until closing at 7:00 P.M. By the time it was all over, Courtney had decided to go back to the diner where, according to her, it wasn’t so hectic, and Janet freaked out about being too hot and sexy again and bolted with Courtney. But we signed eight new people throughout the day with four more wanting to think about it and possibly come back later. We also weighed, measured, counseled good eating habits, and sold food products to forty-six regular members. After a rocky start, the day ended up a success.

  I was scheduled to work at the racquetball club, Carbide Racquet & Fitness, from 9:00 until midnight, so I left the center right at closing with the intention of coming in an hour early in the morning to catch up on paperwork.

  I slipped behind the wheel of my bolero red ‘67 Chevy Chevelle. I loved the car that had been beautifully restored by my dad. He had given it to me as a gift for my twenty-seventh birthday when he and my mom moved to Texas over a year ago. I pushed in the 8-track tape and was greeted with Daydream Believer by The Monkees. I always thought it was such a hoot that Dad had scoured flea markets to buy old 8-track tapes with music from 1967 to match the year of the car. There were at least a dozen tapes in the car’s console.

  I decided to swing by Martin’s Deli to pick up a few things before heading home. Martin was in his nineties and still ran the deli by himself. He and my dad had known each other since my dad was a teenager, and they continued to stay in touch at least once a month. Martin kept Dad up to date with all of the town gossip.

  I stepped through the doorway, and before I could even say hello, Martin gave me a stern look of disapproval and said, “Susan Hunter, I can’t fathom what’s gotten into you lately. It’s getting harder and harder to talk to your father and not tell him how that dad-blamed car has changed you and how you’re ruining your life.”

  “Martin,” I said smiling and shaking my head, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I hadn’t had a speeding ticket in over six months, and I couldn’t imagine what blame he was placing on the car now.

  “Mrs. Blakely came in around noon, and she told everyone here that you and all your wild friends were runnin’ around naked having an orgy for all the world to see, and you all ended up in the lake at Larry’s house, and ten police cars showed up to get all of you out of the lake and take you to the police station.” He was in such a hurry to spew all of the juicy gossip, he had barely taken a breath and was taking a deep one now.

  “Oh my gosh! Martin, that is simply not true,” I snapped at him. “Why would she say such a thing?” I was truly aghast.

  “She saw everything from the deck of her house,” he said. “You can’t deny it, Susan. She was right next door and saw the whole thing.” He was talking fast, and he seemed certain of his facts.

  That was Mrs. Blakely? I hadn’t seen her in years. She had been in my mother’s bridge club, but after her marriage fell apart, we never saw her again. I heard she was on her third marriage, and she still wasn’t happy. I hadn’t even recognized her yesterday when I was at Samantha and Larry’s house.

  “Martin, do not spread that story around! Do you hear me?” My voice was raised, and I stamped my foot. “There were only four men who pulled the naked stunt to go skinny dipping, and they ran really fast, so Mrs. Blakely couldn’t have seen much, if anything. As soon as the guys ran into the lake, I left right away. I wasn’t even there when the police showed up.” I didn’t need him spreading rumors like this to my dad. My mother would be on the phone lecturing me until my ears blistered. I told Martin, “Call the police station and talk to Larry’s cousin, Dick. I know you know him, and he’ll tell you what really happened. Then you’ll be able to tell the story the right way.” I was glaring at the man.

  “Ok, Susan,” he said reluctantly. “Mrs. Blakely was pretty upset though, and she was very convincing, but out of respect for your dad, I’ll call Dick in the morning.” He finally smiled and asked, “What can I get for you, dear? Your usual?”

  My usual was a pound of corned beef sliced thin and a half pound of Swiss cheese. They were necessary for my obsession with Reuben sandwiches, and I made them at least once a week. I smiled at Martin, my blood pressure coming down. “Sure, the usual,” I told him. I picked up a basket and turned to the shelves for rye bread and then dairy for milk and eggs. My eye caught the java chip ice cream in the frozen section, and I tossed a quart into my basket. Some days deserved java chip, and this was one of them.

  Martin placed my wrapped packages of meat and cheese on the counter and asked, “Did you know there’s going to be a new shopping plaza up by the racquetball club? It’s supposed to be fancy, expensive stores from New York City. Clothes, jewelry, home furnishings - stuff like that. I don’t know why they think anyone around here can afford expensive things from New York City. You hear anything about this?”

  I hadn’t, but the thought was drool-worthy. I loved shopping, and working part-time at the racquetball club was what fed my credit cards so I could keep shopping. I looked at Martin and responded, “Nope. I haven’t heard anything about it, but it might be nice to have some stores other than what the mall offers.”

  “Well, I think it’s a waste of real estate,” he said with disdain. He looked at me sternly again and said, “You stay out of trouble, Susan. I don’t want your dad to have to worry about you.”

  Neither did I. “I’ll stay out of trouble, Martin. I promise,” I said as I crossed my heart with my index finger. I finally gave him a smile, paid for my groceries, and left the store.

  Chapter Two

  I sat in my car, mulling over what Martin had said. Why would Mrs. Blakely spread such terrible lies about me? About the whole party?

  Samantha is my best girlfriend and doubles racquetball partner. She and her husband, Larry, hold an end-of-summer party at their house every October. The party yesterday had also doubled as a victory party for our wins at the State Racquetball Tournament in Centertown two weekends ago. Samantha and I had surprised everyone by being the only entrants from our club to bring home trophies. We took second in doubles, and I was thrilled to win first place in the Class B division in singles.

  It had been an amazing tournament weekend. The events flashed through my mind …

  There were only six of us from Carbide Racquet & Fitness who had signed up to play in the tournament - Husky, the club coach; Larry and Samantha; Ron, the club’s weekend bartender; Corey, a Class A player; and myself.

  We all rode down together on Friday night in Husky’s SUV and arrived around 11:00 P.M. We stowed our suitcases and gear in our rooms and then piled into Husky’s room to set up a bar and two tables for cards - one for euchre and one for gin rummy.

  At 1:00, Ron and Corey both stood from the gin rummy table. “I’m done,” Corey said with a yawn. “I don’t know how you guys stay up and drink like this and then play the next day.” He looked my way and chided, “Susan, you should do as I say, not as I do.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. He was always trying to tell me that on tournament weekends I should go to bed early - and no drinking.

  “I’m going down to the pool for a dip,” said Ron as he started to unbutton his shirt.

  Husky looked somewhat alarmed but entertained at the same time. “Put on a bathing suit,” he told him. “You know what happened the last time you took a late night swim when the hotel pool was closed.”

  Everyone laughed at the memory. It had happened at a tournament in Cleveland and ended with the police taking a naked Ron to the precinct for the night. He barely made it to the racquetball club the next day for his match.

  The re
st of us finally called it a night an hour later. I yawned, said my goodnights, and dragged myself down the hall to my room. That was the nice thing about partying in a hotel; you could drink and not have to worry about who was driving. I set my alarm for 9:15 so I could get over to the club in time to watch Husky play at 10:00. Seven hours of sleep would be enough. I tried to live by an old sleep rule of no less than seven hours, no more than nine.

  By Saturday night, only Samantha and I were left standing. Corey was taken out early by some young gun from Toledo who would likely win the top prize. Husky played well all day, but lost a hard-fought battle before he could move into the semi-final bracket. I didn’t have all of the details on Ron and Larry, but by dinnertime, they were both drinking beer and relaxing in the club’s lounge, so I knew they were both out.

  When I walked off the court at 7:00, all of the guys were gone, and only Samantha was left to congratulate me on my wins for the day. The guys had gone out with some of the other tournament players to hit a local bar, play some pool, throw darts, and whatever other male bonding they felt like doing. Samantha invited me to dinner with some of the other female players, but I was feeling the effects of staying up late the night before and playing full-tilt all day, so I declined.

  After showering and changing clothes, I asked Reggie, the club manager, to give me a ride back to the hotel. He and Husky had known each other for years, and I was comfortable to ask him for the lift.

  I tossed my bag and gear into the back seat of Reggie’s Cadillac and hopped into the front seat. “Thank you for the ride, Reggie,” I told him. “I appreciate it.”

  “Anything for a friend of Husky’s,” he said cheerfully. “I watched you play all day today, Susan, and no one could touch you. I think you could win this tomorrow.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” I said with hesitation. I could feel a blush coming into my face.

  “Really, you could,” he insisted. “I have money on you.” He flashed a big grin my way.