Play & Book Excerpts
The Soufflé Also Rises
(Rising Action)
© Lauren Johnson
Frankie shakes her head in disbelief, “So what are you gonna do?”
I’m at a total loss. It’s been eighteen months since my world came crashing down around me. But the sight of them together has brought it all back, and no words come … until something
occurs to me.
“Wait a fucking minute. This is my Whole Foods. Those motherfuckers have their own Whole Foods.” As fight kicks flight’s ass, I step out of the shadows. I don’t care who sees me now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and let the enemy occupy my territory. Looking down at the carton of eggs in my left hand, I know what I have to do. Arming myself with another dozen, I push past Frankie and march toward the enemy, ready to do battle.
“Lizi, no! You’ll get fired!”
***
After unloading my final round, I just stand there dumbfounded as I watch an equally stunned Amber staring back at me. The still-intact yolk from my closing shot slides down her forehead and onto her cropped white maternity tee, stopping short on her massive double Ds. She looks down and then back up at me. I’m expecting daggers but, instead, I see something else in her eyes. Amusement? Is she laughing at me? Bitch. Just then, the yolk resumes course, heading south and over her protruding exposed belly before finally landing on the faux wood floor with an audible splat.
“Holy shit!” Frankie blurts out.
Turning to look at her, the magnitude of what I’ve just done suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks. Without thinking, I take off down Dairy to the closest intersection and make a right. Two aisles later, and I make a quick left down Cereal and another right down the bread aisle. Before I know it, I’m flying past eco-friendly household cleaning and paper products before coming to a full stop in Bath & Body, where no amount of aromatherapy is going to calm this bitch-on-wheels—until I see Britnee, the thirty-year-old store manager standing at the end of the aisle, arms folded across her chest while attempting to hide her dimpled smile behind tightly pursed lips.
***
“Are you doing okay?” Britnee asks in a gentle voice as she peeks inside her office, where for the last five minutes I’ve been breathing into a small brown paper bag, trying to stave off a full-blown panic attack while Frankie rubs my neck and talks shit about Rob and Amber in soothing tones. I look up at Britnee and nod, mortified that it has come to this. She opens the door all the way and lets Rob and Amber into the small space. I can’t look at any of them.
***
It took almost twenty minutes, but I finally conceded that this was not my Whole Foods, just as the Lincoln Park Whole Foods was not exclusively Rob and Amber’s.
“And you understand that Whole Foods does not discriminate because of race, marital status, or any other reason?” Britnee says from behind her desk, clearly trying to sound managerial. "And that Whole Foods is open to anyone who chooses to shop here?”
“Yes,” I say barely above a whisper as I look down at my feet. There’s no point in trying to conceal the depths of my humiliation. That ship has sailed.
“Thank you, Lizi,” Britnee says with a small smile before standing up. But as she rounds her desk, Rob stands up and whispers something into her ear. She turns to look at him like he’s nuts, then shakes her head with a firm NO.
Not one to let a woman have the last word—let alone a thirty-year-old store manager named Britnee with two Es—Rob indicates the door with a tilt of his head. Apparently, he’s running the show now. Stepping out in the hallway to resume negotiations with Rob, Britnee pulls the door behind her, leaving Frankie and me alone with Amber. Talk about awkward. Amber busies herself picking at her sixty-dollar manicure while I go to work on the new scuffmarks on my trainers that I must have picked up during my attempted escape. But it’s Frankie who finally breaks the silence.
“So you’re the pregnant bitch ho—”
I throw her a look. “Frankie, don’t.”
“What? I have no problem with her,” she says before turning back to Amber. “Truly. I wish you nothing but diarrhea.”
Just then the door swings open and Rob and Brittnee enter the room. In typical Rob fashion, he not only hijacks the meeting, but he’s somehow taken over Britnee’s desk while she’s left leaning against her file cabinet in the corner while Rob lays out his final offer.
In addition to maintaining eye contact while apologizing for my extraordinarily childish behavior, I must also agree to stay out of the egg aisle at any grocery store--Whole Foods or otherwise—within ten miles of Rob and Amber. And, while not expressly forbidden, it was strongly suggested that I stay out of Dairy altogether. As long as I agree to their terms, Rob and Amber agree not to press charges.
***
After apologizing to Britnee and thanking her profusely for giving me the option to resign quietly instead of the alternative, Frankie walks me out to the parking lot just in time to catch Rob and Amber walking out of Starbucks. My Starbucks.
“So that was them—the motherfucking motherfuckers,” she says.
I giggle, though I’m still shaking. “I can’t believe I egged my ex-husband and his pregnant ho.”
“I’d say you dodged a bullet,” she says as she watches them cross the lot. “The fucker’s got a very flat ass and it’s only gonna get flatter and wider with age.”
I turn to her and say, “Thank you for always making me smile.”
“My pleasure,” she says as she stops and puts both hands on my shoulders. “See, Lizi? You already are a midlife badass!
I’m at a total loss. It’s been eighteen months since my world came crashing down around me. But the sight of them together has brought it all back, and no words come … until something
occurs to me.
“Wait a fucking minute. This is my Whole Foods. Those motherfuckers have their own Whole Foods.” As fight kicks flight’s ass, I step out of the shadows. I don’t care who sees me now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and let the enemy occupy my territory. Looking down at the carton of eggs in my left hand, I know what I have to do. Arming myself with another dozen, I push past Frankie and march toward the enemy, ready to do battle.
“Lizi, no! You’ll get fired!”
***
After unloading my final round, I just stand there dumbfounded as I watch an equally stunned Amber staring back at me. The still-intact yolk from my closing shot slides down her forehead and onto her cropped white maternity tee, stopping short on her massive double Ds. She looks down and then back up at me. I’m expecting daggers but, instead, I see something else in her eyes. Amusement? Is she laughing at me? Bitch. Just then, the yolk resumes course, heading south and over her protruding exposed belly before finally landing on the faux wood floor with an audible splat.
“Holy shit!” Frankie blurts out.
Turning to look at her, the magnitude of what I’ve just done suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks. Without thinking, I take off down Dairy to the closest intersection and make a right. Two aisles later, and I make a quick left down Cereal and another right down the bread aisle. Before I know it, I’m flying past eco-friendly household cleaning and paper products before coming to a full stop in Bath & Body, where no amount of aromatherapy is going to calm this bitch-on-wheels—until I see Britnee, the thirty-year-old store manager standing at the end of the aisle, arms folded across her chest while attempting to hide her dimpled smile behind tightly pursed lips.
***
“Are you doing okay?” Britnee asks in a gentle voice as she peeks inside her office, where for the last five minutes I’ve been breathing into a small brown paper bag, trying to stave off a full-blown panic attack while Frankie rubs my neck and talks shit about Rob and Amber in soothing tones. I look up at Britnee and nod, mortified that it has come to this. She opens the door all the way and lets Rob and Amber into the small space. I can’t look at any of them.
***
It took almost twenty minutes, but I finally conceded that this was not my Whole Foods, just as the Lincoln Park Whole Foods was not exclusively Rob and Amber’s.
“And you understand that Whole Foods does not discriminate because of race, marital status, or any other reason?” Britnee says from behind her desk, clearly trying to sound managerial. "And that Whole Foods is open to anyone who chooses to shop here?”
“Yes,” I say barely above a whisper as I look down at my feet. There’s no point in trying to conceal the depths of my humiliation. That ship has sailed.
“Thank you, Lizi,” Britnee says with a small smile before standing up. But as she rounds her desk, Rob stands up and whispers something into her ear. She turns to look at him like he’s nuts, then shakes her head with a firm NO.
Not one to let a woman have the last word—let alone a thirty-year-old store manager named Britnee with two Es—Rob indicates the door with a tilt of his head. Apparently, he’s running the show now. Stepping out in the hallway to resume negotiations with Rob, Britnee pulls the door behind her, leaving Frankie and me alone with Amber. Talk about awkward. Amber busies herself picking at her sixty-dollar manicure while I go to work on the new scuffmarks on my trainers that I must have picked up during my attempted escape. But it’s Frankie who finally breaks the silence.
“So you’re the pregnant bitch ho—”
I throw her a look. “Frankie, don’t.”
“What? I have no problem with her,” she says before turning back to Amber. “Truly. I wish you nothing but diarrhea.”
Just then the door swings open and Rob and Brittnee enter the room. In typical Rob fashion, he not only hijacks the meeting, but he’s somehow taken over Britnee’s desk while she’s left leaning against her file cabinet in the corner while Rob lays out his final offer.
In addition to maintaining eye contact while apologizing for my extraordinarily childish behavior, I must also agree to stay out of the egg aisle at any grocery store--Whole Foods or otherwise—within ten miles of Rob and Amber. And, while not expressly forbidden, it was strongly suggested that I stay out of Dairy altogether. As long as I agree to their terms, Rob and Amber agree not to press charges.
***
After apologizing to Britnee and thanking her profusely for giving me the option to resign quietly instead of the alternative, Frankie walks me out to the parking lot just in time to catch Rob and Amber walking out of Starbucks. My Starbucks.
“So that was them—the motherfucking motherfuckers,” she says.
I giggle, though I’m still shaking. “I can’t believe I egged my ex-husband and his pregnant ho.”
“I’d say you dodged a bullet,” she says as she watches them cross the lot. “The fucker’s got a very flat ass and it’s only gonna get flatter and wider with age.”
I turn to her and say, “Thank you for always making me smile.”
“My pleasure,” she says as she stops and puts both hands on my shoulders. “See, Lizi? You already are a midlife badass!
|
Lauren Johnson is an American author who believes that life begins at menopause — not conception. Whether pre-, peri-, or postmenopausal, Lauren loves to write about women of any age: women who may stumble at first but ultimately learn to embrace life’s challenges. Her characters are quick-witted and fearless women who know how to kick ass and look great doing it. Regardless of where you fall on the menopausal spectrum, The Lizi Cleverly Midlife Badass Detective Series reminds us that no matter what our age or circumstances, or what others may have to say about it, it’s never too late to be a midlife badass.
Lauren lives in Oak Park, Illinois with her three kitties: Bob Dylan, Jimmy Page, and Johnny Winter. The Soufflé Also Rises is her first novel. |
Lauren Johnson
Photo Courtesy: Lauren Johnson |
