Cynthia would marry Charlie on February the tenth. That was what she told Charlie, because she hadn’t been able to think of a date and she had to say something, and that was what she would tell her boss, Mr. Greer, when she asked if she could be given her week’s vacation then.
“We would like to be married the tenth of February, and, if I could, I’d like to have the next week off.”
“I’m looking for that calendar.”
“What?”
“Sit down and relax, Cynthia. You can have the week off if that isn’t the week when—”
“Mr. Greer, I could change the date of the wedding.”
“I’m not asking you to do that. Please sit down while I—”
“Thank you. I don’t mind standing.”
“Cynthia, let’s just say that week is fine.”
“Thank you.”
“If you like standing, what about having a hot dog with me down at the corner?” he said to Cynthia.
That surprised her. Having lunch with her boss! She could feel the heat of her cheeks. A crazy thought went through her head: Cynthia Greer. It got mixed up right away with Peterson, Divine, and Pinehurst.
At the hot-dog place, they stood side by side, eating hot dogs and french fries.
“It’s none of my business,” Mr. Greer said to her, “but you don’t seem like the most excited bride-to-be. I mean, you do seem excited, but . . .”
Cynthia continued to eat.
“Well?” he asked. “I was just being polite when I said it was none of my business.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Yes, I’m very happy. I’m going to come back to work after I’m married, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Mr. Greer was staring at her. She had said something wrong.
“I’m not sure that we’ll go on a honeymoon. We’re going to buy a house.”
“Oh? Been looking at some houses?”
“No. We might look for houses.”
“You’re very hard to talk to,” Mr. Greer said.
“I know. I’m not thinking quickly. I make so many mistakes typing.”
A mistake to have told him that. He didn’t pick it up.
“February will be a nice time to have off,” he said pleasantly.
“I picked February because I’m dieting, and by then I’ll have lost weight.”
“Oh? My wife is always dieting. She’s eating fourteen grapefruit a week on this new diet she’s found.”
“That’s the grapefruit diet.”
Mr. Greer laughed.
“What did I do that was funny?”
She sees Mr. Greer is embarrassed. A mistake to have embarrassed him.
“I don’t think right when I haven’t had eight hours’ sleep, and I haven’t even had close to that. And on this diet I’m always hungry.”
“Are you hungry? Would you like another hot dog?”
“That would be nice,” she says.
He orders another hot dog and talks more as she eats.
“Sometimes I think it’s best to forget all this dieting,” he says. “If so many people are fat, there must be something to it.”
“But I’ll get fatter and fatter.”
“And then what?” he says. “What if you did? Does your fiance like thin women?”
“He doesn’t care if I lose weight or not. He probably wouldn’t care.”
“Then you’ve got the perfect man. Eat away.”
When she finishes that hot dog, he orders another for her.
“A world full of food, and she eats fourteen grapefruit a week.”
“Why don’t you tell her not to diet, Mr. Greer?”
