Time passed swiftly, and soon the class was ending. I put on my cardigan and watched as Bella passed out her business cards to several of the women in the room. The last woman I recognized from the reality show Doctors and Wives: Atlanta. She was in her early fifties and wore a sleek, low chignon and matching bright yellow and orange yoga wear that looked more runway than workout.
Bella and the woman were walking toward me. I stood up and smoothed out my clothes.
“And this is my friend Ari I was telling you about. She’s an architect at Riddle and Robinson. Ari, this is Dr. Misha Babineaux.”
I reached out and shook her hand. “Yes. I recognize you from the show.” Dr. Misha was an icy-tempered plastic surgeon to all the stars in Atlanta. Some of whom had gone under her knife many times. Let the blogs tell it, all their assets were God given. Lies. It was the patented Babineaux Butt Lift.
“Yes,” said Misha. “I hope for all the good parts!” Bella and the woman shared a forced laugh. I tried to smile.
“Bella tells me you’re the only woman over there. I know Riddle. I’m going to have to call him. He must do better.”
“I’m sure I won’t be the last woman there,” I said hastily. Dr. Misha nodded fervently.
“Well, it was nice to meet you. Ari and I have some other appointments. And you have my card,” said Bella. Bella could always sense my unease in social settings and always had a lie ready in her back pocket for us to get out of Dodge.
As Bella and I walked toward the door, I heard the woman call my name.
“Excuse me, Ari,” Dr. Misha said. I turned around and felt her press a glossy laminated card into my hand. It had her name, office number, and information on it. I raised an eyebrow.
“I just noticed you walked out of the class. I do bariatric surgery as well. If you’re interested. You’re a gorgeous girl. With my help, you’d be stunning.”
I folded my arms. I could hear Bella say “oh shit” under her breath. She knew when I folded my arms like an irritated grandmother, it was trouble.
I took the card and handed it back to the good doctor. “I’m good. But thanks anyway.”
Dr. Misha grabbed my hand, pushing the card into my palm. “Oh, it doesn’t have to be for bariatric. I mean, even if it’s for a little lipo or…”
“I said I’m good!” I yelled. The other women who had been chatting got silent.
“Listen, no need to get snippy,” Misha said, as if I was the one who offended her. “Just trying to help.”
I clutched my purse and threw the chamomile-scented towel down in the chair. “Who said I needed your help? Did I ask for your help? So, you know what you can do? You can fuck off, Dr. Misha. Keep doing your tummy tucks and Babineaux butt lifts for the Instagram chicks who need them.”
I crumpled the business card and threw it at Dr. Misha’s feet, pushing past Bella and slamming the door of the Pilates studio. I walked down the sidewalk and only turned when I heard Bella yelling for me to slow down.
I stomped toward Bella. “Is this why you took me here, Bella? So, I could get a consult by Atlanta’s premiere fake butt surgeon?”
“Of course not! I brought you here because I needed a wing woman while I tried to get these rich hussies to hire me. Besides, I didn’t think she’d do something like that!”
“Of course, you didn’t, Bella! You never think! You think the world revolves around little, perfect you!”
Bella’s brow knit, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean, Ari?”
“Just forget it. You were too busy giving out your business cards and rubbing elbows to care!”
Bella shook her head and put on her shades. “You’re tripping. I’m going to ignore this. Misha was rude and you need someone to take it out on. That’s fine. I get it. We’ll talk later.”
I stood next to my car and watched Bella throw her hand up in disgust and get into her SUV.
I felt the tears roll down my face, and I wiped them with the back of my cardigan.
I put my key into the ignition, deciding to treat myself to a big French breakfast.
I turned the key. Nothing.
Fuck me! Fuck this entire morning!
The engine turned over several times, sputtering and squealing. That wasn’t a good sign. I reached into my glove compartment for my AAA card, only to see that I had failed to renew it. Not to mention, I’d left my wallet with my debit and credit card at home. My head banged on the steering wheel. I couldn’t call Bella. Not after our fight.