Conversations With the Fat Girl (8 page)

Olivia has been in town for a whole day and hasn't called. Maybe she was

just a voice in my head-a very tangible well-dressed psychotic episode.

I call her cell phone and leave another message. In the back of my mind,

I am excited to tell someone about Domenic. But I stop myself. Here she

is getting married to a cardiologist from Washington, DC. While I roll

up with my ?cute crush?: a twenty-eight-year-old busboy who lives in a

loft with four roommates. I begin to hyperventilate. I will be undone by

my own second-guessing. I call the two prospective landlords back. Once

again, I am practically drawn and quartered for owning such a wild beast

as a seventy-pound dog. I try not to analyze the CD like the other

gifts. No listening

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to each lyric as if it were a declaration of love. I can't do that with

this one. I have to remind myself that this CD is probably what all the

other gifts have turned out to be: an affirmation of friendship. Nothing

more. As I listen to the CD, I smile when I know the song. A couple are

new to me. Most aren't that meaningful, and some are so underground punk

rock they're barely enjoyable. I am packing up the bathroom when I hear

it, the hidden track of the hidden-track compilation. It's a whispery

ballad. I stop, my face in the depths of the cabinet. I know this band.

I don't know this song. Should I read into this? Is this just another

friendly misunderstanding? Or is this Domenic metaphorically leaning

over and kissing me? I walk toward the CD player; the number on the

digital face is 99. I don't want to touch anything, afraid I will never

be able to hear this beautiful song again. tf I were to one time ask for

what I want maybe I would receive it as the days go by and by and by I

learn not to ask So I will never get Shown anything or at least anything

that will hurt me. . I stare at the CD player, toilet brush in one hand,

my heart in the other.

58

Oh, Dr. Farrell, You Are Too Much

When I was a junior in high school, I missed having a boyfriend by five

minutes. Olivia and I made our usual daily stop at the local ice cream

store. Olivia went in without me, because I couldn't find my wallet.

While I searched the depths of my 1984 Chevy Chevette, Olivia went

inside to begin the detailed process of ordering. Unbeknownst to me,

Owen Lynch, my new high school crush alter The John Sheridan had been

unmasked that fateful night, was talking to Shannon Shimasaki, our

perpetual nemesis She worked behind the counter at the ice cream store.

When Olivia walked in, Shannon began, for some unknown reason, grilling

her about who I liked. Olivia, always the weak one, gave up that I had a

crush on the one and only Owen Lynch Shannon howled with laughter and

turned to ask Owen if he would ever consider dating me. Owen Lynch said,

?Maybe.?That's the closest I've ever come to having a real boyfriend.

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As I stand with the toilet brush in one hand and Domenic's lyrics

echoing in my head, the phone rings. ?Hello??I'm breathless as I answer.

I can't believe the lyrics I just heard. ?Hey, girl. Where have you

been??It's Olivia. I can hear clinks and laughter behind her. ?At

work,?I say. ?Come meet us for a late dinner.? Olivia takes an audible,

but genteel sip of her drink. ?Sure.?I look down at myself. I am wearing

my ?favorite outfit,?still holding the brush. Cleaning up to go for

drinks seems an impossible feat. ?Okay then, hurry up, and can you bring

over that list we made when I was out there about a year ago. Remember?

We wrote locations for my wedding on the back of that napkin from El

Coyote. I put little hearts and stars around city hail. I want to show

Adam how it came true.?She puts her hand over the receiver while she

retells the story to Adam as I hold . . . panicking. I haven't seen that

napkin in months. After we hang up, I pull out the shoe boxes of

pictures from the day before. Thank God, there is the crumpled napkin

among our old school photos. Olivia and I went out to dinner at El

Coyote in Los Angeles the night she told me Adam proposed. That was the

night she asked me to be her maid of honor. I must have kept the napkin

as a token of the occasion. I take a shower and put on a pair of black

pants and pull a white V-neck T-shirt from my hamper. I find myself

bringing the shirt cautiously up to my nose to gauge the odor. It

passes. I put it on. I pull on my long black sweater and convince myself

it will be air-conditioned in the restaurant because I'm already hot

from wearing too many clothes in the summertime heat. Olivia and Adam

are at a table for two in the corner of the restaurant. I tell the

hostess I am meeting friends and walk over

60 54 Liza Palmer

to the intimate table. Olivia is wearing an off-white peasant top with

linen pants. She has on large gold hoop earrings, and her hair is in its

usual mussed state of perfection. She has added a jeweled barrette

(pink), which pulls a tiny portion back from her face. She has gotten

even smaller since I've last seen her, putting her somewhere near a

weight even Hollywood would consider thin. 1 smile more widely than I

have in weeks. Just seeing her calms me and makes me feel at home. I

feel the hostess's eyes on me as she looks around to see why no one has

brought a chair for me. Olivia jumps up as I approach. I see Adam

dabbing his chin and rising behind her. I imagine there is a golden glow

around him this evening. She calls the hostess back and asks for a

chair. Adam is wearing a pressed oxford cloth shirt and khaki dress

pants. He is wearing woven leather loafers. The hostess brings me a tiny

brittle looking wooden chair and sits it at the table. Olivia hugs me

and asks if I found parking, did I bring the napkin, and how work was

all in a span of three seconds. Adam reaches across the table and shakes

my hand. His hands are baby soft and smallish. The busboy brings

flatware and a plate for my dinner, moving aside the centerpiece and a

finished appetizer of some kind of grilled asparagus. I am tempted to

introduce the busboy as my boy friend just to see how it flies. I decide

against it. ?How long have you guys been in town?? I ask, settling in

and shuddering at the deafening creaks emanating from my gingerbread

prop chair. I am starving and eye the remnants of the asparagus. ?We

flew in yesterday morning. Olivia and I are staying at the Ritz.? Adam

is pulling his cell phone from its holster and examining the numbers.

?Have you spoken to the event planner??I ask. ?She meeting us there

tomorrow morning. Will you come?

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You always know exactly what I'm talking about and I just don't think

that bitch understands me sometimes. This whole Italian cafélight thing

has been a disaster. I just can't imagine Olivia trails off, taking a

slow sip of her martini. I think that is the most she'll be

?eating?tonight. ?Sure. I work tomorrow night, so that'll work.? The

waitress approaches as Olivia and Adam order their dinners. I haven't

even looked at a menu. I pick up one of the two menus and study it as

everyone, in turn, studies me-except the waitress, who can't take her

eyes off Adam. I order the chicken with a diet soda. Adam sips his red

wine and looks around the restaurant while I try to situate myself so

there will be no more chair creaking. I have positioned myself so all my

weight sits toward the front of the chair and a little to the left. The

rest of my weight is distributed on the table, where I am pressing my

elbows furtively One wrong move and the whole thing could topple over. I

am so globally uncomfortable, I hear nothing but the creaks of the chair

and the teetering of martini and wineglasses. ?So how do you like

Pasadena??I ask Adam. ?Charming. I always enjoy visiting Olivia's mother

and seeing the place my girl grew up. She really is a treasure.? ?Oh,

Dr. Farrell, you are too too much.?Olivia turns bright red, giggles

quietly and lifts her hand to cover her mouth. Are they making fun of

someone right now? Is there a couple behind me who actually act like

this-and are we going to take turns mocking their Victorian courtship

traditions? I scan the restaurant for a man in a top hat or perhaps a

woman's parasol leaning against a booth. Confused, and a little

disappointed at not finding such specimens, I turn back to Olivia and

Adam as the reality hits me. This is how they act together. ?What? What

is it, honey??Olivia continues as Adam is now patting his napkin on his

chin in disgust.

62 56 Liza Palmer

?Just ... will you . . . just look??Adam is staring at a booth at the

far end of the restaurant. I am horrified as I turn. Olivia gasps. A

slight man is looking on as his wife slides out of their booth. Her

stomach is sitting on top of and below the table for a

sliding-glass-door effect. Her napkin is still perched on her large

bosom, and she is nervously laughing for she has-horror of

horrors-become stuck in the booth. She is trying to push the table

forward, but it is bolted to the floor. As she pushes, the booth behind

her is being rocked back and forth. The young man in the booth gets out

and asks if he can help her in any way. Acting oblivious, the woman's

husband, now on his cell phone, moves out of the restaurant. The woman's

laughs are becoming more and more hysterical as she sees her husband

leaving. The young man waves down the waitress, who tells him if they

just push the booth back, the woman will be freed. The woman yanks the

napkin off her breasts and looks down on herself. I can't watch anymore.

I know that look. I know that moment. She is promising herself she will

never eat again, and this is the day she will begin her new exercise

regimen. ?Ridiculous,?Adam whispers. ?What?? Olivia leans in, smoothing

her shirt down over her flat stomach. 'How does a woman allow herself to

get like that? That is the manifestation of what has gone wrong in this

country I shudder at what her heart looks like right now.? He sips his

wine. If Dr. Farrell wants to call me fat, he should just come right out

and fucking say it. ?Yeah.?Olivia's voice is breathy as she lifts her

martini glass and swirls the olive around. The restaurant is abuzz with

the goings on of the past fifteen minutes. I look over once again at

Olivia. In a moment of pure

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fear, she catches my eye and I understand. I knew Adam didn't know to

what extent Olivia had battled her weight. I thought he knew about the

surgery and the complete metamorphosis of the past five years. Now I

realize he has no idea how big Olivia was. That woman could have been

Olivia without the bypass surgery The evening ends, and Olivia and I

make plans to meet at the city hall gardens at ten thirty the next

morning. Adam is meeting a colleague early for some ?time on the links.?

I wave good-bye to him and hug Olivia one last time. She is tiny I feel

her bones as I hug her and cringe. My best friend is wasting away and

loving every minute of it.

64

Domenic's Underpants

I have always dreamed of getting married in a mountain cabin with the

snow falling outside. It would be a small family affair, close and warm,

lit by firelight and candles. We would invite everyone for a holiday

party and surprise them all with our nuptials He would cry as he vowed

his love to me, thinking secretly that he never thought life could be

this beautiful. I would look at him and know this is the person I'm

going to he with forever That I never have to he alone again. Should it

worry me that even in my fantasy, the man is getting married for love

hut I just don't want to he alone anymore? I stop for coffee and meet

Olivia on the steps of city ball at 10:30 am. She is wearing 1940s-style

pants that button on the side. Her white-and-pink polka-dot top is

fluttering in the wind of the morning; her tanned, flat stomach is

visible with every other whispery breeze. Pasadena City Hall, built in

1927, was fashioned in the style of sixteenth-century Italian architect

Andrea Palladio. Using building materials such as Alaskan marble,

vertical-grained

65 Conversations with the Fat Girl 59

white oak, Cordova clay tile for the roof, and fish-scale tile for I he

massive dome, the city hail serves as a focal point for the en- lire

city The gardens have a Spanish Colonial feel to them, but he eye is

drawn to the huge cast-stone baroque fountain in the exact center.

Around the garden, paths of crushed granite set .ipart flower beds

bursting with hydrangeas, azaleas, and hundreds upon thousands of

annuals that are rotated throughout ike year. Needless to say, it's not

your average suburban city hall. ?She's late,? Olivia greets me. ?Ifs