Diary of a Mad Fat Girl (10 page)

“
On my way,” I peep like a baby
chicken.

“
Behind Dollar General!” he yells and
hangs up on me.

I’m nervous as a tick on a bald dog as I
pull up behind Dollar General, but much to my relief, the Sheriff
is gone. Lilly is sitting on the curb covered from head to toe in
dirt. She gets up and walks around to the passenger side of the car
and taps on the window.

“
Can I get in or do you want me to
walk home because I’m so ridiculously filthy?” she asks with a
dejected look.

“
Nah, that’s what leather seats are
for,” I say and motion for her to get in.

“
Shit,” she says, closing the car
door, “I haven’t ran that fast since,” she pauses for a second,
“hell, ever.”

“
How did you get so dirty?” I ask,
trying not to laugh. “Did you fall down?”

“
How did you get so dirty?” she mocks.
“Well this,” she points to the black streaks in her yellow hair,
“is potting soil, my friend, from where you hit me in the head with
a damned flower pot.”

“
Accident,” I say quickly.

“
And this,” she waves her arm across
her body, “is from where I fell down in an irrigation ditch trying
to get away from the scene of the crime.”

She looks at me and I look at the road and
she reaches over and plucks a cluster of twigs out of my hair. I
can feel her looking at me so I look back at her and have to hold
my breath to keep from laughing. She raises her eyebrows and
eyeballs my equally dirty clothes and we both bust out laughing
like the two dirt bags that we are.

“
But all is not lost, my friend,” she
says triumphantly and pulls the camera out of her bag, “because
this picture is worth more than a thousand words.”

She pushes a button and the camera comes to
life and I cannot believe what I see on the tiny little screen.

20

I pass off another Monday through Thursday
at school having lunch with Coach Hatter and Coach Wills, dodging
nosy questions about Chloe and Lilly, and getting my ass chewed out
at least twice a day by that crotch creature Catherine
Hilliard.

I take off work Friday because I need more
of a break than a two day weekend can provide.

I don’t want to stay home all day, but I
don’t feel like getting ready or going anywhere. I drag myself to
the kitchen, make a pot of super stout coffee, and join Buster Loo
in the backyard. I’m not in the mood to be sociable, so I decide to
spend the morning in fat girl isolation at the gym.

I forgo the walk of shame past the Bratz
pack on the Boeing 747 treadmills and head over to the left side of
the gym where I get on an elliptical machine. After answering fifty
questions on the nosy ass monitor, I see 30:00 minutes pop up on
the timer and wonder which one of my answers indicated that I
wanted to spend that much time on this thing.

I’m huffing and puffing like the big bad
wolf when my right foot slips, the left pedal goes crazy, and next
thing I know, I’m sitting astraddle of the big round plastic wheel
cover with a raging pain in my cooter.

The only time my cooter has ever hurt
this bad was back when I was a kid riding my cousin’s bike on a
gravel road and hit a rock that caused me to land cooter-first on
that metal bar that girl bikes
don’t
have. I thought for sure I would die from
the pain that day, but I somehow managed to pull
through.

At least nobody was around when that
happened. Everyone in the gym is staring at me now and I see that
fellow with no hair on his arms heading my way. I’d like to move,
maybe get down on my belly and crawl away like a snake, but I’m
paralyzed by the pain in my nether region. I assure the muscle
bound slickster that I’m not injured and get the feeling that he’s
more concerned about a lawsuit than my well being, but at least
he’s considerate enough to offer me an ice pack.

An ice pack for my aching cooter.

I politely decline.

After several minutes, I limp back to the
locker room to get my bag so I can leave with what dignity I have
left. Which is none. I stop by the Red Rooster Drive-In on the way
home to get some breakfast and end up ordering fried pickles and a
bacon cheeseburger because I think I’ve earned a little comfort
food.

Two and a half hours later, I’m sitting on
the couch watching a Biggest Loser rerun with a pack of lima beans
between my legs when my doorbell rings.

“
It’s unlocked!” I yell. “Come on
in!”

I turn around expecting to see Lilly because
she’s supposed to be coming over to discuss our stalking plans for
the weekend, but it’s not her.

It’s Mason McKenzie.

As in, Mason McKenzie, the love of my life
that I haven’t seen or spoken to in three years.

I have on an AC/DC shirt that’s a decade old
and cut off sweat pants with holes in the butt. My hair looks like
a pack of rats just moved out and I have a bag of frozen beans
between my thighs. To make matters worse, Buster Loo is having an
all-out balls-to-the-wall little doggie melt down.

I cram the lima beans in between the couch
cushions and flip around so the holes in my shorts are looking the
other way.

“
Hey there, Buster Loo!” Mason
McKenzie says affectionately. “How you doin’ little
buddy?”

Buster Loo is speed licking him all over his
face and wagging his tail so fast I’m afraid he’s going to sling it
off his little chiweenie ass.

I blink a few times and rub my eyes, but
apparently I’m not hallucinating. Mason McKenzie is standing in my
kitchen wearing a sky blue polo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and
brown flip flops. His skin is nicely tanned and it appears his
trips to the gym are a bit more frequent and productive than
mine.

He’s looking at me now, smiling like we’re
old friends.

“
Hey, Ace,” he says, “how’ve you
been?”

Well, my nerves are shot, my cooter’s
frozen, and I’m on the verge of cardiac arrest because I’m still
crazy in love with you.

“
Great, Mason.” I put on a warm smile.
“You?”

“
I’m good,” he says and walks to the
fridge.

“
You hungry?” I ask as he digs through
my refrigerator like he buys the groceries.

“
Little bit.” He turns around with a
soda and a Pier 57 pizza box. “Oh wow, this is great!”

If I were ten years younger, I’d tell him to
get his damned hands off my leftovers and get the hell out of my
house. I’m not sure if I’ve matured or just gotten lazy or what,
but I just sit and stare.

“
Can I join you?” he asks.

“
Sure.” I wave to the love seat. “Have
a seat.” And he does.

“
So what have you been up to, Ace
Jones?” he asks with a dazzling smile.

“
Not much, Mason McKenzie.” I still
can’t believe he is sitting in my living room drinking one of my
sodas and eating my leftover pizza. “You come up to see your
folks?”

“
Nope,” he says and takes a bite of
pizza.

“
So?”

“
So I heard what happened to Chloe and
I heard what happened to Lilly and I heard you’ve been arrested
once,” he raises his eyebrows at me, “almost twice, so since I’m
the best lawyer I know, I decided I’d better come up for a few
days.”

“
And do what?” I say with a deliberate
lack of enthusiasm.

“
Get Lilly her job back, for one,” he
says decisively. “Two, help Chloe get a divorce if she that’s what
she wants. And three,” he looks me right in the eye, “talk you into
marrying me.”

“
Well,” I start, trying not to
stutter, “well, that’s certainly an ambitious plan.” I try to
breathe. “How long are you up for?”

“
As long as it takes, baby,” he smiles
at me and I almost faint, “as long as it takes.”

“
What about the Law Office of J. Mason
McKenzie?” I focus hard on appearing nonchalant.

“
Got a young fellow that’s been with
me a while and I just made him partner. He’s the real deal,” he
says between bites, “so he’s handling the foot work and I’m right
here if he needs me.” He holds up a cellular gadget that I haven’t
even seen on commercials yet.

“
How long you been in town?” I ask and
immediately feel like a dumbass.

“
Are you trying to pick me up?” he
laughs. “Was that a pick up line?”

“
No,” I say and start laughing despite
myself.

“
Actually, I just got here, Ace, and
was on my way to Ethan’s when I saw your car was here and just- I
don’t know,” he pauses, “I just wanted to see you.” He looks down
at my crotch. “Have you peed in your pants? Are you that happy to
see me?”

I bust out laughing and tell him about the
incident at the gym and he laughs till he almost chokes and, for
one brief second, I allow the happiness to wash over me because,
like Calgon, Mason McKenzie takes me away.

The doorbell rings again and I don’t have
time to say “It‘s open” before Lilly comes running in screaming,
“Mason! Oh my goodness! Mason McKenzie, oh my God!”

He grabs her and hugs her and they are just
so happy to see each other and Lilly has a light bulb moment and
gets quiet.

“
What are you,” she points at Mason,
“doing here?” She points at me.

“
Just visiting,” he says, smiling at
me and I’m dying for one of those big hugs he just lavished on
Lilly.

She nods her head and narrows her eyes at
me.

“
He’s been here five minutes, Lilly,
calm down,” I say and she looks down at my shorts.

“
Have you peed yourself?”

“
No, just shut up and let’s go outside
on the porch.” I wave toward the kitchen. “Lilly, grab whatever you
want to drink and come on.” I reach down to pick up Buster Loo, but
he scampers straight to Mason, who promptly scoops him up and I
swear the dog is smiling from ear to floppy ear.

21

Lust is the great thief of common sense,
therefore I must keep that demon in restraints. That is, however,
easier said than done when a charismatic, six foot tall,
blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sun-tanned, well-toned
sex-machine-that-I-want-to-make babies-with is literally within my
reach.

“
You got the camera?” Mason asks as we
settle into the overstuffed loungers on my patio. “I can’t wait to
see that picture.”

“
How do you know about the picture?” I
ask, eyeballing Lilly, who takes a sudden and intense interest in
my herb garden.

“
Baby,” he says, smiling like we’re
already sleeping together again, “I know
everything.
I thought you
knew.
”

“
I know you’re corny as hell, I know
that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Lilly, did you get a print
made?”

“
Oh boy, did I?!” Lilly exclaims and
pulls a large padded envelope out of her shiny ruffled purse that’s
twice the size of Texas. She plops it down on the table and slowly
withdraws a glossy 8 x 10 that we all gawk at in
silence.

The photograph offers a full frontal view of
Mrs. Dana Dannan, who is sporting an ensemble made of black leather
and red lace with gold chains framing her bare boobs. Much to our
collective delight, the picture also offers a side view of Richard
Stacks the Fourth, who is butt naked and appears to be looking at
the ceiling. His well groomed and short, but freakishly fat penis
is staring in the same direction.

“
Oh, my God,” I whisper, “I couldn’t
see on the camera screen that he was wearing a studded dog
collar.”

“
Look at his dick!” Mason practically
shouts. “It looks like a sea creature out of its shell!”

“
Oh my goodness,” Lilly says somberly,
“poor Chloe. Can you imagine having that thing coming at you
for
eleven
years?”

“
Oh, I am going to be sick!” Mason
says and pretends to gag. “Put it away, Lilly.”

“
This is your copy,” Lilly says
cheerfully and slides the picture across the table. “I printed
several.”

“
You should’ve left one in the photo
kiosk,” I say. “That would’ve been hilarious.”

“
Or made 200 copies and stuck ‘em on
the windshield of every car in the parking lot.” Mason adds with an
obnoxious snort then looks down at his watch. “Well, ladies,” he
says, getting up and stretching, “I hate to break up the party, but
I gotta run. I’ll see you both at Ethan’s tonight?”

“
Sure!” Lilly says quickly.

She stands up and he gives her another big
hug and I want to jump up and pounce on him like a fat kid on some
cake.

But I don’t.

I sit in my chair like a statue. A really
sad statue sentenced by her creator to pine for a lover all
throughout eternity.

“
Ace,” he says, looking me in the eye,
“I meant what I said earlier.”

“
What’d you say earlier?” Lilly pipes
and looks at me. “What’d he say earlier?”

“
Nothing important,” I say. “Bye,
Mason.”

“
See you ladies tonight,” he calls
over his shoulder, “let’s try not to get arrested in between now
and then.”

“
What did he say earlier?” Lilly asks
again.

“
He said you were going to tell us all
about your top secret homo-weirdo love triangle and what Drake
Driskall was doing at your house last week sitting on your sofa
without a shirt on,” I stare at her. “That’s what he said
earlier.”