Dietland (38 page)

Silence.

Mason thought he could throw a crumb in the direction of the fat girl and it would make up for everything that had happened to her in her life, most of all what had happened that night. Telling her she's pretty was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the winning lottery number, the healing hand of Christ on top of her head. He had been made to believe he had such power. It had been given to him by women like her.

I leaned over and looked at him closely. He wasn't Mason anymore; he was
them.
Looking at him, looking at
them,
the behavior of my whole life was suddenly inexplicable. The years of Waist Watchers, Baptist Weight Loss and plans for surgery, the hours and hours that added up to years of my life spent sitting at home afraid to go outside, afraid to be laughed at and shunned and rejected and stared at by faces like the one looking up at me now, one of the generic, mass-produced, ordinary, follow-the-crowd, hateful faces. At another time, at home alone, I would have wept to think about it. I wished I could go back to the beginning of my life and start again.

I removed my foot from his chest. I didn't want to fight with him. He didn't matter. I turned to leave, pushing my way through the onlookers. No one tried to stop me. The police hadn't been called. Mason's friends seemed to have disappeared.

As I walked away from the bar, the sky above was clear and black. Somewhere up there was the laugh that had escaped from me, the long trail of light that was now part of the universe. I couldn't see it, but I knew it was there. I would only have to look up to remember it.

 

• • •

MY BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING
was a poached egg, rye toast with butter, melon, and tea. I didn't spend my morning in the kitchen making omelets and stacks of waffles for myself and everyone else. A normal breakfast satisfied me.

When I finished eating, I remained at the table, fixated on Eulayla's fat jeans hanging on the red wall. I still hadn't deposited the $20,000 check from Verena. I had also never canceled my surgery. I called Dr. Shearer's secretary to make it official. After hanging up the phone I didn't feel a sense of loss. I felt proud.

Sana had asked why I'd wanted to talk the night before, but I told her I had been bored and thought going to the bar would be fun. She didn't seem to suspect anything. I had decided not to tell her about Julia's request for money. I'd been relying on the women of Calliope House, particularly Sana, for support and community, but this was a decision I needed to make alone. It wouldn't be fair to implicate them. Leeta had never been part of their lives, and they didn't understand my connection to her. She was my problem.

While I considered what to do about Leeta, I decided it was time to return to Swann Street. I'd abandoned my apartment in Brooklyn months before and needed to face it again. On my way there I mailed about fifty books to my girls, as the requests kept coming in. After the post office I went to my bank and deposited the $20,000.

On the subway to Brooklyn, descending into the dark tunnel, traveling back to my own netherworld, I prepared to see my old home again. I arrived at the brownstone, opening the familiar street door and stopping at the wall of copper-colored mailboxes in the entryway before going upstairs to my apartment. Mail was stuffed into my box, and there was a notice from the post office saying they'd stopped delivering it. I shuffled through the bills and junk mail, throwing most of it in the recycling bin. One letter was from Austen Media, dated from the summer. It stated that I'd been fired for
gross misconduct
for deleting Kitty's email and was not allowed back in the slim chrome tower. I was about to throw the letter away, but then decided I might frame it instead.

I inserted the key into the front door of my apartment, and when I opened it, I saw my living room, my desk, the kitchen, just the way I'd left them. At the sight of my old home I felt a twinge, a plucked guitar string of memory that reverberated from head to toe. I flicked the light switch and was relieved the electricity was still on. My coffee mug, still half full, sat on the kitchen counter. Everything was covered in dust, a gray powder like time made manifest, the time that had passed since I'd left this life.

There was barely any food inside the refrigerator. The cupboards were mostly empty, aside from a box of crackers and a few cans of soup. In the freezer there was the stack of Waist Watchers entrées that I'd made, wrapped neatly in foil, the two-star and three-star meals. I recalled my empty belly and the lethargy, sometimes even paralysis, that had resulted from existing on those meals. I'd moved slowly back then, when I'd moved at all.

In my bedroom, I removed Alicia's clothes from the closet, the dresses that didn't fit me and never would. I called Sana and asked if she might need clothes for the girls at the clinic when it opened. I explained that the outfits weren't likely to be the girls' style, but they would work for job interviews and court appearances. She was enthusiastic, so I packed the clothes in the two black suitcases that were stored under my bed and arranged for a courier to pick them up and deliver them to Calliope House.

The clothes I used to wear every day were in piles on the floor and stuffed into the dresser. I put them in the trash. Over the next several days, I slept in my old bed and awoke each morning to continue sorting through my belongings, going through my books and mementos, my whole life in New York. I discovered empty bottles of Y——, as well as piles of Waist Watchers literature and copies of
Daisy Chain.
Most of that went into the recycling bin. The copy of
Adventures in Dietland
that Leeta had given to me went into the box of things I would always keep, with my family photo albums and souvenirs.

As I continued sorting my things and packing, I would go out to withdraw cash from the bank. I considered visiting the café while I was out, but Carmen was still on maternity leave and she was the only part of it that I missed.

Movers came to collect my furniture and boxes and take them to a storage unit in Queens, where I'd leave them while I was living at Calliope House. Then the apartment was empty, except for the bedroom where my cousin Jeremy's boxes were stored. I called him in Cairo to let him know that I was moving out of his apartment. I offered to continue paying rent until a new tenant moved in, but he told me not to worry. With me moving, he said it was likely he would sell. I understood that he would have sold years before if not for me, and I was grateful for the time he had allowed me to live in a nice place, one that I wouldn't have otherwise been able to afford. The apartment on Swann Street had made the other difficulties in my life easier to bear.

On my way out, I took one last look around. The apartment was smaller than I remembered it, in the way that everything looks smaller after you've left it behind.

The next morning, I awoke in the buttery light of my bedroom back at Calliope House and realized that it wasn't simply another day. It was the tenth of October, the day my weight-loss surgery had been scheduled to take place. Lying in bed, I instinctively placed my hand on my bare belly and ran my fingers over the terrain—soft to the touch despite the lines and crevices. I was grateful for what was missing: the violent eruption of an incision. Beneath the expanse of flesh, my stomach was nestled among my other organs, healthy and whole, not stapled and clamped shut. I knew I had Leeta to thank for leading me to Verena and the others, for this morning spent snug in my bed, not under the blazing lights and masked faces of an operating room.

The money I'd been withdrawing from the bank for Leeta was in a neat stack in my bottom dresser drawer, but she would need much more than that. I knew Julia would contact me soon; at any moment I'd receive a frantic email or phone call and she'd demand to know if I was going to help fund Leeta's escape. Until that moment came, I would put it out of my mind. What I wanted now was to celebrate how far I'd come.

I decided to throw a party, with food and lots to drink. The previous weeks had been intense for all of us—the women had their work, I had my personal struggles, and through it all was Jennifer. We continued to refer to Soledad and the attacks by this single name, its origins not yet clear. Jennifer had made up seem like down, had left us all spinning and dizzy, had set the world on fire, and she was still out there.

I climbed out of bed and headed out to shop for groceries and booze. In the afternoon, I baked a three-layer chocolate ganache cake and prepared vegetable curry and rice for the main course, the perfect warming meal for an October evening. I didn't bother to tell the others we were having a celebration. It didn't need to be a formal occasion; I would let it bloom before their eyes.

As the curry and rice simmered on the stove, I cleared the stolen lingerie out of my bedroom closet and carried it downstairs in two plastic bags. In the tiny backyard, Verena kept her gardening tools in a tall metal drum, which I emptied onto the ground. I dumped charcoal into the drum, drenched it with lighter fluid, and set it ablaze. When the fire was glowing and flames shot out the top, I opened one of the bags and pulled out a few thongs and padded bras, dropping them into the drum, which made the fire pop. I'd always known the underwear would serve a purpose—it had just taken me a while to discover what it was.

When it was time for dinner, I was joined by Verena, Marlowe with baby Huck, Rubí, and Sana. We ate curry and rice in the kitchen, followed by cake. I was pleased that I no longer needed voluminous amounts of food to feel satisfied. I was learning to listen to my body's hunger cues and desires, which helped me know when I needed to eat, and what, and how much. Rubí said my metabolism was ruined from years of dieting and it would take time to heal and get back in touch with my natural rhythms. I would never restrict myself again or do math before eating. I would give my body what it needed and wanted—nothing more, nothing less.

After dinner we carried our drinks outside to where the fire was burning; the drum was positioned in the middle of the concrete slab that was our yard, ringed by trees bright with autumn gold. I kept the fire going, but everyone was eager to help. “Let me,” said Sana, dropping a lilac negligee into the flames, and then a pair of striped boy shorts. We watched them sizzle.

“This lingerie is from Bonerville, right?” said Marlowe. I told her it was and she asked why I had two bags full of it.

“Long story,” Sana said, directing the conversation elsewhere.

We were running out of drinks, so Rubí went inside to mix another pitcher of mojitos. She brought it outside and refilled our cups. The backyard was only a small patch, but we were all crammed together, drinking, watching the fire, and, inevitably, talking about Jennifer. It was the festive atmosphere I'd wanted, but then I saw through the kitchen window that Julia had arrived. She sliced the cake and ate some of it with her fingers. I excused myself to go inside, closing the door behind me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. The last time I'd seen her was in the café bathroom. At the sight of her, I imagined my wrists in handcuffs.

Julia moved around the table, stuffing her mouth with curry and rice. “Have you made a decision?” she whispered.

“I'm not sure yet. I need more time anyway. I can't withdraw too much money from the bank at once. It'll arouse suspicion.”

“So you have access to money?” she asked with frantic hopefulness.

I nodded and Julia closed her eyes. “Thank God,” she said. “I need it on Friday. I'll come by at noon. I can't wait any longer than that.” Friday was two days away.

“I told you, I'm not sure. I want to know more about Leeta.”

“Shhhh,” Julia said. “For crying out loud, do not say that name.” She peered at the women outside. Through the glass, Marlowe waved. Julia didn't bother to wave back. “Did I mention this is a matter of life and death? I'm not bullshitting.” Her acrylic nail tips were chipped, as if she'd been biting them. “You have no idea what I'm going through.”

“Because you won't tell me.”

She ignored me, focused completely on the food, an animalistic glint in her eyes. I missed the vulnerable Julia from the café bathroom, but assumed that version was rarely let out of its restraints. She piled her plate high, then composed herself before opening the door to go outside. “Let's try to act normal,” she said over her shoulder.

Julia approached the women around the fire and I followed. “What is this, a party?” she said, announcing her arrival. I took my place on the opposite side of the drum, between Rubí and Sana. Everyone looked at Julia, her mouth so full that she struggled to chew and swallow. “Since you're all here, I might as well tell you that I've quit my job at Austen. Tomorrow is my last day.”

“Whoa! End of era,” said Marlowe.

“What are your plans?” asked Verena.

“I'm going to travel for a while. You won't be seeing much of me in the near future.” Julia looked at me over the flames. Was she going on the run as well?

“You're going to
travel?
” Verena said in a tone of disbelief. “What about your undercover work?”

“I can't do it anymore. This charade is too much,” she sputtered, shoving more food into her mouth. Bits of rice fell down her top. “I'm so goddamn hungry all the time, you have no idea what it's like.” She began to choke on something stuck in her throat. She clasped her neck with one hand, coughing loudly, flinging her dinner plate into the bushes. Rubí handed her a drink, which she downed at once. “I'm a wreck, I apologize,” she said when she recovered, her eyes watery from the curry and the coughing, and perhaps there were tears as well. She looked at me again over the flames, their orange tongues giving her a devilish glow.