The Lighter Side of Large (45 page)

When the phone rungs, my heart gives a leap. It’s the time of reckoning. “Hey, beautiful. Sorry I missed your call. We’re crazy busy down here,” Jae says, breathless but cheerful. He’s at Go 4 It.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re Vice President of AmandaE?” I blurt without greeting or preamble. “Do you know how I found out? A reporter. She also told me your real name. I think she’s doing an exposé on me. She knows things that she shouldn’t know and she told me all about you. So what’s up with that? I tell you my real name but you don’t tell me yours?”

Heavy silence on the other end of the line. “Bella, you sound upset.”

“You’re damn right I’m upset! You’re Vice President of AmandaE?” And suddenly it clicks. AmandaE means Amanda Elliot. “Is that why you or Amanda never responded to my letter to the company? Hoping it will blow over and keep me in the dark? Why would you want to keep me in the dark?”

“Bella,” Jae says slowly, “I can’t talk right now. We’re really super busy. Let me call you tonight - no, I’ll drive back to Nelson tonight and we can talk then…”

“Right,” I sneer. “Give yourself some time to think of an excuse, is that it? Jae, I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“Did this to you? No matter what you may think right now…”

“Let me tell you what I think right now,” I growl. “I think that someone I trusted completely has made a fool of me and I don’t understand why. Why would you keep your real name secret? Why avoid telling me about your real connection to AmandaE? Why, Jae? You’re always spouting off how you like me because I’m not like your snobby fashion world cohorts - are you embarrassed that you’re still a fashion snob? Is that such a bad thing to want to hide, or are you being a hypocrite because you say you don’t like the fashion world and yet you’re making money hand over fist in it?”

“Please, Bella, calm down. I will see you tonight and explain everything. I’m sorry if you feel like I made a fool out of you. I never meant to hurt you, and…”

“But you did. You certainly did,” I finish for him. “I can’t believe I sat across a table from a reporter who told me things about my life that…” I make a sound of disgust. “Do you know what it’s like to have details of your personal life made known that are nobody’s business? And now God knows what the
Gab Gazette
is going to say about me. If you had been honest with me, she couldn’t have trapped me with half the questions she asked.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know what it’s like to have my personal life paraded to the public,” Jae says in a tone I’ve never heard him use before.

“Oh, that’s right,” I spit, “you’re used to being on the society pages for attending charity balls.” The thought of wearing that damn AmandaE gown to the ball makes me clench my fist so tightly that my nails dig painfully into my palm.

“No,” he corrects me, “I’m talking my personal life being made into a cartoon without my permission.”

I unclench my fist. So he saw the tsunami caricature. “Did you bother to read the column which goes along with it? It’s about acceptance,” I huff.

“And it is a very good column,” Jae acquiesces, “but did you consider asking me if I want that part of
our
life put on display? Because there is an “our” and an “us” now, not just a you and a me. And if it’s public knowledge that we’re together, then something like a cartoon about what happened in the bedroom between us can have a negative effect on business.”

“Which business?” I laugh. “AmandaE sales haven’t suffered from a fat woman trying to gain some respect for fat people, despite the behaviour of some of its employees. Or are you worried people won’t want to bungee jump because I nearly knocked you off the bed with a tidal wave?”

I can hear him exhale loudly. “Bella, I will come up tonight so we can talk. I have to go now.”

“Don’t bother,” I say. “If business means more to you than I do, then never mind.”

I hang up and swear. “How can he be so cold? Why did he lie to me?” I lift the phone, ready to throw it across the room, but decide against it and instead hit speed dial for Sands. If anyone is a sympathetic ear, it’s my best friend.

“Oh, no,” I groan, remembering the forgotten morning coffee rendezvous with Sands and the gang. I cancel the call and plop down on the sofa.
What a rotten day,
I muse. I managed to get in a fight with my boyfriend, stand up my friends for a coffee date, and lose my expensive car keys - and the day was only half done.

•

“I think you’re reading too much into what he said,” Mama Rose says with a sigh. She has been on the phone with me for almost an hour.

“It’s not just what he said,” I complain, “it’s what he’s done. Not telling me his real name; not telling me he’s the freaking VP of AmandaE - why? Why would he keep those a secret if he truly loves me? So he must not truly love me. He’s embarrassed of me, that’s what. The less I’m a part of his life, the less he has to feel embarrassed about.”

“Isabella, that is the silliest thing I ever heard you say,” Mama Rose chides. “That man adores you. What is there for him to feel embarrassed about? And if he is embarrassed, why keep you around?”

“Gee, thanks, Mama Rose,” I pout.

“Now listen to me,” Mama Rose commands. “Jae came to the hospital every day when you were ill. Is that the action of a man who is embarrassed of you?”

“No, but that was a couple of months ago.”

“Then if he is so wishy-washy, maybe you should dump him. You don’t need someone in your life who isn’t trustworthy. But dump him fast, because the
fanau O lau fanau
are very attached to him and it will break their hearts to see him go.”

“It will break my heart to see him go, Mama Rose.”

“It doesn’t sound like it right now,” Mama Rose retorts. “Give the man a chance to explain himself before you cut him off.”

I sniffle. “I just feel like I’m not good enough for him. I express myself in my writing and drawing and it upsets him. I’m getting plastic surgery and he doesn’t approve of that. I can do nothing right.”

“You’re what?”
Mama Rose exclaims. “Plastic surgery? Why?”

I pause, surprised by her reaction. “Well, the skin on my arms is over-stretched so I’m having it taken off, and then my belly is never going to be as flat as I want it to be, so I’m getting a tummy tuck…”

“ISABELLA!” Mama Rose roars, “Did you ask Mika for more money?
‘O fea aga oute alu sala?”

“Calm down, Mama Rose. I took out a loan which I can pay back once I get the advance from my book.”

“Spending money on credit? That’s not wise. Not to criticise your writing, dear, but what if the book doesn’t sell well? Don’t get yourself into debt.”

“I’m not getting into debt,” I insist. “I’m making money for once in my life, good money. Is it so terrible to spend it on something which is important to me?”

“Do you have a savings or retirement account?” Mama Rose asks, ever practical.

“No, not yet,” I admit.

“Well, if you ask me, it sounds like you need to get your priorities straight,” Mama Rose says.

“My priorities?” I shriek. “What is this, Beat Up on Bella Day? Have I not made weight loss a priority these past few months? Have I not made an astounding effort to get healthy? So why is it when I’m up, everyone wants to squash me down?”

“No one is squashing you down,” Mama Rose insists. “I just think you need to step back and re-evaluate your decisions.”

“I’m not changing my mind about plastic surgery, and that’s final. I just don’t understand how my friends and family accept me when I’m fat, depressed, jobless, and going nowhere, but they don’t when I’m thinner, happy, have a career, and am making something of myself. It’s the exact opposite with the world.”

“Your friends and family still accept you,” Mama Rose sighs. “We may not approve of your decisions, but we will always be there for you. The question is if you will still be there for your friends and family after you’ve changed yourself. And Isabella?”

“Yes?” I answer, petulant.

“If the world only accepts you when you’re thinner, happy, and going somewhere, then I’d choose friends and family over the world any day.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“ ’FAT’ to all sense and purposes in this work is just plain wrong!”

FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch26

Come on - let’s go, let’s go,” I yell from the front door. It’s Friday morning and I have one goal: to get the kids to school for the first time this week before the first bell rings. “You’re going to be late again if you don’t get a move on!”

Abe saunters out of the kitchen, a piece of toast in hand and grabs his backpack off the sofa. “Why have you been so grouchy? When is Jae going to come see us?”

I dig through my purse for my keys. “I haven’t been grouchy. I just have a lot of things on my mind.”

“I want to see Jae,” Fi pipes up as she runs out of the bathroom to collect her backpack.

“Well, he’s busy,” I say.
Too busy to call his girlfriend for a week, if I’m even that anymore.
“In the car. Now.”

“Why don’t you call him anymore?” she asks, as if reading my mind.

I shut the door behind them. “Jae will call when he has time.”
I’m not going to call him. If he wants to talk to me, then he needs to make the first move. I didn’t do anything wrong. He needs to apologise.

As we drive to school, Abe starts singing a song, which Fi doesn’t like, so she starts singing a different tune. They get louder and louder to drown out the other. “Kids, be quiet. I can’t hear myself think!” I shout above the din, and I do have a lot of thinking to do. What should be the topic of next week’s newspaper column? The deadline for the magazine article is this afternoon and I still can’t think of a good ending for it. And why won’t Jae call? He was so gung-ho about driving up to talk about it and then he disappears off the face of the planet. I can’t talk to Sands about it because she won’t answer my calls, and Mama Rose isn’t any help.

“He started it,” Fi pouts.

“You didn’t have to sing,” Abe accuses.

“I DON’T CARE. JUST BE QUIET!” I yell.

The sudden sullen silence allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. I glance in the rearview mirror at two frowns. Oh well. They can deal with it.

“Did you pack my snack?” Fi finally speaks when we are a block away from the school.

“What snack?” I ask.

“Today is my turn to bring a snack for the whole class.”

“No, you didn’t tell me you need that.”

“Yes I did. I told you last night,” Fi insists.

“She did. I heard her,” Abe backs her up.

“Great, just great,” I mutter, turning on my turn signal and glancing in the sideview mirror so I can move over a lane. Around the corner is a convenience store. I pull up to the store, unbuckling my seat belt before the car stops. “Stay put. I’ll run in and grab some pretzels.”

“I don’t want pretzels. I want cookies,” Fi complains.

“No cookies,” I say.

“But I want cookies!”

“You’re not allowed to bring cookies for a snack,” I suppress a growl, getting out of the car. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I rush into the store and head down the crisps and snacks aisle. There isn’t a bag of pretzels in sight. I scan through each shelf, bending down to peer into the depths of the bottom shelf. “Ah-ha!” I spot and grab two small bags of pretzels, which I think will feed an entire class of first-graders, and reach out to take them.

Rrriiip.

I freeze at the sound of my back pants seam ripping. Not again, I moan inwardly.
How can I rip my pants when I’m a size twelve? Impossible.
What is also impossible is getting out of the store without anyone seeing my underwear.

I waddle to the checkout counter, trying to prevent my trousers from gaping.
So far, so good.
No one comes up behind me, but the man in front of me appears to be on a junk food run. From the size of his waistline, it appears he does it often. Then he slowly asks the cashier for five lottery tickets, then a pack of cigarettes, and then pulls out his chequebook and carefully fills it out.

I grit my teeth to prevent from screaming.
The kids are going to be late to school again and this guy is buying food he doesn’t need and cigarettes - does he want to see an early grave? What is wrong with him?

Someone gets into line behind me. I glance around, trying to hide my impatience and look casual so as not to draw attention to the tear in my pants. That’s when I notice the latest issue of the Gab Gazette is out. My stomach clenches. I dread to read what is written about me, but I dread not knowing even more. As the fat man moves away with his bags of groceries, lotto tickets and cigarettes, I grab it and slap it on the counter with the pretzels. “These are past their sell by date,” the cashier says, pointing out the date on the pretzels.