Whatever made me think I could write poetry?
I’m going to resign from the staff of Inner Vistas when we go back to school. How could I have thought I’d be editor someday?
I feel like I’ll never write a good poem or song lyric again.
I’m a failure.
I can understand why Dad is disappointed in me. I’m disappointing myself.
I’ve decided not to wear my new skirt. It fits, but it makes me look fat. Amalia is going to come over tomorrow to help me pick out something from my closet.
Good night.
Bad night.
Saturday 7/25
6:30 P.M.
JUSTIN IS GOING to pick me up any minute now. I’m so nervous. Maybe writing in my journal will help me stay calm.
Mom had a major hangover this morning and was in no shape to talk on the phone. I handled benefit business for her. Lots of phone calls.
Amalia came over this afternoon to help me pick out what to wear tonight. I wish she hadn’t bothered. She drove me crazy. For example, I put on my purple satin pants. “My hips look huge in these,” I groaned.
“Are you crazy?” Amalia exclaimed. “They look great on you.”
I hate it when people tell social lies just to make you feel better. Why wouldn’t she admit that some of my clothes make me look fat? Whenever I said I was too fat for an outfit she’d contradict me. Then she got really serious. “I think you’re dieting too much, Maggie,” she said. “You look so thin it’s not healthy.”
I told her that I have tiny bones. That I’m supposed to be thin. She argued with me about that. She was pretty annoyed by the time she left. But not as annoyed as I am with her.
I decided to wear the brown skirt and velveteen top after all. I changed my nail polish from pink to
Uh-oh, Justin’s here.
Sometime After Midnight
The good news is my date with Justin Randall is over.
Dad made sure he was home when Justin picked me up. I was afraid my parents would embarrass me. But they didn’t. I don’t think Justin could tell that Mom had been drinking. And Dad didn’t ask him what his parents did for a living or remind him of my midnight curfew.
We made our escape pretty quickly.
Justin looked incredibly handsome and relaxed. I felt incredibly ugly and nervous. I didn’t know what to say.
Once we got in the getaway car, he started a conversation by asking me how things were going with my new job. I told him about Little Guy and the photographs we took for the benefit. Then we talked about Vanish and some of our rehearsals. Justin does a great imitation of Rico.
By the time we reached the theater, I was more relaxed.
I was on a date with Justin Randall! And we were clicking.
People were lined up around the block for tickets to the film, but Justin already had ours so we breezed right in. He headed straight for the refreshment stand. “This is our first movie together,” he said. “We have to have popcorn.” He ordered two popcorns with butter without even asking me if I wanted one. I hate it when people do that.
“No butter or salt on one of those,” I told the counter guy.
“But that’s the best part,” Justin protested.
“It’s the way I like it,” I said.
Justin shrugged his shoulders and handed me my popcorn.
The film was so good I don’t think he noticed that I didn’t eat anything. When I was tempted to have some popcorn, I would imagine the solid fat stuffed into the little holes of each kernel. I was determined not to eat anything until dinner. And I didn’t.
After Maxie Benox’s first number in the film, Justin put his arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “See why I think you sound like her?”
He kept his arm around me until the film was over.
I wished that movie would go on forever.
As we were leaving the theater, someone shouted, “Hey, Justin.”
Justin looked around and waved. “There’s Frank,” he said. He took my hand and we pushed through the crowd until we reached a group of seven Vista kids. I’d seen them around school but didn’t know any of them. When we got outside, Justin introduced me. “Maggie’s the lead singer in Vanish,” he said.
A few of those kids were at the Battle of the Bands. They said they loved my singing. They don’t know how I sound now and that I haven’t written a new song in a month. That I probably never will.
“Come on over to the bowling alley with us,” Frank said. “We’re going to eat and roll a few.”
I hoped Justin wouldn’t accept. I’ve only bowled a few times. I knew that I would make a fool of myself.
“Can’t,” Justin told them. “We have a dinner reservation at Juanita’s.” He put his arm around my waist. I sucked in my breath so he wouldn’t feel my roll of fat.
“Juanita’s!” exclaimed Frank. “Way cool!”
“Have you ever been there?” Justin asked me.
I shook my head no. I’d heard of Juanita’s and knew that it was a trendy Mexican restaurant.
“If it’s your first time, order a Juanita’s Burrito,” someone said. “It’s stuffed with rice, beans, chicken, and cheese. And they have the best salsa ever.”
“And don’t forget the guacamole,” Frank added.
“All this food talk is making me hungry,” said another guy. “Let’s go.”
They were gone and it was just Justin and me again. He had made dinner reservations and had turned down a chance for us to hang with his friends. This was a real date.
Juanita’s was just around the corner from the theater. It was a good thing we had reservations. The place was mobbed.
We followed the maître d’ past tables piled with plates of overstuffed burritos. How could one person eat all that food?
Our table was in a corner. We’d barely sat down when they brought us chips and salsa. Justin ordered guacamole. I never eat avocados. They taste great, but they are loaded with calories. And chips are greasy. I decided I wouldn’t eat anything until the main course. I wasn’t going to gain back all the weight I lost in one meal.
Justin tried to get me to order a fruit smoothie, but those are loaded with calories too. I saw one on another table. It looked amazing, but I had to show some RESTRAINT. I ordered a diet cola.
Juanita’s was noisy and the air was heavy with food smells. It was hard to be heard without shouting.
The waiter handed us menus. “I think we know what we want,” Justin said. He looked at me. “Juanita’s Burritos, right?”
Wrong.
“I’d like to see what else they have,” I said.
The waiter left and I scanned the menu. Justin told me all the great dishes he had eaten there. All fattening. How come he’s not fat?
The waiter came back. “I’ll have the house salad,” I told him.
“And for your main course?” he asked.
“Just the salad,” I explained. “You can bring it when he has his burrito.”
“A house salad is really small,” Justin said. “Don’t you want anything else?”
“I like salad.”
“Isn’t there anything else on the menu you like? What about chicken chocolate mole? They’re famous for that.”
Chicken and chocolate? Was he crazy?
Justin was annoyed with me, like I had spoiled his good time because I didn’t want to eat what he wanted me to eat. Since when is ordering a salad a crime? I was disappointed in Justin. I didn’t know he was such a control freak.
“We have a Caesar salad,” the waiter said. “That’s more a dinner size. How about that?”
To calm Justin down, I agreed to the Caesar salad. But he still wasn’t happy. As soon as the waiter left he made a comment about how Caesar salad was a weird thing to order in a Mexican restaurant. He added that it wasn’t like I had to be on a diet. He said “diet” as if being on one were insane.
Justin drank his smoothie and ate chips, salsa, and guacamole. I ate a few chips so he would le
ave me alone. But he kept shoving the guacamole in my face. I finally ate a little on a chip. But only one.
I wish we hadn’t gone out to dinner. Justin was acting weird. This was not fun.
When my salad arrived it was dripping with dressing. Justin had made such a big fuss over my order that I had forgotten to ask for the dressing on the side.
He dove into his burrito and went on and on about how good it was. Of course he wanted me to “at least taste it.”
I wouldn’t.
I poked through my salad. Parmesan cheese stuck to the greasy dressing that stuck to the lettuce. It might as well have been deep-fried.
“Don’t you like it?” Justin asked.
I took a bite. “It’s good,” I said.
I ate a few more bites while he continued to wolf down his meal. I made it through about a third of the salad, but I couldn’t eat anymore. Why should I stuff myself just because he does? Of course he had to notice that I had stopped eating.
“Are you sick or something?” he asked.
“I’m just not very hungry,” I said. “I don’t have a big appetite.”
“More like no appetite,” he mumbled under his breath. I ignored that. I couldn’t believe he was getting upset because of what I did or did not eat.
“You should have told me you don’t like Mexican food,” he said.
“It’s not that. I’m just not very hungry tonight,” I said. “It’s no big deal. Stop making a big deal out of it.”
“Well, you should have told me,” he said again. He pushed away his plate with the half-eaten burrito. “It’s no fun to go to a restaurant with someone who doesn’t eat.”
He signaled to the waiter. “I suppose you don’t want dessert either.”
“No. I don’t. I never eat dessert.”
Justin passed on dessert too.
We didn’t say another thing to each other until we were outside.
The blast of fresh air felt good. As we walked down the block I could feel the waistband on my skirt shift from side to side. Three days ago it was snug and now it was loose. I felt thin and I knew I would be thinner. All it took was self-control.
I sighed.
I started to talk about the film again. But Justin didn’t seem very interested in the film… or in me. He brought me home.
I have a feeling that our first date was also our last. Fine by me. I think Justin was looking for an excuse to pick a fight with me anyway. I’m way too ugly for him.
Sunday 7/26
6:05 P.M.
BORING DAY. SLEPT until noon. Still tired.
Dad’s having a screening party here. I have to make an appearance. I hope I at least like the movie.
Amalia phoned around noon and left a message. I was here but I didn’t pick up and I didn’t call her back. She’s going to want to know all about the date and that is the last thing I want to talk about. Amalia was more excited about it than I was. Maybe she should go out with him. Amalia likes to eat. They can try out all the restaurants in Palo City. Then they can move on to Anaheim.
Justin left a message too. “Maggie. It’s Justin. About last night. I’m sorry about what I said at the restaurant. It’s just that… you didn’t seem to be having a very good time… But, well, call me. Okay?”
Forget him.
Forget last night.
I have more important things to worry about.
There’s my phone again.
6:15 P.M.
I should have let Zeke leave a message too. It was a mistake to pick up the phone. All he did was complain, complain, complain. I told him that if he stopped complaining and tried harder to have fun the time would go by faster. He shut up with the complaints after that. But he hung on the line and told me it was my turn. That I should say something.
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Like what did you do last night?”
I tried not to sigh too loudly.
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing important. I have to go. Dad’s having this screening.”
“I wish I could go to the screening. What’s he showing?”
“I don’t know. Good-bye, Zeke.”
We hung up.
Zeke can really get on my nerves.
Monday 7/27
1:13 P.M.
MANNING THE FRONT desk during lunch hour. Piper went out for lunch. Offered to bring me back something. Told her I brought lunch from home and I’d eat it here. That’s not lying. It’s none of her business what I eat or don’t eat.
The people who volunteer here are always bringing in food for snacking—cakes, cookies—all fattening. I guess Piper is another one of those lucky people who can eat all they want without being fat.
I’m beginning to enjoy my diet. I feel clean, light, and in control.
I’m disgusted when I think of the mountains of cakes, cookies, and ice cream I used to eat.
1:30 P.M.
Phone call. I answered the way I usually do, “Palo City Animal Shelter. This is Maggie. Can I help you?”
“Well, that sounds very businesslike,” said the male voice on the other end. My father. “I thought your job was to take care of the animals. What are you doing answering the phone?”
I explained that I was working at the front desk while the volunteer went for lunch.
“What about your lunch?” he asked.
I told him that I was eating at the desk and he made some lame joke about my terrible working conditions.
I didn’t say anything and waited for him to tell me why he’d called.
“Your mother didn’t show up for a benefit committee meeting,” he said. “The HCA office called to see if I know where she is.”
My heart sank. I didn’t know where Mom was either. Dad and I were both thinking the same thing, but we didn’t say it. Mom was off somewhere drinking. Was she going to blow this chance to regain her place in Hollywood high society?
“Seems like your mother has lost interest in the benefit,” Dad said.
I agreed and told him that she also had a two o’clock meeting at HCA to go over the program for the auction one more time before it went to the printer.
Dad asked me if there was any way I could go over to the HCA office and cover for Mom.
“I’m working here,” I reminded him.
“Those shelter people will let you leave,” he said. “After all, the benefit is for them. They get the money.”
I said I would tell Piper that Mom was shorthanded and needed my help. Dad said his car would pick me up in half an hour. He added that the success of the benefit is important to Mom. He said she’d been absent from the Hollywood social scene lately and that the benefit was her chance to return to it. “So do what you can, Maggie,” he told me. “And let me know how I can help. We won’t make a big deal out of it, but let’s be there when your mother needs us.”
“Okay, sure,” I agreed.
After I hung up I realized that neither of us was surprised that Mom has disappeared. We didn’t know where she was, but we knew what she was doing. And we knew that sooner or later she’d be home—drunk.
10:14 P.M.
I hated to leave Piper with all of my work on top of her own. “Good thing I had a big lunch,” was her parting comment.
I told the committee that Mom was sick and that I was supposed to have called to tell them. I apologized and we got down to work.
Mom never showed up at the HCA office. She came home a little while ago and went right to her room. I heard her mumbling to herself and then I heard ice clinking in her glass. I didn’t bother to say hi. I’m too disappointed and mad. And worried about the benefit.
The program is ready for the printer. It was a good thing we checked it. There were a bunch of typing errors—like “Dinner for 40 at Top of the Hart,” which was supposed to read Dinner for 4!
Two of the women on the committee, Janice and Lana, have known Mom for a long time. I bet they didn’t believe my explanation for Mom’s absence. Mom used to go to ae
robics class with them. They were always doing things together. Once they went to this fancy health spa in the desert. Mom looked great when she came home. She had lost five pounds and looked really healthy.
Then she started drinking more and more and seeing her friends less and less. Once I heard Dad ask Mom about Janice and Lana and she said they were goody-goodies who didn’t know how to have fun. Mom probably insulted them. She can be mean when she’s been drinking.
She’s lost a lot of friends because of her problem. I hope she doesn’t lose more.
There’s a message from Amalia on my machine reminding me that there’s a Vanish practice tomorrow night. There is no way I can see Justin Randall. I left her a message saying that I can’t go. I used the benefit as my excuse.
Diet going very well. I love this empty feeling.
Tuesday 7/28
9:31 P.M.
TIRED.
Very busy at shelter today. Mom here when I came home. Told her what we did at meeting yesterday. She thanked me for my help. Said she’d been working on benefit all afternoon, but it was giving her a headache and she had to get out of the house. She told Pilar she didn’t want any dinner and left.
Dad still at work.
Pilar had cooked a big meal for us. When she saw that I was the only one home she asked me where I wanted to eat. I told her that I ate before I came home.
Now she’s in a big snit about cooking for a family who never eats.
After she went to her room, I ate a small scoop of low-fat cottage cheese, a slice of cucumber, and one pretzel.
I’ve lost another pound.
Working at the shelter is getting on my nerves. The animals are okay, but Piper can be really bossy.
E-mail from Zeke. He has not stopped kvetching. Now he’s complaining about the food at camp.
He wants me to e-mail him back and tell him what Pilar’s been cooking for us.
FOOD. FOOD. FOOD.
WHAT’S WRONG WITH EVERYBODY?
CAN’T THEY THINK ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE?
Wednesday 7/29
6:09 P.M.
FOUR MESSAGES ON my machine when I came home:
1. Zeke saying that I should check my e-mail and answer him.
Diary Two Page 16
