Changing Faces

by Kimberla Lawson Roby

  “I can’t believe you.”

  “Well, you might as well start.”

  “And what am I supposed to tell Mother?”

  “Tell her whatever you want, but if you really want me to be there, you’ll change the date.”

  “You know how Mother loves surprises, and what better time to do it than on her actual birthday? I mean, this will make her so happy.”

  “Like I said, you need to change the date.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Then there’s nothing else to say.”

  “You know what, Whitney, you go to your little reunion. You go there so that everyone can tell fat jokes about you and then laugh right in your face.”

  I flipped my phone shut. I did it because I didn’t want to hear any more of Tina’s malicious comments and because it was now my turn in line.

  “Welcome to McDonald’s, would you like to try one of our new salads this evening?” the male voice rang out.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll have a Big Mac Value Meal, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese Value Meal, and two apple pies.”

  “And what drinks would you like?”

  “Coke and lemonade.”

  “Will that be all?”

  “Yes.”

  The cashier repeated back my order, gave me my total, and then asked me to drive around to the second window. The cars in front of me pulled forward one by one, but as I sat there waiting, I felt a little embarrassed. And I’m not sure why because I’d done this for years—order two drinks whenever I ordered two meals because two drinks made it seem as though I was buying for two people. I did this because I didn’t want those drive-thru people thinking bad thoughts about me. It was a trick I played time after time, but deep down I knew the joke was on me. I knew I was only fooling myself no matter what I tried to make others believe.

  After driving away from the restaurant, I opened the paper bag and pulled out a few French fries. It was amazing how good they always tasted. Hot, greasy, salty, and loaded with plenty of carbohydrates. If only those highly advertised low-fat, low-calorie foods could deliver the same satisfaction, my struggle with weight gain would be over for good. It would be over for every person in America and we’d all be healthy again. Because while I currently didn’t have any known health problems I was aware of, I knew Charisse had been right about my risk of having a heart attack or stroke. I knew it was just a matter of time before my excessive eating habits caught up with me.

  Inside my house, I kicked off my pumps, shed my blazer, unbuttoned my pants, and plopped down on the sofa. I flipped on the television and reached for my bag of food. First I ate the rest of the fries that I’d already started on and then I pulled out the Big Mac. Between bites, I sipped on my Coke, and surprisingly enough, I suddenly felt full, almost fatigued even. My plan had been to eat the Quarter Pounder right away, but I could tell that I didn’t have any room for it. That is, without completely stuffing myself. Which actually was a good thing because normally I never knew when to stop. Especially when I knew I was gearing up to spend another evening all alone. I was also proud of the fact that I hadn’t touched that second set of fries either, which was another shocking discovery.

  I stood up, took the rest of the food into the kitchen, sat it on the counter, and then poured the lemonade down the drain. And then it dawned on me. I was full because barely two hours ago I had stopped at the food stand just outside of Telecom’s building before heading up to the parking ramp. I’d bought and eaten a pretty thick polish sausage, a bag of potato chips, and drunk a twenty-ounce bottle of Sprite.

  What was I thinking? And how had I forgotten about eating an entire meal so quickly? Was I now stopping at fast food places simply by reflex? And doing it whether I was actually hungry or not? Was I no longer able to distinguish between being hungry versus eating just because I could? Had I stopped at McDonald’s because I couldn’t imagine not stopping somewhere after work?

  Before I could continue with my self-interrogation, tears flooded my face. I was a complete mess, and I desperately needed help. This was no longer about the foolish choices I was making, it was about me and what was making me act so compulsively. What made me think differently than women who ate normally, or more important, what made me the total opposite of women who were anorexic or bulimic? I’d read an article once that declared that my way of eating was an addiction. It had gone on to say that eating properly and exercising regularly was easy for some people, but that there were others who mentally couldn’t help themselves. For some, there were deep-rooted emotional issues causing them to act out irrationally. Some people gambled, some drank too much, some did drugs. But others, like me, ate everything they could get their hands on. They did what they had to do in order to satisfy a certain emptiness. They tried filling a void that forever nagged at them.

  I walked back into the family room and lay across the sofa. I closed my eyes, and while I tried not to, I shed a lot more tears. I was so ashamed, so miserable, and disgusted with myself. I wanted to call Taylor, but when I’d spoken to her first thing this morning, she’d told me that she’d decided to take an early flight and would be in around six. And since it was only six-thirty, I knew Cameron had already picked her up from the airport and they were probably on their way home. It would have been nice if I could have phoned Charisse instead and told her how I was feeling, but I just couldn’t take any more of her criticism. I needed someone to build me up and not tear me down and I knew Charisse couldn’t help me with that. Plus, I’m sure she wasn’t all that happy about me bringing up her past the way I had yesterday.

  I tried pulling myself together by searching for a decent movie to watch, but I stopped when I saw a commercial claiming that a certain pill could eliminate unwanted belly fat. It even claimed that the pill worked so well and so quickly that it wasn’t recommended for people who only had maybe twenty pounds to lose. I admit that it seemed unbelievable, but I had to try something.

  Next, I found another channel broadcasting an infomercial claiming that their workout and eating program would give anyone the perfect body in just six weeks. Call me silly, but I sat down the selector on this one. Everything I’d heard so far definitely sounded too good to be true, but still I was all ears. My class reunion was happening in eight weeks, and if I could lose even fifty pounds by then, I’d be a happy sister. I’d still have to find an outfit tagged with double digits, but at least I wouldn’t have to look in the 20s section. Because at two hundred, I might even be able to wear a 16W. Not a 16, but a 16W, because there was a noticeable difference.

  I listened closely, paying special attention to the personal testimonies and obvious success stories. One woman had previously been about my size and height, but now had a gorgeous six-pack. Her arms and legs were beautifully sculpted, too. She looked great and I could see myself looking just as good in the future.

  I watched the entire thirty-minute segment, admiring both men and women who had accomplished their goals, and then immediately picked up the phone and dialed the 800 number. A representative answered on the second ring, and I placed my order. She asked for my general mailing information and whether I wanted rush delivery, which I did. Lastly, I gave her my credit card number and expiration date and she said that I should receive my package by the end of next week. I sure hoped that this was true, because as it was, I would then only have seven weeks to work with. Although in the meantime, on Monday, I would drop my carb intake to no more than twenty grams per day and I would start back walking on my treadmill. I would also do as many sit-ups as I could muster and lift a set of free weights every other day. That way, I wouldn’t be so out of shape by the time I started my new program and I could probably lose close to ten pounds in the process.

  I felt better already. I knew the road ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but this time I was determined to make it. This time, I was doing it for me and not for anyone else, and that would be a benefit in itself. I didn’t care what my mother or sister would have to s
ay and I wouldn’t let either of them discourage me—the way they had so many times before. They constantly complained about me not losing any weight, but whenever I tried, they always predicted that I was destined to give up. It was almost as if they enjoyed seeing me suffer. As if they wanted me to fail.

  But not this time. Not if I could help it. I was in this for the long haul, and I had faith in what I was doing.

  Yes, this time I would lose all the weight I needed to lose and I would keep it off forever. I would eat the two apple pies that I’d purchased a bit earlier, but I would pitch the other fries and burger in the trash. Tomorrow I would eat whatever I wanted to and do the same again on Sunday. But come Monday, everything would be different. My whole way of thinking would be changed and I would be a much better person because of it.

  I was finally ready to rumble.

  More than anything, I wanted to win.

  Chapter 9

  TAYLOR

  IT WAS SO GOOD to finally be home. The bleeding still hadn’t stopped, but at least I wasn’t flowing nearly as much as before. My doctor had called in my iron prescription, so maybe it was already helping me. Either that or I was feeling better because three days had passed and my period was halfway finished.

  “I can’t believe you went all the way to California and didn’t go to Santa Monica Beach,” Cameron said, setting down my garment bag.

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” was all I said. I wanted to tell him the real reason, but I had this crazy idea that my news might change things between us. Which was interesting, because how could I ever doubt his understanding? Not the man I loved, trusted, and wanted to marry. The man who swore he loved me back. “But you’re better now, though, right?” he said, smiling and pulling me into his arms.

  “I am. I’m still a little weak, but definitely better.”

  “Good,” he said, caressing my buttocks and kissing me.

  The strong passion between us made me quiver. We kissed wildly and forcefully and my body felt like exploding. Oh, how I wanted to make love to this man. How I wanted to feel him inside me. How I wanted to show him that I could be all he would ever need me to be.

  “I want you so badly,” he said.

  “I know, baby. I want you, too.” I sighed. “But I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s that time of the month for me.”

  “What?” He groaned.

  I could tell he was disappointed. “I’m sorry. It’ll be over in a couple of days, though.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just forgot.”

  “Is that why you were sick?”

  “Probably so. Sometimes I feel ill when I get my period. But it’s no big deal.”

  “Well, it kind of is a big deal, because I’ve spent the entire day thinking we were going to be together.”

  “And we still can be.”

  “But not intimately.”

  “Is that all you care about?” I said, wishing I hadn’t because I didn’t want to start a fight with him.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No, but you’re making it seem like we can’t have a nice evening together without sex.”

  “That’s not what I meant at all, but I guess I’m just a little disappointed. And I’m also pretty exhausted. I had a very stressful day at work, so what I should probably do is just head home and get some rest. And after flying all afternoon, you should probably do the same.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I just got back to town and you’re planning to leave already?”

  “All I’m saying is that we both need some rest so that we can get together early tomorrow.”

  “You know, Cameron, you do this all the time, but to keep peace between us, I never say anything.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, frowning.

  I hated this. Over the last couple of years, we’d had a few minor disagreements, but never any major blowups. And I preferred it that way. The thing was, I didn’t like confrontations. Of course, I didn’t mind having them in the courtroom, but not when it came to my personal associations. I avoided all arguments with family members, close friends, and men I dated, but Cameron was trying my patience. His lack of compassion and commitment to our relationship was really beginning to tire me.

  “Why are you so upset?” he asked when I didn’t answer his first question.

  “If you don’t know, then let’s just forget it.”

  “Women,” he said, grabbing his keys.

  Then he kissed me on the forehead. “I promise I’ll be over first thing in the morning, okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  “I can’t believe you think I don’t want to be with you,” he said, laughing.

  But I didn’t see anything funny. There was nothing humorous about any man making lame excuses the way Cameron was doing now. I loved him and I wanted to marry him, but I would never be his fool. I would never be any man’s fool because I didn’t have to.

  “See you later,” I said nonchalantly.

  He walked toward the front door. “You know I love you, right?”

  I smiled, but not genuinely.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, and then left.

  I locked the door and then picked up the mail that was lying on the glass and wrought-iron sofa table. I had brought it inside when Cameron and I had first gotten home but I hadn’t taken time to look through it. Most of my bills came toward the middle of the month, so mostly what I saw were magazines and junk mail. There was also a package from Victoria’s Secret, though probably the clothes I’d purchased for Brianna. It wasn’t her birthday or anything like that, but when she’d spent the night with me a couple of weeks ago, she’d been looking through the VS catalog and had become ecstatic over some of their new apparel. She’d fallen in love with this black knit dress and a cute worn-looking denim pants outfit. Actually, I was loving the jeans outfit myself and was thinking about ordering another one.

  Miss Brianna was my heart. For the most part, Charisse was like a sister to me, so I loved Brianna like a niece. I took her lots of places, even out of town on occasion, and there were months when I bought her things she hadn’t even asked for. Although there were times when I knew Charisse didn’t like it. I wasn’t sure if maybe she was a little jealous of the relationship that Brianna and I shared or if it was that she and Brianna didn’t get along with each other. But either way, I didn’t understand because Brianna was a good girl. She was beautiful and smart and to me she was a mother’s dream. But Charisse just didn’t feel that way. And I had even asked her in a roundabout way why they weren’t that close, but Charisse had suggested we talk about something else. She’d told me to mind my own business without saying the actual words, and that’s what I had done.

  But still it worried me because sometimes Brianna seemed awfully sad and I didn’t know what to do about it. Over the years, I had tried to question her, too, asking her what was wrong, but she always told me it was nothing. So, finally, I’d decided to stop the inquiries and just be there for her whenever she needed me.

  I pulled my luggage across the black marble flooring, down the hall, and into my master suite. This was one of those days when I was glad Mom had talked me into purchasing a house with at least one first-floor bedroom, because I couldn’t imagine dragging this bag of clothing up a tall flight of stairs. I remembered not caring one way or the other whether I had first-floor accommodations or not, but Mom had insisted that it would definitely come in handy. That is, if I ever broke a leg, had major surgery, or lived to be ninety. As always, she was cautious about possibilities like that.

  I opened my bag and separated my clothing into three piles. Dry cleaning, regular laundry, and those that I hadn’t gotten a chance to wear. I pulled out my shoes and toiletries, placed them where they belonged, and took off the Ralph Lauren suit I was wearing. It was my navy blue one and hands down one of my favorites. Next, I removed the pure white pointed-collar sh
irt along with my panty hose, and as Cameron had so conveniently suggested, I decided that lying down might be a good idea. But before I did, I went into the bathroom, washed up for the evening, and slipped on a cotton lounging two-piece. I felt a little on the hungry side, though, so I went into the kitchen and fixed myself a cold-cut sandwich. This, however, was teeing me off because I’d been sure that Cameron and I would order in. I’d been sure that we would do the same as we did every Friday night, but so much for assumptions.

  I bit into the smoked turkey with mayonnaise, drank some diet Mountain Dew, and realized Charisse had been right about it not having an aftertaste. I couldn’t believe how good it was and I was already feeling that wonderful caffeine sensation. Although I wasn’t sure that this was the best thing to have just before bedtime. Then again, I did need a pick-me-up.

  When I finished, I went back into the bedroom, made myself comfortable, grabbed the phone, and dialed Whitney.

  “Hey, T,” she said. “I’m glad you made it back safely.”

  “Yep. Got in about an hour ago. What’s up with you?”

  “Well, actually I just ordered this great weight loss program. I was watching the infomercial and suddenly I had this huge revelation. And you know how I get when that happens.”

  I smiled because Whitney was always trying a new gimmick. Especially those that promised to make you thin.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Yeah, and it’ll only take six weeks. Maybe not to lose everything, but I really think I can shed fifty by then.”

  “Well, you know I’m behind you regardless.”

  “Thanks, girl. Because I know you have to get tired of hearing me talk about my weight all the time and how I’m trying to lose it.”

  “Hey, we all have something and we all need someone to talk to about it. It’s no different than me talking about my medical situation, my work, Cameron, and everything else I go through.”

  “I know, but I always start these diets and then I quit and move on to another.”