After a minute or so, he leans in and kisses Gloria’s hand then her forehead below the bandages she still wears. Then he turns toward the door.
I look away as quickly as I can, but I have a feeling he saw me watching, and sure enough when he comes over and opens the door for me he says, “Keeping an eye on me, were you?”
I feel myself blushing but admit, “Yeah. Sorry, I guess I was scared—”
His smile cuts me off, but I’d have cut myself off anyhow because of the shock of realizing exactly why I was scared. It’s the same reason that I’ve been at the hospital so much. I want to prevent something bad happening to my sibling when I’m supposed to be in charge. Like I didn’t do with Anthony.
“No problem at all,” he says gently, and I push away my sadness and guilt by reminding myself that I’m doing everything I can for Gloria now. My stomach grumbles, as if reassuring me I’m doing well, and so when Remy adds, “Just don’t strip-search me,” I’m feeling calm enough to be able to smile back and even reach out as if I’m going to rip his clothes off.
Not that that would be a hardship, I think, as he chuckles and turns to take his chair again and I notice how well those jeans fit over an ass that might be nearly as good as Dustin’s.
“I’ve been in a lot during the days,” he says while we settle into our seats, “when I understand you’re at work, but I was in the area so I stopped in now and I’m glad we got to meet. You can take care of her in the evenings and I’ll handle the days, at least the parts when your parents need a break, and between the four of us we’ll get our girl up and running around again in no time.”
He speaks so casually, as if there’s no way this won’t happen, that my throat tightens and all I can do is nod.
If I’d spoken, though, I’d have been cut off by a loud growl.
“Sorry about that.” He pats his flat belly. “Shut up in there.”
I giggle, and he smiles and says, “To be fair to it, I am a few hours past my usual dinner time. Hey, have you eaten? I’d love to get to know you better.”
I haven’t, but I also have only fifty calories left on the day and I can hardly go out for dinner on that. “I have,” I say, hoping it’s not obvious I’m lying. “But maybe another time?”
He glances at his watch. “The hospital cafeteria closes in ten minutes. Can you join me for a coffee and a snack?”
“A coffee would be great,” I say, knowing they have artificial sweeteners so I can avoid taking in any calories.
“We’ll be back soon,” he says to Gloria. “Check out the painting while we’re gone.”
“Bye, Gloria,” I say as I stuff my laptop into its bag.
In the elevator, Remy says, “This is a good start but I’d still like to have dinner with you. Tomorrow night, maybe?”
“Sunday’s better.” I’ll have 800 calories available to me, so I could save a good chunk for dinner.
“Sorry, I’m teaching an eight-hour art class that day and I’ll be exhausted after,” he says, sounding truly apologetic. “Lunch next week?”
I do some quick mental math. “Thursday?” Another 800-calorie day.
“Sounds great.”
I smile, for what feels like the first time in forever. “It does.”
Chapter Fourteen
“So thank you all,” Elle says, beaming around at us, “for joining me on this lovely Tuesday afternoon to celebrate the tenth birthday of Elle Warhol New York!”
We all clap, and she adds, “And please, eat. There’s plenty more food if we need it.”
Most of the platters on the tables haven’t been touched yet, so we hardly need even more food. Not a surprise, given the decor. Elle has had her advertisements for the last ten years blown up to larger-than-life-size, and even if I weren’t on a 400-calorie day it’d be tough to put any food into my mouth while standing beneath posters of models who are thinner than I could ever dream of being.
“Oh, and for anyone who wasn’t here earlier to hear this, if you start at the corner by the door and work your way around clockwise you’ll be looking at my designs in the order I released them. Or feel free to go the other way and go back in time.”
We all chuckle and she again thanks us then steps off the stage.
I join several others in walking slowly around the room to examine all the posters in chronological order, since I’m quite sure Elle is monitoring who does and does not care about her history.
It’s fun checking out the changes in her designs, the different skirt lengths and embellishments she chose over the years, and it’s especially fun having two different women say, “You look great, Valerie, have you lost weight?” I get to smile and reply, “Oh, just a little,” and watch them try not to grit their teeth with envy. Being on the other side for once, not being the biggest one at the office, feels good. No, great.
Once we reach the end of the display, the other onlookers wander off but I stand staring at the most recent poster, on which the model wears a black dress similar to my size-zero one except for its plunging neckline that reveals quite a bit of her small but perfect breasts.
Will I look like that, when I reach size zero? Sleek and smooth and sexy, not bulgy or lumpy anywhere? I hope so. I’m not doing this for my appearance, of course, but it’d be nice to look like—
“Photoshop,” a voice says in my ear.
I jump, and turn to see Andrea the receptionist holding a glass of champagne and swaying a little on her high heels. “Sorry?”
“Weren’t you checking out the model’s chest? I can’t stop looking at it. I mean, she’s super-skinny, but…” She rubs her hand over her own upper chest and collarbones, which stand out on her thin frame in a way I can’t help but envy given that mine are still fat-covered. “She hasn’t got these. Not sticking out, I mean, and she should being that thin. And to still have boobs like that? It’s gotta be serious Photoshop.”
I look back up at the poster. “Ah.” I don’t know what else to say. This is the kind of image I’ve had in my head of how I’ll look as a zero, and I don’t want it to be fake. But she’s right that someone so thin should have visible bones. Have they really been edited away?
Before I can find a response, a group of people off to the side burst out laughing and we both look to see Jaimi in the middle having obviously said something hilarious.
“Jaimi’s so funny,” Andrea says. “Don’t you just love working with her?”
“Of course,” I say, hoping against hope that soon Jaimi will be working for me.
Andrea starts to head off, then turns back and says, “I forgot why I came over! I’m heading out soon for coffee. Want anything?”
“I do. Large this time?” I’m chilly and with any luck a big cup of coffee will warm me up. “With three pumps of caramel sug—”
“Yeah, yeah, sugar-free syrup.”
I raise my eyebrows at her, not liking her snarky tone. She’s under me now on the hierarchy, and she’ll be even further under me after the promotion, and she should treat me with more respect.
She blushes. “Sorry.” Her champagne glass lands on a nearby table with a sharp click. “I’ve had too much of that, I think. Sorry, Valerie.”
I don’t want to let it go, but I also don’t want anyone to hear me telling her off at Elle’s party so I say as graciously as I can, “We’ll let the booze take the blame this time?”
She nods so fast she must be making herself dizzy. “I… yes, thank you. And I’ll have that coffee for you soon.”
“Thank you,” I say, and watch as she walks over to Jaimi’s group and joins in the laughter at whatever Jaimi says as she arrives.
Bunch of giggling fools.
I look over the food table, but I don’t see anything I can easily calculate the calories of so I go up to my office and nibble at a few almonds while I work and wait for my coffee.
Elle will no doubt notice my dedication just as others are noticing my thinner body, and both areas of focus will be rewarded soon.
&nbs
p; Chapter Fifteen
“That’s all you want?” Remy says, gesturing to my salad. “The burgers here are great.”
So I saw online, but I also saw that they’re easily a thousand calories and I can’t afford that. “Yep, this is it,” I say, poking at the lettuce with my fork and trying to look excited. “I was just in the mood for salad and chicken.”
“Gotcha.” He scoops up his burger and takes a huge bite, and such a wave of longing sweeps me that I can hardly breathe. I haven’t eaten anything like that since Gloria’s assault, and I miss real food.
Under the table, I snap my rubber band on my wrist, and it helps clear my mind and remind me why I’m doing this. I got another reminder earlier; when I was leaving work to come meet Remy Elle Warhol was in the front lobby and she swept her eyes over me and said, “Looking good, Valerie. Very E.W.” Knowing that my boss feels I better fit her esthetic makes me feel confident about getting the promotion, so I’ll stay with the diet.
For Gloria too, of course, although it doesn’t seem to be—
“Do you have any idea,” I say, not wanting to let that thought into my head, “why Gloria was at the ferry so late that night?”
He grimaces. “She’s a night owl, to be sure, but that seems late even for her. Not something you saw her do either?”
I shake my head. “We weren’t that close, honestly, that I’d know. But no.”
“I wondered if she was maybe out with a guy, to be there so late,” he says, dipping a fry in ketchup, “but the cops didn’t say anything about anyone else being on the security footage with her. Right?”
I agree, and from the calm way he eats his fry I realize that my thought they’d been dating had been incorrect.
Does that mean…
I force that thought out of my head. It doesn’t matter whether he’s single. I’m not trying to date right now. On my diet I don’t have the energy, and between trying to get promoted and researching Gloria’s life I don’t have the time.
Maybe Remy can help with that research. “Was there anything going on with Gloria, that you know of? Anything that might have been upsetting her, that maybe she was somehow trying to solve at the ferry?”
It sounds ridiculous to me as I say it, and he frowns. “What could she solve at the—”
I wave my hand. “I know, it’s stupid. I just wondered if maybe there was something. If you knew of anything.”
He considers, swirling another fry in the ketchup pool on his plate.
When he doesn’t speak, I feel like he’s sifting through what he could say, deciding what he will say, and I don’t like it. “If you know something that’ll help, even if it embarrasses her or whatever, you have to tell me. I need to know.”
“I—” He looks up. “Sorry. No, of course I will, just trying to get my thoughts straight. I do have to say she seemed a bit stressed lately. Not upset exactly, just… not relaxed. Uptight. Not her usual happy-go-lucky self.”
So, more like me, then.
“And I also know she wasn’t looking forward to celebrating your parents’ anniversary. But I don’t know why.”
Surprised she’d have talked to him about that, I suck down half my rum-and-diet-coke, which I chose because it was the lowest-calorie drink I could find on the menu, in one go, and the booze gives me the strength to say, “Because of Anthony, our brother. Because he died.”
“I… knew about that,” he says, looking sympathetic. “She didn’t talk about him, about how he died or anything, but I did know you two had a brother. But what’s the connection?”
“Our parents, well, Mom in particular, used to go on and on about how when they hit forty years married we needed to throw them a huge party. That’s the ruby anniversary, and Mom loves rubies, so we always knew we’d do it. She wanted to renew their wedding vows, with Anthony walking her down the aisle and Gloria and me as bridesmaids. But then…”
He waits, and I find his calm silence supportive. Though I don’t know him well, I don’t feel like anything I can say would shock him. Not that I’m going to say much. “Anthony… he died almost exactly twenty years ago. It was… an accident, but it was my fault and….” I rub my hand over my mouth. “So, well, you see the problem.”
“If it was an accident, it wasn’t your fault, but I get it. He can’t be at the anniversary, so it can’t be how it was supposed to be.” Remy reaches out and lays his hand over mine. “Poor you. Poor all of you.”
I look down at our hands, fighting for calm. I never talk about this; Andy’s the only one I told in recent memory, and that only because when he’d wanted to name his new kitten Anthony I’d been horrified. Now I remember why I never tell: because I can’t keep myself together when I do.
“So that would explain why she was stressed,” Remy says after a few moments. “With that coming up, who wouldn’t be? Are you sure your mom and dad still want the party?”
“I…” I raise my head and stare at him. “I’ve just always assumed they would. Or at least, that we had to do it. It was always in the plan. You know?
He takes a breath like he’s going to argue, and I don’t want that so I say, “Anyhow. Let’s move on. I found a few weird things in Gloria’s stuff. Can I ask you about them?”
He looks uncomfortable, probably because I cut off whatever protest he was going to make, but he says, “Go for it.”
I reach into my purse and pull out the picture and bag of buttons. As he examines them, I dig deep in a particular pocket until I find the plastic triangle of Swiss cheese. When I lay it on the table with a soft click, he looks up, then bursts out laughing.
“You know what this means?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, still chuckling. “I went to a performance of ‘The Mousetrap’ with her a couple years ago and they gave them out. Hers fell out of her pocket on the way home and she was whining about it, so as a joke I wrapped mine up and gave it to her for Christmas a week later. She gave it back to me for Valentine’s Day, then I gave it to her for Easter, and so on. It’s probably been back and forth twenty times now, and the last was when I gave it to her again this Easter.”
I’m smiling at the story, but my smile fades as his does, and I know we’re both wondering whether Gloria will ever be able to continue their joke.
“Okay,” I say quietly after a few moments. “Well, now I know. That can’t have anything to do with what happened to her.”
I pick it up, intending to return it to my purse, but he says, “Could… can I have it?”
Studying the cheese in my hand, I don’t speak. It’s his, but… but his request means he doesn’t expect to ever receive it from her again.
“No,” he says, his voice rough. “Actually, I take that back. She’ll give it to me herself, later. When she’s healthy again. That’s what I want.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and retuck the cheese carefully into its pocket in my purse. After a few sips of my drink I’m able to say, “And the rest? The buttons and the picture?”
He picks the photo up and stares at it, then shakes his head. “Never seen that guy before, I’m afraid. And as for the buttons, I have no clue. Are they all different or do some match?”
I hadn’t considered checking them that closely, but it’s a good idea so I pour them out on the table and we spend the rest of our lunch searching through the buttons and teasing each other when we can’t decide whether two are identical.
In the end, we’re left with the realization that they are in fact all different save for three bright blue ones that feel vaguely familiar to me though I don’t know why, and I’m left with the realization that if I did have the time and energy for a boyfriend this is the one I’d want.
Chapter Sixteen
“And I’ve gone out with him twice since then,” I tell Gloria about a week later, “and he’s super funny and cute and we have a great time talking and flirting and he hugged me goodbye last night. Do you think he might like me? I know I haven’t even known him for two weeks but I definitely
like him. Would like to kiss him. But that’s crazy, right?”
No response.
I look behind me to make sure nobody’s nearby then say quietly, “I’m going to try on the dress tomorrow. It’s a big day anyhow, since Elle’ll be announcing who goes on to the presentation, so I might as well do all the scary stuff on one day. I could be a zero now, you know, I really could. I’ve lost nineteen pounds so far. And my hips feel way smaller and today I put on a size six skirt and it fell right off. I can only wear twos and my smallest fours, and even those are loose. But if I’m not quite there yet, I won’t give up, I promise. No matter what people say.”
Reactions to my weight loss are either “Wow, you look amazing” or “You need to eat something”. Since the first comments are coming from my coworkers and from Elle Warhol, and the second from my size-twelve mom and other not-so-skinny people, I’m inclined to believe the first ones over the second.
Losing weight hasn’t done anything for Gloria yet, whose coma score is still the depressingly low 7, but I still have hope. I’m lucky too, because not eating has become far easier than I’d expected it to be. I hardly ever feel hungry now, only when I haven’t had enough water. The cotton-wool-head feeling is constant, but I’ve grown accustomed to it, and to feeling cold most of the time. I do have to be careful when I stand up, because if I move too quickly I get lightheaded, and running for a subway is out of the question because I simply don’t have the energy, but keeping myself under such strict control feels surprisingly good.
In fact, maybe I should tighten up a bit more. I’m so tantalizingly close to size zero, why not skip the 800-calorie day? I can’t sabotage myself by overeating. Today’s a 600 day and I’ve barely eaten 400 and I’m okay. Since I’m doing fine on the lower amounts, why eat more?
I update my calorie number reminders in my phone’s calendar, removing the 800-calorie days and reorganizing everything so the other days fall in the right order. My eye lands on last Saturday’s “Mara’s wedding” appointment as I do, and I find myself wondering how it went then I delete the appointment as sharply as one can do on a phone. I don’t care about it. She told me I couldn’t handle everything and she’s wrong because I can. I am. I’m even better than I thought. And as I set the phone down and turn back to Gloria two thoughts fill my mind at once: on the lower calories I can’t fail to reach size zero, and I wouldn’t have to if…
Holding Out for a Zero Page 9
