Diary of a Mad Fat Girl

by Stephanie McAfee

“Now, you wanna talk about getting our cover blown?” I say. “We’d get arrested for disturbing the peace! You know he barks his fool head off every time the wind blows!”

  “Right, okay. No Buster Loo. Let’s go then.” She crams the camera down in her bag.

  “Wait! Let’s get that flash turned off.”

  “I did that already.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask and she nods her head and doesn’t look sure at all.

  “C’mon let’s go!” she says and hops out of the car like a rabbit on Red Bull.

  We maneuver though the landscaping at the edge of the parking lot, climb into and out of a deep gully, then walk along the short concrete fencing that outlines the more affluent neighborhoods on the west side of town.

  Something moves in the darkness ahead of us and I don’t know if it’s a possum or the devil coming to get us and I get scared. I yelp like a dog and grab a tree trunk to hold on to while I scan the area for a varmint or a pitch fork. Lilly laughs so hard I’m afraid she’s going to piss her pants. Then a bat swoops down, she screams like a banshee and we both hit the grass and let the chiggers have their way with us for a few minutes.

  “We are going to jail!” Lilly whispers.

  “No,” I assure her, “we are not going to jail because we are way too slick for that.”

  “Yeah, we look slick.” she whispers, “slick as the working side of duct tape.”

  “I was talking about the dew,” I whisper back.

  We get up, shake off like wet dogs, and make our way down to the house where Richard Stacks’ Lexus is still parked in the drive. The backyard of the four story estate is completely dark. I hop the short stone fence and land in some prickly holly bushes and Lilly sniggers as I whisper-cuss like a sailor.

  She hops the fence a few feet down and we tip toe across the pristine lawn onto a sprawling concrete patio. I ease up to the French doors while she creeps up to a large window.

  “There’s a man and a woman on the sofa, but all I can see is the back of their heads,” I whisper.

  “I can see the woman’s profile,” she whispers back, “but I just barely see the dude.”

  “You think it’s him?” I ask.

  “Don’t know,” she answers, shaking her head, “but it’d just about have to be wouldn’t it?”

  I decide to change positions and step back into a large wrought iron pottery shelf with about six hundred flower pots on it. I turn around to grab it and think I’ve got it steadied when I see one little pot teetering on the top shelf. I watch in terrified silence as the pot falls, flowers first, straight down onto Lilly’s head. She squeals like a pig and stumbles back into a patio chair and I watch in horror as the pot bounces off her head, onto the table, and down to the concrete patio where it shatters into sixty million pieces. Lilly jumps up, looks inside the house and, in a rush of movement, pulls out the camera, steps up to the window, and flash!

  Yet again, I am blind, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to get the hell out of there. In my sightless haste, I stumble over a yard gnome and fall face first into a bed of monkey grass.

  “Get your ass up and let’s go!” Lilly scream-whispers. “Here they come!”

  I jump up and run through the yard like a rat on acid, hurl myself over the fence, and roll like Rambo down into the ditch.

  I look around and Lilly is nowhere to be seen.

  I hear a woman screaming for someone to call the police because there are burglars everywhere and in fifteen seconds flat, every back yard on the block is saturated with light and people are buzzing around like bees trying to figure out what all the fuss is about.

  A spotlight sweeps the air a few feet above my head and I hear sirens and dogs barking and I know I have to get back to my car. Fast. I strain my eyes against the darkness in the ditch and don’t see Lilly anywhere, so I hunker down and scurry away like a lizard on crack.

  I stay low to the ground as I crawl out of the gully and make my way back to the apartment complex. I am peeking around the brick dumpster box trying to make sure the coast is clear when my cell phone buzzes in the back pocket of my shorts. I scream like a toddler at the dentist and take off in a dead sprint toward my car. I drop my keys three times and my cell phone once before I finally get in, and when I do, I spin out of there like Ricky Bobby when he had that cougar in his car.

  19

  I don’t recognize the number of the missed call, so I dial it back and, lo and behold, it’s Sheriff J.J. Jackson.

  “Ace,” he barks, “where are you?”

  “Uh, in my car,” I answer in a small voice.

  “Would you happen to be close to the west side Wal-Mart?”

  “Why, yes, as a matter of fact-”

  “Get over here and get Lilly before I change my mind and take both of y’all to jail!” he yells.

  “Lilly,” I say, trying to be coy, “where’d you find her?”

  “In the damned field between Wal-Mart and Mrs. Dana Dannan’s house where some burglars made a mess of the porch and since Tate is out of the country, Dana was quite alarmed by the intrusion. Now get over here right now!”

  “On my way,” I peep like a baby chicken.

  “Behind Dollar General!” he yells and hangs up on me.

  I’m nervous as a tick on a bald dog as I pull up behind Dollar General, but much to my relief, the Sheriff is gone. Lilly is sitting on the curb covered from head to toe in dirt. She gets up and walks around to the passenger side of the car and taps on the window.

  “Can I get in or do you want me to walk home because I’m so ridiculously filthy?” she asks with a dejected look.

  “Nah, that’s what leather seats are for,” I say and motion for her to get in.

  “Shit,” she says, closing the car door, “I haven’t ran that fast since,” she pauses for a second, “hell, ever.”

  “How did you get so dirty?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “Did you fall down?”

  “How did you get so dirty?” she mocks. “Well this,” she points to the black streaks in her yellow hair, “is potting soil, my friend, from where you hit me in the head with a damned flower pot.”

  “Accident,” I say quickly.

  “And this,” she waves her arm across her body, “is from where I fell down in an irrigation ditch trying to get away from the scene of the crime.”

  She looks at me and I look at the road and she reaches over and plucks a cluster of twigs out of my hair. I can feel her looking at me so I look back at her and have to hold my breath to keep from laughing. She raises her eyebrows and eyeballs my equally dirty clothes and we both bust out laughing like the two dirt bags that we are.

  “But all is not lost, my friend,” she says triumphantly and pulls the camera out of her bag, “because this picture is worth more than a thousand words.”

  She pushes a button and the camera comes to life and I cannot believe what I see on the tiny little screen.

  20

  I pass off another Monday through Thursday at school having lunch with Coach Hatter and Coach Wills, dodging nosy questions about Chloe and Lilly, and getting my ass chewed out at least twice a day by that crotch creature Catherine Hilliard.

  I take off work Friday because I need more of a break than a two day weekend can provide.

  I don’t want to stay home all day, but I don’t feel like getting ready or going anywhere. I drag myself to the kitchen, make a pot of super stout coffee, and join Buster Loo in the backyard. I’m not in the mood to be sociable, so I decide to spend the morning in fat girl isolation at the gym.

  I forgo the walk of shame past the Bratz pack on the Boeing 747 treadmills and head over to the left side of the gym where I get on an elliptical machine. After answering fifty questions on the nosy ass monitor, I see 30:00 minutes pop up on the timer and wonder which one of my answers indicated that I wanted to spend that much time on this thing.

  I’m huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf when my right foot slips, the left pedal goes crazy, and next thing
I know, I’m sitting astraddle of the big round plastic wheel cover with a raging pain in my cooter.

  The only time my cooter has ever hurt this bad was back when I was a kid riding my cousin’s bike on a gravel road and hit a rock that caused me to land cooter-first on that metal bar that girl bikes don’t have. I thought for sure I would die from the pain that day, but I somehow managed to pull through.

  At least nobody was around when that happened. Everyone in the gym is staring at me now and I see that fellow with no hair on his arms heading my way. I’d like to move, maybe get down on my belly and crawl away like a snake, but I’m paralyzed by the pain in my nether region. I assure the muscle bound slickster that I’m not injured and get the feeling that he’s more concerned about a lawsuit than my well being, but at least he’s considerate enough to offer me an ice pack.

  An ice pack for my aching cooter.

  I politely decline.

  After several minutes, I limp back to the locker room to get my bag so I can leave with what dignity I have left. Which is none. I stop by the Red Rooster Drive-In on the way home to get some breakfast and end up ordering fried pickles and a bacon cheeseburger because I think I’ve earned a little comfort food.

  Two and a half hours later, I’m sitting on the couch watching a Biggest Loser rerun with a pack of lima beans between my legs when my doorbell rings.

  “It’s unlocked!” I yell. “Come on in!”

  I turn around expecting to see Lilly because she’s supposed to be coming over to discuss our stalking plans for the weekend, but it’s not her.

  It’s Mason McKenzie.

  As in, Mason McKenzie, the love of my life that I haven’t seen or spoken to in three years.

  I have on an AC/DC shirt that’s a decade old and cut off sweat pants with holes in the butt. My hair looks like a pack of rats just moved out and I have a bag of frozen beans between my thighs. To make matters worse, Buster Loo is having an all-out balls-to-the-wall little doggie melt down.

  I cram the lima beans in between the couch cushions and flip around so the holes in my shorts are looking the other way.

  “Hey there, Buster Loo!” Mason McKenzie says affectionately. “How you doin’ little buddy?”

  Buster Loo is speed licking him all over his face and wagging his tail so fast I’m afraid he’s going to sling it off his little chiweenie ass.

  I blink a few times and rub my eyes, but apparently I’m not hallucinating. Mason McKenzie is standing in my kitchen wearing a sky blue polo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and brown flip flops. His skin is nicely tanned and it appears his trips to the gym are a bit more frequent and productive than mine.

  He’s looking at me now, smiling like we’re old friends.

  “Hey, Ace,” he says, “how’ve you been?”

  Well, my nerves are shot, my cooter’s frozen, and I’m on the verge of cardiac arrest because I’m still crazy in love with you.

  “Great, Mason.” I put on a warm smile. “You?”

  “I’m good,” he says and walks to the fridge.

  “You hungry?” I ask as he digs through my refrigerator like he buys the groceries.

  “Little bit.” He turns around with a soda and a Pier 57 pizza box. “Oh wow, this is great!”

  If I were ten years younger, I’d tell him to get his damned hands off my leftovers and get the hell out of my house. I’m not sure if I’ve matured or just gotten lazy or what, but I just sit and stare.

  “Can I join you?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I wave to the love seat. “Have a seat.” And he does.

  “So what have you been up to, Ace Jones?” he asks with a dazzling smile.

  “Not much, Mason McKenzie.” I still can’t believe he is sitting in my living room drinking one of my sodas and eating my leftover pizza. “You come up to see your folks?”

  “Nope,” he says and takes a bite of pizza.

  “So?”

  “So I heard what happened to Chloe and I heard what happened to Lilly and I heard you’ve been arrested once,” he raises his eyebrows at me, “almost twice, so since I’m the best lawyer I know, I decided I’d better come up for a few days.”

  “And do what?” I say with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm.

  “Get Lilly her job back, for one,” he says decisively. “Two, help Chloe get a divorce if she that’s what she wants. And three,” he looks me right in the eye, “talk you into marrying me.”

  “Well,” I start, trying not to stutter, “well, that’s certainly an ambitious plan.” I try to breathe. “How long are you up for?”

  “As long as it takes, baby,” he smiles at me and I almost faint, “as long as it takes.”

  “What about the Law Office of J. Mason McKenzie?” I focus hard on appearing nonchalant.

  “Got a young fellow that’s been with me a while and I just made him partner. He’s the real deal,” he says between bites, “so he’s handling the foot work and I’m right here if he needs me.” He holds up a cellular gadget that I haven’t even seen on commercials yet.

  “How long you been in town?” I ask and immediately feel like a dumbass.

  “Are you trying to pick me up?” he laughs. “Was that a pick up line?”

  “No,” I say and start laughing despite myself.

  “Actually, I just got here, Ace, and was on my way to Ethan’s when I saw your car was here and just-I don’t know,” he pauses, “I just wanted to see you.” He looks down at my crotch. “Have you peed in your pants? Are you that happy to see me?”

  I bust out laughing and tell him about the incident at the gym and he laughs till he almost chokes and, for one brief second, I allow the happiness to wash over me because, like Calgon, Mason McKenzie takes me away.

  The doorbell rings again and I don’t have time to say “It‘s open” before Lilly comes running in screaming, “Mason! Oh my goodness! Mason McKenzie, oh my God!”

  He grabs her and hugs her and they are just so happy to see each other and Lilly has a light bulb moment and gets quiet.

  “What are you,” she points at Mason, “doing here?” She points at me.

  “Just visiting,” he says, smiling at me and I’m dying for one of those big hugs he just lavished on Lilly.

  She nods her head and narrows her eyes at me.

  “He’s been here five minutes, Lilly, calm down,” I say and she looks down at my shorts.

  “Have you peed yourself?”

  “No, just shut up and let’s go outside on the porch.” I wave toward the kitchen. “Lilly, grab whatever you want to drink and come on.” I reach down to pick up Buster Loo, but he scampers straight to Mason, who promptly scoops him up and I swear the dog is smiling from ear to floppy ear.

  21

  Lust is the great thief of common sense, therefore I must keep that demon in restraints. That is, however, easier said than done when a charismatic, six foot tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sun-tanned, well-toned sex-machine-that-I-want-to-make babies-with is literally within my reach.

  “You got the camera?” Mason asks as we settle into the overstuffed loungers on my patio. “I can’t wait to see that picture.”

  “How do you know about the picture?” I ask, eyeballing Lilly, who takes a sudden and intense interest in my herb garden.

  “Baby,” he says, smiling like we’re already sleeping together again, “I know everything. I thought you knew.”

  “I know you’re corny as hell, I know that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Lilly, did you get a print made?”

  “Oh boy, did I?!” Lilly exclaims and pulls a large padded envelope out of her shiny ruffled purse that’s twice the size of Texas. She plops it down on the table and slowly withdraws a glossy 8 x 10 that we all gawk at in silence.

  The photograph offers a full frontal view of Mrs. Dana Dannan, who is sporting an ensemble made of black leather and red lace with gold chains framing her bare boobs. Much to our collective delight, the picture also offers a side view of Richard Stacks the Fourth, who is butt naked and
appears to be looking at the ceiling. His well groomed and short, but freakishly fat penis is staring in the same direction.

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper, “I couldn’t see on the camera screen that he was wearing a studded dog collar.”

  “Look at his dick!” Mason practically shouts. “It looks like a sea creature out of its shell!”

  “Oh my goodness,” Lilly says somberly, “poor Chloe. Can you imagine having that thing coming at you for eleven years?”

  “Oh, I am going to be sick!” Mason says and pretends to gag. “Put it away, Lilly.”

  “This is your copy,” Lilly says cheerfully and slides the picture across the table. “I printed several.”

  “You should’ve left one in the photo kiosk,” I say. “That would’ve been hilarious.”

  “Or made 200 copies and stuck ‘em on the windshield of every car in the parking lot.” Mason adds with an obnoxious snort then looks down at his watch. “Well, ladies,” he says, getting up and stretching, “I hate to break up the party, but I gotta run. I’ll see you both at Ethan’s tonight?”

  “Sure!” Lilly says quickly.

  She stands up and he gives her another big hug and I want to jump up and pounce on him like a fat kid on some cake.

  But I don’t.

  I sit in my chair like a statue. A really sad statue sentenced by her creator to pine for a lover all throughout eternity.

  “Ace,” he says, looking me in the eye, “I meant what I said earlier.”

  “What’d you say earlier?” Lilly pipes and looks at me. “What’d he say earlier?”

  “Nothing important,” I say. “Bye, Mason.”

  “See you ladies tonight,” he calls over his shoulder, “let’s try not to get arrested in between now and then.”

  “What did he say earlier?” Lilly asks again.

  “He said you were going to tell us all about your top secret homo-weirdo love triangle and what Drake Driskall was doing at your house last week sitting on your sofa without a shirt on,” I stare at her. “That’s what he said earlier.”

  “Oh,” she says, “Well, uh, okay, then. So, uh, you wanna run to China Kitchen before the lunch buffet ends?”