by Ilana Fox
Joshua had hung a blown-up image of that particular cover in his office, something that seemed an obvious thing for a publisher to do at the time, but was loaded with meaning in retrospect. Jo grinned to herself as she imagined using it as evidence of Joshua’s infidelity, but as she imagined what Harold Garnet’s reaction would be, her smile faded. The old man would refuse to listen to her despite the evidence she produced – he’d want to think his company was safe in his son’s hands, that Joshua was solid, dependable, and had given up chasing jailbait. Harold Garnet would never believe her over his son in a million years.
‘Jo, Jo, over here!’ Amelia’s voice rang out in the air-conditioned airport lounge, and as soon as Jo spotted her she suddenly felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Amelia was toned, brown and gorgeous, with natural blonde highlights streaking hair that had grown so long it skirted the top of her bottom and completely covered her perky breasts. She was wearing tiny denim cut-off shorts and a faded grey vest with no bra. She looked great. In comparison to her friend Jo felt fat, lumpy and pale, but she pushed her distaste about her body to the back of her mind as Amelia ran towards her with a huge smile.
‘I thought you were never going to appear! We’ve been waiting here for absolutely ages, and I was beginning to wonder if I got the time wrong …’
As Amelia made small talk she quickly cast her eyes over Jo and tried not to let her surprise show. Jo had regained a lot of her weight and looked drawn – she was a shadow of the sparkling girl she’d seen a year ago, and she looked like she’d been defeated by life. She was wearing saggy-looking jogging bottoms and a tired T-shirt, and Amelia wondered what had happened to the girl who had been the secret star of Gloss, the girl who had revelled in being in a glamorous, picture-perfect world. As Jo gave her a warm smile, Amelia resolved to make her shine again. With the Longboat Key sunshine and lack of nightlife, fast pace or anything to do, it wouldn’t be that hard – after all, it had done the trick for her, she thought, as images of Charlie rushed through her head without warning. Amelia felt a slight touch on her elbow, and she turned round, banishing her ex-boyfriend from her mind. She grinned at the man standing next to her.
‘Jo, this is Jackson,’ Amelia said proudly, as the man shook Jo’s hand firmly and gave her a flash of exquisite white teeth. He looked like a movie star. ‘He’s my tennis coach this summer,’ Amelia giggled, and as Jackson turned his back to the girls to pick up Jo’s scruffy psychedelic Top Shop cases, Jo flashed her an inquisitive look. Amelia merely beamed back. ‘Well, I say he’s my tennis coach but he’s not actually teaching me any tennis. He’s coaching this summer at that tennis academy everyone is raving about. Apparently Agassi and Sampras have both played there,’ Amelia said proudly, waiting for Jo’s impressed reaction. Jo gave her an exhausted, weak smile.
‘How was the flight?’ Jackson asked Jo as he carried her beat-up luggage to the shiny black SUV parked outside. The heat of the late-afternoon Tampa sun hit Jo at full force and she squinted in the sunshine, breathing in the faint scent of hibiscus and smouldering tarmac. Everything and everyone out here already seemed big, larger than life. Middle-aged women heavier than Jo wandered about the car park fanning themselves, and the cars all seemed to be double the size of the ones in England. Palm trees swayed slightly even in the languid breeze, and boys walked around with their jeans around their knees, hip-hop style. They clutched mobile phones to their ears and gesticulated wildly as they yelled to their friends. They looked all-American, in an Eminem way, and Jo felt as though she’d been airlifted in straight from EastEnders.
‘It was great,’ Jo said nonchalantly, as they began to drive to Longboat Key, the thin ribbon of land where Amelia was staying for the summer. As Jackson and Amelia pointed out tiny wooden houses and areas of deprivation Jo blinked, wondering why these places weren’t mentioned in the guidebooks to Florida. Were these really part of the American Dream? They drove past orange trees ripe with fruit, vast shopping malls that Amelia promised they would visit, and just as Jo started to nod off Jackson showed her the impressive white Sunshine Skyway Bridge. As they got closer to Longboat Key, Jo noticed the local beaches were full of skinny teenage girls playing volleyball. They all looked preppy and perky, and Jo grimaced.
‘This is home,’ Amelia said happily, as the car pulled up outside a small, low block of flats. ‘It’s actually Granny’s holiday condo, but since she only comes out in the winter the folks and I use it in the summer. This year Mummy and Daddy are on safari so I’m here all by myself “practising my tennis”.’ Amelia shot Jackson a coy, flirtatious look, and Jo looked at the two of them. There was definite chemistry, and Amelia was dressed in what everyone at school had called ‘slutty casual’. The idea was that you didn’t need to use much imagination to visualise her naked.
‘Jackson’s got a dinner thing at one of the golf clubs, so it’s just you and me tonight.’ Amelia looked at Jo slyly. ‘I thought we could open a bottle of wine and catch up. I’ve not told you anything about my split with Charlie, and rumour has it you bumped into William not so long ago.’ Amelia had a devilish look in her eye but Jo ignored her, taking in the view as they went in. Outside were spiky bits of dark green grass that led down to a small quay, and there was a lone heron strutting about looking like it didn’t have a care in the world. Jo thought back to the pigeons that sat on the stairwell outside her flat and felt a million miles away from home. It felt good.
‘So what did happen with Charlie?’ Jo said, tearing her eyes away from the quay and focusing on Amelia, who’d poured herself a glass of wine and downed it in one.
‘As you know I moved back home after I got my degree and didn’t bother to get a job. It was Mummy’s idea – she was convinced Charlie was about to propose and she told me that men like him didn’t like “career women”. But Charlie never seemed to be around. I was thinking about going travelling but Charlie wouldn’t come with me – so I just, you know, watched daytime TV and did lots of shopping. One night I decided to drop in at Gigolo as a surprise, and went into a private room to find Charlie fucking two fifteen-year-old bottle-blondes next to a mountain of coke. It was kind of like a back-to-front roasting situation. A Charlie sandwich.’ Amelia’s eyes went black as Jo’s hands quickly covered her mouth in shock – even though she knew Charlie was a bastard, the mental image of Amelia walking in on him to find that was terrible.
‘He tried getting out of it, of course, made some lame excuse about how he loves me and was only fulfilling a basic need, but there’s nothing you can really say when you get caught out, is there? Especially if you’ve got your cock in one girl and another’s tits in your mouth.’ Amelia sighed. ‘It was so common, really. And the galling thing was they weren’t even pretty. They looked like girls who wouldn’t even be able to be extras on Hollyoaks – you know the type – tarty, aspirational footballers’ wives without the looks for it. I had to get myself tested for STDs and everything. It was so shameful. All I wanted to do was hide away – to stay in my bed until the pain stopped. I was gutted.’ Amelia gave a little laugh and Jo could tell she was trying to hold back the tears. ‘But Mummy made me realise that he wasn’t worth it, and told me that if Charlie wasn’t going to marry me I had to get on with my life. In the end Daddy thought it would be a good idea if I came out here for some rest and relaxation, and I’ve certainly been getting in the relaxation bit with Jackson. He’s the perfect tonic for getting over Charlie, and it’s definitely sorted my head out.’
Amelia poured some more wine and turned to Jo. ‘And here you are, too. So what’s the story?’
Jo took a long gulp from her glass of wine before filling Amelia in on what had happened with Joshua Garnet. As Jo told her how she had accidentally sent Madeline Turner knickers meant for Marina Stone, Amelia’s mouth dropped open.
‘But that’s amazing. You were working for the man screwing London’s coolest model since Kate Moss!’ Amelia looked incredulous. ‘Do you know how incredible that is? How close to the action you
have been? It sounds like something out of a film … Did you ever meet her?’
Jo shrugged. ‘She phoned the office a couple of times and she was always a bit of a bitch, to be honest. I got the impression she loves herself.’
‘If I looked like Marina Stone I’d love myself too,’ Amelia said, looking at the tiny folds of skin on her stomach. Jo laughed at Amelia’s frown. She was stunning and she knew it.
‘If I looked like you I’d love myself,’ Jo said, examining her pale white skin mournfully. ‘Because I’ve been so busy I’ve not been looking after myself and almost all of my weight has come back, and I hate it, I really fucking hate it. I hate this flab, I hate my ruined career, and to be honest I’m starting to hate myself. I’m not surprised William didn’t whisk me off my feet when he bumped into me in London. I look awful.’ Jo normally didn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity but just this once she thought she deserved it. She hadn’t the energy to be strong. Not tonight, not with her jet lag and alcohol-muddled brain.
Amelia poured Jo another glass of wine. ‘Your hair isn’t brilliant, I’ll give you that,’ she said, casting her eyes over Jo’s hair, which hadn’t been cut in months. ‘But you lost all that weight before, and I’m sure it will be easier to do it again.’ She fixed her usual, positive smile on her face and tried to make Jo see there was light at the end of the tunnel. ‘All the magazines say it’s easier to lose weight the second time around.’
Jo laughed. ‘Ames, the journalists who write that crap make it all up. I can guarantee that whenever a journalist writes an article about losing weight she has never had to herself. They’re all size eight – which is quite handy because that way they can fit into the fashion samples that are sent to the office,’ she said, thinking of Araminta, Helena and Lucy back at Gloss with jealous irritation. ‘But I do want to get back to how I was before. I can’t bear feeling so rubbish about myself.’
‘Then come and work out with me. Come roller-blading on the cycle paths, play tennis at the academy, borrow my bicycle and run on the beach. You’ll lose the weight in no time, I’m sure of it.’
Jo eyed her stomach and felt the raw band of skin where the waistband of her jogging bottoms was digging in. She knew her love handles were showing through her T-shirt, and she felt several folds of flab underneath her bra. Very soon she’d need to get some underwiring to hold them up, she thought, idly. Jo imagined herself running on the beach and her heart sank. She was exhausted – mentally and physically – from working on her career in London, and the thought of getting up early and working out while she was on holiday filled her with dread. But what did she have to lose by trying? At the very least she’d get a tan from spending so much time outside, and everyone knew that tans were slimming.
Jo sighed and couldn’t bear to let Amelia down. ‘OK, then. But give me a few days to relax, first – there’s no way I’m going to try roller-blading while I have jet lag.’
Amelia hid her self-satisfied smile in her glass of wine.
Jo twisted in front of the full-length mirrored wardrobe in her bedroom and glared at herself. The expensive one-piece swimming costume she’d picked up at the Surf Shack did absolutely nothing for her, but then again, she thought, what skimpy piece of clothing would? Her stomach bulged through the thin black fabric, and the straps of the costume dug into the spongy flesh on top of her shoulders. Jo tried not to look at her ass, but she knew it was impossible to miss the doughy, dimpled mass of fat on top of her large thighs, or her flabby upper arms. Jo grabbed a towel from the pile on her dresser and wrapped it around her body before padding down to the pool. She’d been in Florida for three weeks and had her daily routine completely mapped out, with everything she did a deliberate attempt to either lose weight or relax.
Every morning Jo woke up and sat outside by herself, watching the sun slowly appear over the horizon, and breathing in the warm air that swept in from the Gulf of Mexico. After she’d waved to Harry and Sylvia, the silver-haired couple who lived in a glorious corner condo on the floor above, Jo would make her way down to the communal swimming pool. She swam forty small lengths, thinking of William the whole time, before letting the morning sun dry her lightly tanned skin. Even though her arms ached from breaststroke and her legs were like lead, she felt refreshed. Invigorated.
When Jo was dry she’d eat breakfast with Amelia, taking small mouthfuls of Florida oranges and grapefruits while Amelia feasted on crispy bacon and pancakes. Without fail Jo would eye Amelia’s plate hungrily, and even though Amelia told her that a few rashers of bacon wouldn’t hurt, Jo was determined to stick to a fat-free diet. It was severe, but the memory of Joshua’s taunts and Debbie’s catty comments spurred her on. Jo was going to do everything in her power to get down to a size ten – even if she had no control over her career she had control over what she ate, and how she worked out.
After breakfast Jo would jump on Amelia’s second-hand bicycle to go to the supermarket. Publix was like any other American store – the aisles were full of brightly packaged, luscious junk food. Enormous bags of crisps sat alongside the largest variety of dips Jo had ever seen, and there were rows and rows of cake mixes, chocolate bars, cookie dough, frozen pizzas and types of pasta. The first time Jo had seen a bag of honey-and-mustard-flavoured sourdough pieces her mouth had actually watered, and to make it worse the smell of delicious store-cooked fried chicken made her stomach rumble loudly. Jo normally spent about twenty minutes every day examining the food, telling herself that the vibrant, shiny packets carried more calories than anyone should eat, but she still wanted it. At night she even dreamt about breaking into Publix and cramming the crisps into her mouth. It wasn’t something she was proud of.
To force herself to buy fruit, salad and fish, Jo reminded herself of what she looked like in her swimming costume, and how she’d never be able to stand William seeing her like that. Every time she pictured her body naked but for the Lycra costume her eyes would get hot with prickly tears, and she made herself walk to the vegetable aisle, loading up her basket with corn on the cob, squash and salad.
But despite her weight Jo knew she was nowhere near as large as the majority of obese Americans who ate all their meals at McDonald’s or Taco Bell. The first time an overweight stranger had said hello to her Jo had eyed her suspiciously, but Amelia set her straight, telling her that Longboat Key was a small community where everyone was friendly. Jo compared this to the bitchy magazine world and wondered why she had stuck at it for so long. For the first time since she could remember she was fully relaxed, and although she loathed herself she didn’t feel uncomfortable wearing shorts and vests, as ninety-five per cent of Longboat Key was made up of retired Americans who didn’t give a damn what Jo looked like. She wondered why she hadn’t allowed herself a holiday with her freelance money sooner.
In the afternoons Jo roller-bladed with Amelia, and they whizzed along the cycle paths up to St Armand’s Circle, where they looked in the windows of exclusive designer shops for older ladies and laughed at the fashion. Every day they allowed themselves to spend ten dollars on a piece of junk jewellery, and every day they fell about laughing outside the shops, reminding themselves of the sales assistants’ enthusiastic comments about how great their new pieces were. Like Amelia said, as she examined her fake Cartier ring over their daily lunch of Caesar salad (with no dressing for Jo), who needed taste when you had money, and who needed money when you could buy knock-off jewels for a couple of dollars?
When Jo and Amelia got back to the condo, Amelia would jump in the car and head down to the tennis academy to help Jackson teach twelve-year-olds, and Jo would cross the road to the beach. Longboat Key was made up of a single main road, with the Gulf of Mexico and the beach on one side, and the quay on the other, and Jo relished being so close to the water. For hours she would lay flat on her back savouring the empty stretch of white sand and the endless blue sky, and if she got bored she would flick through American editions of Vanity Fair, Glamour and Cosmopolitan. Jo idly wondered
if it was worth trying to get some work on an American magazine, but she pushed the thought out of her head. She was here to relax, have fun and lose weight. And she was managing to do all three, even though she couldn’t see how the weight was falling off her.
A few months later Amelia noticed that Jo’s clothes were all too big for her, but Jo didn’t want to know.
‘You’ve lost weight, you know,’ Amelia said absent-mindedly one evening as they ate a crab and lobster salad by the swimming pool. The stars twinkled over the Gulf of Mexico and Jo realised what a romantic setting it would have been if Amelia had been a man. Jo felt a sharp yearning for William, but she pushed it aside and tried to concentrate on enjoying what she was experiencing rather than wanting something else. Jo digested what Amelia had said and snorted with laughter. Clearly the moonlight had cast a flattering shadow over her body.
‘It’s sweet of you to say that, but I don’t think I have,’ Jo said sceptically, as Amelia ate a piece of walnut bread spread liberally with butter. ‘I’m enormous.’
Amelia looked at Jo incredulously. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? Your clothes are pretty much hanging off you.’ She leant over and pulled at Jo’s light cotton T-shirt. ‘What size is this?’ she demanded, and Jo felt a flash of anger ripple through her. Why couldn’t she relax and enjoy her supper? she thought. Why was Amelia bringing this up now?
‘It’s an eighteen,’ Jo said, sullenly, and glared at Amelia to make a point. ‘It’s from Evans.’
Amelia looked satisfied and ate some more salad, chewing on a piece of lobster thoughtfully. ‘I’d say it’s at least two sizes too big for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a size sixteen now. Or even a fourteen.’
Jo looked at Amelia distrustfully. ‘You can’t seriously be suggesting I’ve dropped two sizes since I’ve been out here. Is that even possible?’
