Once There Was a Fat Girl

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Yes. I know.” He paused, and said, as if to change the subject, “It sometimes seems as if a lot of women write books out of anger more than anything else. I guess they’ve always had to live with anger more than men.” He laughed self-consciously. “I guess you can tell I’ve spent a lot of time in psychiatrists’ offices. My father thought I was crazy because I didn’t want to be a concert pianist.

  “Sometimes I feel so filled with anger I can hardly stand it,” Larry went on. “I used to take it out on the piano. Now I guess I just have to live with it. Maybe it was better the other way.”

  “Not if you weren’t happy. Wasn’t it a lonely life, practicing all the time?”

  “Yes. Incredibly lonely. That was another thing I didn’t like about it.”

  “Do you still get lonely?” Martha ventured timidly.

  “Sometimes. Not too much. I have a lot of friends, more than I was allowed to have—or had time for— when I was younger. How about you?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’m completely alone, that there’s really no one I can trust or depend on.” Martha was speaking slowly, in a quiet, somber tone.

  “Sometimes,” she continued in a hoarse voice, “sometimes, I just wish I had somebody to lean on.” Her gaze was fixed on a piece of blue thread peeking out unobtrusively from Larry’s shirt. She could hear his quiet breathing.

  “You could lean on me,” came Larry’s soft reply.

  There was an awkward silence lasting only a few seconds, but it seemed to Martha like a painful eternity. A silence which demanded that she make a decision. She could hear the sounds of the street through the window, the rhythmic pounding of the rain, the shushing of passing cars, the hurried steps of the occasional passerby.

  A poetic feeling engulfed her. I can hear the night, she thought. I will collect special, fleeting moments throughout my life. This is the first such moment: magic and worth holding onto, to savor again and again.

  Martha knew that when she finally allowed her eyes to leave their safe focus on the blue thread, she would meet Larry’s hard gaze upon her.

  She looked into his warm brown eyes, and she could feel herself melting. He leaned toward her, and the exciting tension of his closeness electrified the air. The moment of anticipation became a reality.

  Martha and Larry kissed.

  Martha could think of only one thing. At first the thought drifted through her mind, as if she were dreaming, and then it jolted her like an electric shock. This isn’t Eddie I’m kissing.

  “Larry, stop. Please don’t.” Martha turned away. “I can’t. Larry, I’m already going out with someone.”

  Larry sighed, and touched her hair gently.

  “Then why are you here?”

  The deejay’s voice broke the silence, exclaiming over the virtues of a particular acne cream.

  “I should go. What time is it?”

  “It’s almost eight. Your coat’s in the bathroom. I guess it’s still wet.”

  “Oh. Is it still raining?” Martha asked distractedly.

  Larry nodded.

  She silently got her coat out of the bathroom, and switched off the radio.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home, I guess. I’m sorry, Larry. I really am.”

  She left the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind her. She heard the lock catch. Larry, she knew, was still standing by the window.

  She began her descent down the stairs, quickly at first, as though running away, then more and more slowly. She reached the entryway at the bottom.

  And then, with the front door before her, Martha stopped. She could hear her watch ticking away the seconds. She looked out at the rain, at the gray night, and her mind raced.

  She turned, and began the long climb back up the stairs. Her knock at the door was timid.

  “Hi,” Larry said sheepishly, leaning in the doorway. “Did you forget something? Your scarf?”

  “No, I have my scarf.”

  “Oh, is it raining too hard to go outside? You could wait in here.” He moved aside to let her in.

  She walked into the living room, and stared at the floor. “No. It’s not the rain.”

  Martha pushed the door closed. She leaned her head gently on Larry’s shoulder, and she felt his arms close around her.

  Chapter 7

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Thin, Incorporated. My name, come on, recite along with me, my name is Irma Gold and I have lost fifty-two pounds and kept them off for five years. Could you keep it down in the back, please?”

  Martha blushed as several people turned to see who the offenders were. Judy, seated in the front near the silverware cart, looked up, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  The ruckus in the back was caused by Martha and Eddie.

  As Martha had hurried across York Avenue toward New York Hospital that evening, she had noticed someone lurking near the entrance. At first she cast a casual glance toward the figure. Then she gasped, her heart pounding. All of a sudden, she felt weak.

  “Hi, Eddie. What brings you here?” she managed to ask calmly.

  “Don’t play innocent with me, Martha. It was hard enough tracking you down. I had to call your roommates and your mother on Long Island and that drip from work—what’s her name? Selma?”

  “Shirley.” Martha walked briskly through the hospital corridor, with Eddie following close behind.

  “Whatever. Anyway. Shirley finally told me where you were tonight.”

  Thanks, Shirl, Martha thought ruefully. But then, how could Shirley possibly know?

  “All right, Martha. So where the hell were you all weekend? You know, we were supposed to go to that company dinner Saturday night. Everyone from my office was there. The vice-presidents were there.”

  Martha abruptly stopped walking in front of the Admitting Desk. “Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry. I forgot. Really I did.”

  “Well, obviously. Unless you’ve suddenly developed an aversion to dinners. Which I doubt,” Eddie sneered.

  Martha’s glare was wasted on him.

  “So where were you, Martha? I tried calling you all weekend.”

  “Look, Eddie, I’m late for my meeting. We’ll have to wait until it’s over to talk.”

  Martha sailed into the hospital cafeteria, aware that Irma’s lecture was about to begin. Eddie could not very well pursue this argument in front of a room full of bored strangers who would perk up at any hint of human melodrama.

  Eddie retreated to a table in back of the room, his eyes glued to Martha, as if he were afraid to let her out of his sight again.

  This is going to be a difficult meeting, Martha thought as she stepped out of her shoes and onto the scale.

  “Two more pounds, Martha!” exclaimed Nancy, Irma’s weighing-in assistant. “Your virtue has been rewarded!”

  Martha smiled grimly, and sat down next to Eddie in the back of the room. Judy, she discovered, was sitting up front, oblivious to Martha’s arrival, absorbed in a new member who bore a slight resemblance to a teddy bear, Martha noticed, and the thought of young love cheered her for a few moments.

  “So, Martha? What was so important this weekend that you had to miss my dinner?” Eddie demanded. “Especially since I’ve been telling you about it for weeks.”

  “I know, but you hadn’t mentioned it for ages. I forgot all about it.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought maybe that was why you were on this stupid diet to begin with, so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed in front of my boss and the guys I work with.”

  “Shhh. They’re starting.”

  “Yeah, so where the hell were you?”

  It was at this point that Irma brought the attention of the entire room to Martha and Eddie. Martha’s embarrassment was heightened by the realization that Eddie was the only thin person in the room. He looked out of place. Despite her general feeling of misery, Martha took delight in speculating that if everyone in the whole world was fat, it would be the skinny people who would b
e the misfits. She found herself smiling slightly, which upset Eddie even more.

  “Tonight I’d like to talk about milk,” Irma began. “How often does the diet allow you to have milk?”

  “Two months,” Eddie grumbled. “For two months I’ve been telling you about this dinner. How often do I have to tell you about something before you can manage to remember it?”

  “Twice a day,” Irma said, pulling out a cardboard chart with Carnation Instant Non-Fat Dry Milk labels and flattened plain Dannon yogurt cups pasted on it. “Now, you’re allowed two servings of milk a day. How many forms can you have it in?”

  “Thousands. There must be thousands of girls in New York City who’d love to go out with me, who’d be thrilled to death to meet my vice-presidents at a dinner. At the University Club, yet,” Eddie continued. “God, the food alone made it worthwhile. Do you know what we had for dinner?”

  “Eight ounces of skim milk, six ounces of plain yogurt, a half cup of ice milk. All these equal a serving of milk. The ice milk counts as a milk and a fruit.” Irma pointed to a picture of a milk shake. “Now, who knows what this is?”

  “A pain in the ass. That’s what you are,” Eddie hissed. “Do you know how stupid I looked going to that dinner alone? Do you know what I looked like?”

  “A banana milk shake! Made with bananas and skim milk and Sweet ‘n Low, mixed in the blender. Does anybody have any other good ideas?”

  “I’d like to make you call up my boss and apologize, for God’s sake. I had to sit next to an empty chair!”

  “Can’t this wait until later?” Martha pleaded. “You’re ruining the lecture. Besides, everyone can hear you. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Eddie sat quietly, scowling through the rest of the meeting. At one point, Irma stopped the lecture to shuffle through the attendance cards, and a middle-aged woman in curlers stopped her knitting and leaned toward Eddie, smiling. “How long have you been on the diet?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Geez, I’m not on this diet! Are you kidding? I’m five pounds under what I should weigh!”

  The woman’s smile vanished, and she returned to her knitting feverishly.

  Martha felt like climbing under the table and staying there forever, watching the knees of dieters, and later, the white knees of interns and nurses, until she starved to death.

  “Don’t forget! Next week’s meeting is Tuesday night, not Monday, because Monday is Memorial Day. We have to be out of here by eight-thirty on the nose because the Widows Club is meeting in the cafeteria right after us. So please be on time! Have a lovely weekend, and drive safely, and don’t eat!”

  “So, Martha, I’m ready for an explanation.”

  “Oh, Eddie, at least wait until we’re out of here. All my friends are around.” Martha waved at Judy, who was leaving with the teddy bear. Probably going out for a forbidden drink, Martha thought enviously. The idea of sipping a sweet cold sloe gin fizz with orange slices and a cherry suddenly seemed irresistibly romantic and inviting. But there was no time for wishful thinking.

  “Let’s get the bus,” Eddie insisted. “It’s too far to walk.”

  “No, let’s walk.” Martha couldn’t bear the thought of another scene. It was bad enough when he yelled and stomped around and said things to hurt her without sharing it all with an audience.

  They started walking uptown along York Avenue. Martha pretended to find the dry cleaners and small supermarkets totally absorbing so she could avoid looking at Eddie.

  “So?”

  “Look, Eddie, I’m really sorry I forgot about the dinner. It just completely slipped my mind. But now it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do. So let’s just forget it!”

  Eddie was astonished. Martha knew he had been expecting a meek defense, and she could feel him looking at her. She fixed her eyes on the display in a liquor store window.

  “All right, fine, fine. Terrific. I’ll forget it. Probably the most important opportunity of my entire career but I’ll forget it,” he said loftily.

  “So, how did it go, anyway?”

  “Oh, fine. Just great. I was the hit of the party. I sat with Eberly. You surely remember me mentioning him. It went beautifully. Except I was the only guy there without a date!”

  Martha winced. She’d thought she’d gotten off easily.

  “So where the hell were you?”

  A dog-walker glared at them, and Martha wished a mugger would appear, or a car would crash into a telephone pole, or a hold-up would occur. But nothing happened, except the “Don’t Walk” sign switched to “Walk.”

  “I was staying with a friend all weekend.”

  “Who? Selma?”

  “Shirley. No, not Shirley. It’s ... no one you know.”

  “One of those creepy girls from work?”

  “What difference does it make?” Martha pleaded.

  “I want to know who’s such a fantastic person that you can’t bear to break away from her company on a Saturday night to come to a dinner you’ve known about for months.”

  “It’s no one you know,” she repeated.

  “So what were you doing that was so important? Putting curlers in your hair? Watching TV? Eating?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sounds like a fantastic weekend,” Eddie said sarcastically.

  “It was okay. Yeah, it was pretty fantastic.” Martha could feel the anger and hysteria rising inside her. She was reaching a dangerous point, she realized, but she was too caught up to stop. She felt as if the sidewalk was speeding by.

  “Well, I wish you’d tell me the name of this fantastic person who absorbs all your attention for days on end. If she’s so great, maybe I should take her out.”

  “I don’t think Larry dates guys.”

  She said it quickly, without thinking, then realized what had happened and that it was too late. A feeling of dizziness and nausea suddenly swept over her.

  “What?” Eddie stopped, and pulled Martha roughly by the shoulders so that she was facing him. The blinking red light of a pizza sign lit up the rage in his eyes. “What did you say?”

  Martha couldn’t speak. She just kept wishing the moment would go away. She wished she were home, she wished she were behind her typewriter, she wished she were on the subway with the nighttime lowlife, anywhere but here.

  “Martha, who is this guy? Tell me!”

  “You don’t know him. Just a guy I know,” she said hoarsely.

  “ ‘Just a guy I know.’ You spend the weekend with some other guy, you miss one of the most important nights of my life, and all you can say is, ‘Just a guy I know.’“

  “You make it sound like the only thing that matters is that I forgot your stupid dinner!”

  “So tell me, Martha, are you sleeping with this guy? Are you?”

  Martha said nothing. She stared at Eddie’s shirt, which changed from gray to glowing red and back to gray as the neon pizza sign blinked on and off. There were few people around, and those who passed by seemed disinterested in the ordinary couple having an argument in the middle of the sidewalk. The situation reminded her of standing by the window with Larry, when she didn’t dare look at him, and the passing seconds seemed like a countdown. But that moment had filled her with anticipation, while this one filled her with dread.

  “Martha! Did you sleep with this guy?” He tightened his grip on her shoulders.

  “Yes,” Martha said softly, almost inaudibly. In fact, she wasn’t even sure she had actually said it.

  Eddie’s face was red, she noticed, when she finally mustered up the courage to glance at him, and his body was stiff with anger. For the first time in all their years together, Martha was actually afraid of him. He’s going to hit me, she thought.

  But instead, he took his hands off her shoulders. “Well,” he said. “Well.”

  They started walking again, because it seemed to offer a harmless distraction, a way to end the dreadful scene. The worst is over now, Martha thought.

  “Why’d you do it
, Martha?”

  “I don’t know, Eddie. I guess maybe things haven’t been going too well with us lately.”

  “What are you talking about?” he cried. “Everything’s been the same as usual.”

  “What about that fight?”

  “What fight?”

  “You remember. That night I made dinner.”

  “Why? What did I say?”

  “You said some awful things.” Martha hesitated. “You said I was fat.”

  Eddie sighed impatiently, “Good God, that was months ago. One stupid comment. Can’t you forget that?”

  Martha glanced at him. “No, I can’t forget.”

  Eddie glared back. “Can’t forget, hah! Can’t forget... You won’t forget. You don’t want to.”

  Martha paused. Then she spoke softly.

  “Yes, Eddie, you’re right. I won’t forget. I’m afraid to forget. I’m afraid to forget how cruel you can be, how you can turn on me in a minute, how you can dismiss everything we’ve gone through together.”

  “Oh, come on, Martha. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Eddie was angry.

  Martha was angrier. “Will you listen to me!” she demanded. Then she muttered, “For a change.”

  “Well, before you get carried away, let me tell you something. You know, you’re not the only one who’s been screwing around.”

  Martha was about to turn on him in her sudden rage, but she realized that she was in no position to say anything. So instead, she remained silent. Silence had always been her strongest weapon anyway.

  “You know, I’ve been seeing someone else too. Someone from work, It’s been going on for weeks.”

  “How many weeks?”

  “Oh, I guess around five or six.” So that was what had started it all, six and a half weeks ago. “She’s beautiful, by the way.” He was using his lofty tone again.

  “And thin?”

  “Very. Nice and slender. A beautiful body.”

  “I take it you’ve seen it all,” she said sarcastically.

  “All.”

  Martha winced. “Well, here’s my building. I guess there’s nothing else to say.”