Once There Was a Fat Girl

by Cynthia Baxter

Larry laid his head in her lap and gazed up at her adoringly. “In that order?”

  Martha pretended to think. “No. I think I’d have to put Diet Pepsi at the top of that list. But there is one way you could earn some brownie points.”

  “How?”

  “Well,” Martha said seriously, “you could let me pour Diet Pepsi into your ear.”

  “Hmph.” Larry considered her offer. “I think I’d prefer to stay at the bottom of your list, then.”

  “I guess chivalry really is dead,” Martha sighed. “I guess that means you won’t sit at my feet and read me poetry.”

  “I left all my poetry books at home, with my cape,” Larry apologized. “But how about you telling me a story?”

  “All right. Do you want one about bunnies or puppies or elves?”

  “Tell me a story about Irma Silver.”

  “Irma Gold. Don’t be so smart. Besides, you’re supposed to know about gold and silver and all those elements. What kind of a chemist are you, anyway?”

  “I’m not a chemist. Chemists are English pharmacists. In the U.S. of A., I’m a pharmacist. Tell me about Irma and don’t be cute. What did she talk about last week?”

  “Let’s see. I had lost another pound and a half, even though it was right after the long weekend. She took me aside after the meeting, like she was going to tell me some deep dark secret. She told me that, because I was doing so well, I could save some of my dinnertime protein and eat it at night, as a snack! How’s that for special treatment?”

  “I’m sure that’s quite an achievement, but we have better things to do at night than eat leftover protein. Tell me something amusing.”

  “Hmmm. Here’s something. Blanca had gained two pounds, and when Irma yelled at her during the meeting, she said it was because she had had a fight with her husband, that he was picking on her all weekend. And do you know what Irma said?”

  “What?”

  “She said, ‘What are you, a garbage can? Somebody steps on your toes and your mouth opens?’“

  Larry chuckled appreciatively. “We ought to put that woman on the Johnny Carson show. Does she have an agent?”

  “She’s too busy weighing carrots to be on TV. She’s great, though, even though she’s such a character. She really gives a lot of encouragement. Or maybe she just scares us all into dieting.”

  “She sounds like she knows what she’s doing.”

  “Speaking of which, I suppose I should buy some clothes for my job at World Air. It starts in just a few more weeks.”

  “Look out, corporate jungle. There’s a new tiger approaching.”

  Martha affectionately poured Diet Pepsi down Larry’s chest.

  “Ugh! Only you could get away with that and still live to tell about it! See, you’re already becoming ruthless. Next thing you know, you’ll be clawing your way to the vice-presidency.”

  “No, I think it would be more fun to be president,” Martha reflected. “I’d like to be on television commercials, like Frank Borman.”

  “You’re a lot sexier than Frank, that’s for sure.”

  “Seriously, Larry. Let’s just say-—and this is pure hypothesis, mind you—that I were to take some courses at night.”

  “You mean you’re thinking of going back to college?”

  “It’s just a thought,”-she added hurriedly. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

  “I think it’s a great idea!”

  “Well, if I did, do you think you could spend some time helping me get through my science requirement? I could take chemistry...”

  “I can be bought,” Larry said solemnly. “I have my price.”

  “What is it?” Martha teased.

  “If I said it out loud, right here in the middle of Central Park in broad daylight,” Larry said softly, a wicked grin on his face, “I’d probably get arrested.”

  “I can deliver,” Martha nodded, then kissed him on the nose. “I guess I’ll start sending for some catalogues ... Hey, do you know what this reminds me of?” Martha said suddenly. “Sunday in the park? There was this song, a few years ago. Something about lazy days, Sundays, walks in the park...”

  “Wasn’t there rain in that song?”

  “Rain! You’re such a pessimist. It’s summer!”

  “Not yet. Not for another two weeks. Besides, I like rain. Do you remember our first date?”

  “I think I can remember back that far,” Martha quipped. Then she melted. “Yes, I remember. I’m glad it rained. Otherwise, we might have just gone to some restaurant and talked about movies and plays and dull things like that. We might not have gotten beyond all the banal formalities.”

  Larry turned his head away slightly and pretended to be absorbed in a nearby Frisbee game. “Hey, Mart, have you seen Eddie lately?” he asked too offhandedly.

  “No,” she replied, and she could sense his entire body relaxing. “No. I don’t expect to, either.”

  “Is it because of me?” Larry asked fearfully, hopefully.

  Martha paused, thinking carefully. “It’s because of a lot of things.”

  “Is it really over, then?” He looked back at Martha. “Can I stop worrying?”

  Martha smiled, because in public places, that is more acceptable than crying. “Don’t worry. If I ever give you up, I’ll have to forfeit my discount on vitamins and Tampax.”

  She searched Larry’s face for the smile she was soliciting, but she saw only seriousness.

  “Good,” he said, staring at the Frisbee game again, nervously pulling at the grass: “Because I’m falling in love with you.”

  Chapter 9

  The telephone shattered the early morning silence with the fury of a soprano reducing a perfectly respectable wineglass to a pile of useless icicles. As Martha was rudely brought back to consciousness, she extricated herself from the overgrown vine of Larry’s arms and legs that had enveloped her during the night. She blindly reached for the phone. Six fifty-eight, her digital clock taunted.

  “‘Lo,” she grunted breathlessly, her heart pounding and her body trembling from the abrupt awakening. Anticipate the worst, a tiny voice warned. Nothing good ever happens before ten o’clock in the morning.

  “Hello, Martha? It’s me.”

  “Who? Who is this?” she whispered hoarsely. She was having difficulty forming the words, partly because her facial muscles were, like Larry, still asleep, partly because a glue-like substance had taken up residence in her mouth during the night.

  “Eddie, damn it!” the gruff voice exploded. Then it added, with a bit more restraint, “I’m sorry. It’s me, Eddie.”

  Martha’s eyes opened wide. When it comes to making the torturous transition between asleep and awake, shock is even more potent than caffeine. Larry, who was dreaming about the takeover of lower Manhattan by armies of red and yellow tetracycline capsules, snorted and turned over.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Martha cried.

  “Yeah,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. “At the sound of the tone, the time will be seven o’clock. Beeep.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Hey, look, I wanted to get you before you left for work. I figured you’d be getting dressed by now.” There was something disturbingly self-confident in his tone.

  “You know I always get up at ten of eight,” Martha whispered reproachfully. “So do Betsy and Lisa. You probably woke them up, too.”

  “So what do you care? Look, I called because I think you and I still have a lot to talk about.”

  “We do? Like what?” Martha could hear one of her roommates turning on the shower, and she felt the guilt creeping over her like a fungus.

  “Oh, come on, Mart. Don’t be difficult.” Eddie sounded exasperated. “Let’s have dinner tonight.”

  “Why didn’t you just call me at work, for God’s sake?”

  “Hey! I’m a busy man! Since I last talked to you, I got switched to a bigger account. I’m playing with the big boys now!”

  So am I, Martha thought, glancing over at Lar
ry, fearful that he would wake up and witness her brazen behavior. She had to admit, however, that there was something appealing about this predicament: one man on the telephone and one in her bed. For a brief moment, she was Scarlett O’Hara, juggling beaux in the same way that Mammy juggled a trayful of mint juleps.

  “All right. We can talk. I’m busy tonight, though.” Then she added, “I have a Thin, Incorporated meeting.” It was a habit, this compulsion to alleviate all suspicion, even though she knew it was too late to redeem her good name.

  Eddie sniffed noncommittally. “How about after your meeting, then? I could meet you at the hospital.”

  “No. Not there,” she shuddered. “Meet me at the Riverside Coffee Shop on First Avenue. How about eight o’clock?”

  “Yeah, okay. See you later.” Click.

  Martha snuggled against Larry, seeking relief from the feeling of dread that had descended upon her. They lay nestled together like two spoons in a silverware drawer, and Martha found solace in the simple way their bodies echoed each other. Larry stirred, then hummed questioningly, as if to ask if it was friend or foe who had approached and tucked cold feet under his knees.

  “Hey, Lar,” she whispered into his neck, “are you awake?” His skin smelled sweet, like sleeping babies.

  Larry hummed again, this time with enough vehemence to convey that he was, indeed, awake, although not particularly happy about it.

  “It’s only seven. We have lots of time before work. Want to make love?”

  At this suggestion, Larry turned around to face her and forced his eyes open. He tested his mouth muscles by puckering up repeatedly, then smiling once he had gotten his face back in gear.

  “Sure beats Cheerios,” he said, kissing Martha lightly,

  “Coming through!” Betsy’s voice called. Larry and Martha broke apart guiltily and pulled up the sheet, shielding their shame with a loincloth of blue and green blob-like Marimekko flowers.

  “Hi, gang!” Betsy greeted them brightly. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I figured since I was awake anyway I’d show up for work early. It might help improve my image.”

  Betsy stood before them, brushing her dark hair calmly, wearing only a peach-colored bra and matching half-slip. As Larry looked away, embarrassed, she explained, “I still have to iron my dress. It’s supposed to be Perma-Press, but it always needs some touching up after I wash it.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Larry sighed. “There must be a better way,” he grumbled. “We should have stayed at my place.” He dragged himself up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “But all my things are here. When I stay at your place during the week, I have to get up at dawn and come all the way back here to get ready for work. You’re portable. All you need is a razor.”

  “You could move in with me,” Larry suggested. Martha’s mouth dropped open, and Betsy conveniently called in from the kitchen.

  “Who phoned before?”

  “Um, no one. I mean, it was a wrong number.” Martha got out of bed and slipped on her red kimono.

  “That’s funny. I thought I heard you talking for a long time.” Betsy dragged the ironing board into her bedroom.

  Larry collapsed back into bed and stared at the ceiling. “Shit,” he breathed. “It was Eddie who called, wasn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Martha sat on the arm of a big stuffed chair and played with the fringe on the edge of her sash. “I didn’t expect to hear from him again,” she offered meekly.

  “What did he want? Or is it a secret?”

  “No, no secret,” Martha said lightly. “He just said he wants to get together and talk. That’s all.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Well, yes.” She added quickly, “I figure I owe him that much.”

  “So good old Eddie is back on the scene. And where does all this leave me?” Larry’s fascination with the ceiling continued.

  Martha could feel her stomach sinking like the Titanic. “Oh, Larry, please don’t act like this. I don’t know how to contend with a jealous lover. I’ve never come up against one before.”

  Larry laughed coldly. “Is that all I am? ‘A jealous lover’?”

  “What would you call yourself?”

  “You could refuse to see him, you know,” Larry suggested, ignoring her question. “Or I could come with you.”

  “No!” Martha said too suddenly. “I mean, I don’t think it would be such a good idea if you came. I don’t think you two would like each other very much.”

  “I wasn’t looking for a good time,” he replied bitingly. “I just thought it might be easier on you.”

  Martha sighed deeply. “I’m not handling this very well, am I?” she observed ruefully, picking at a thread on her bathrobe. “Larry, listen to me. Eddie and I still have some things that need to be finished up. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Do you love me, Martha?” Larry asked after a pause.

  “You keep changing the subject,” she answered nervously.

  “Well,” Larry answered angrily, climbing out of bed and putting on his shirt, “if that’s all you can say, then I already know the answer.”

  “Good God, Larry, you sound so melodramatic.”

  “Martha, you don’t seem to understand. I happen to love you. We spend all this time together, things are going really well, and then, all of a sudden, you go running off to a secret rendezvous with your old flame. And I’m left on the outside. Of course I’m going to react melodramatically.” He reached for his trousers, trembling with rage and fear.

  “You never told me that before,” Martha said softly, eyeing him cautiously.

  “What?”

  “That you love me.”

  “Sure I did. That day in the park.” Larry’s face was hidden as he ducked under the bed to retrieve his shoes.

  “No. You almost did. But you didn’t.”

  “Well, what difference does that make now?” he sighed.

  “It makes a lot of difference. I wish you’d be honest with me.”

  “All right. I’m being honest. I love you. And I feel really lousy that you can’t say the same thing about me.”

  “If you love me,” Martha said evenly, “then why are you walking out on me?”

  “I’m not walking out on you. I’m going to work.” He strode toward the door.

  “Want some coffee?”

  “No.”

  ‘Then you’re walking out on me.”

  Larry paused in the doorway and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly.

  “It seems like people are always walking out on me,” Martha remarked, playing with the hem of her robe.

  Larry closed his eyes and bit his lip; He walked back and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Martha. I’m just afraid. I don’t want to lose you.” His voice was pleading.

  “You won’t,” she whispered, wishing she could sound more convincing. She sighed deeply and stared at the floor. “I don’t know. It’s just that sometimes it seems like you don’t understand me at all. I’m so afraid of repeating my mistakes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were so many things that were wrong in my relationship with Eddie. I gave up everything. I ended up planning my whole life around him: That’s why your reaction to my wanting to compete in The Big Three race really disappointed me. I thought you’d understand that it was important for me to have some things that were just mine, not ours.”

  Larry shook his head slowly. “It’s not that, Martha. Sure, I wish we could share everything, and I can’t help resenting the time you spend away from me. It seems that we never have enough time together. But there’s something else that bothers me about this racing thing.”

  “What?” Martha asked softly.

  “It’s the whole thing of competition,” he explained ruefully. “It reminds me so much of growing up with all that pressure to succeed in a musical career. It’s all for nothing, this business of trying to outdo everyon
e else at all costs, and I hate seeing you caught up in that whole thing.”

  ‘‘Competition?” Martha cried. “Is that why you think I’m so gung-ho on this race? Because I want to show off and beat everybody else?”

  “Well, why else would anyone enter a race?” Larry demanded.

  “Oh, boy, Larry, have you missed the boat,” Martha said, exasperated. She distractedly pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m not going to win that stupid race! There’s no chance of that happening!”

  “But you’re trying...”

  “I’m trying to be as good at something as everybody else! Something physical, something athletic. All my life, I’ve never been able to keep up with all my friends. I’ve always lagged behind. And I hated it! Now, finally, here’s my chance to run as far as everybody else. Not as fast, maybe, but at least I’ll prove to myself that I can do it. That’s the only person I’m ‘competing’ against: myself. Is that so terrible?”

  “Hmph,” Larry said, in the way that always drove Martha crazy. “All you want is to cross the finish line and get one of those T-shirts they always give out at those races. That’s what’s important to you, one more symbol of achievement. Well, let me tell you, you can waste your whole life going after things like that!”

  “Oh, Larry,” Martha groaned, giving up. “You just don’t understand.”

  “I guess not,” he agreed sullenly.

  “Martha!” Lisa called from the bathroom. “Is Larry still here? I’m coming out of the shower, and I’m completely au naturel.”

  “Goodbye, Martha,” Larry said sadly. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  To check up on me? she was tempted to ask. But she realized quickly that such repartee could be dangerous. After all, there still remained the possibility that Larry’s fears could turn out to be well founded.

  * * * *

  “Martha! I’ve got wonderful news!”

  Judy waved and pushed through the crowd of Thin, Incorporated regulars who clustered around the scale in true cocktail party fashion. They chattered away, pink-cheeked and animated, a patchwork design of smiling faces and chipped nail polish and pastel polyester blouses. They spoke of carbohydrate grams and Trident sugarless gum and the thrill of zipping up a once too tight skirt with the earnestness of a roomful of diplomats discussing the price of pork bellies or a sizzling border dispute.