Once There Was a Fat Girl

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Where?”

  “The Russian Tea Room.” Martha punched the balloons lightly.

  “My, my! He’s such a wonderful boy.”

  “I’ve never been there before.”

  “By the way, Daddy sends his love, too.”

  “Where is Daddy?”

  “Oh, he had to go to a dinner tonight.”

  “Oh. Well, I’d better get back to my friends now.”

  “All right, dear. Happy birthday!”

  As Martha hung up the phone, Judy handed her a piece of cake that said “MAR.” “This must be yours. It has your name on it.”

  Martha eyed it suspiciously. “The Devil Sugar,” she accused in her best Boris Karlof’s voice. She broke off a piece of the creamy cheesecake and stuck it in her mouth.

  “Ummm.” Martha sank into a chair, and closed her eyes. “The Devil Sugar,” she cried. “I love it!”

  * * * *

  Martha stepped out of the shower, exhilarated. Clean always felt so good. She was wrapped in an aura of Charlie, having taken the liberty of borrowing Betsy’s Charlie soap, Charlie after-bath splash, and Charlie talc. If Charlie didn’t help her get through an evening at the Russian Tea Room, nothing would. It was frightening, sometimes, this business of being grown up, and she needed all the help she could get.

  She stood before the mirror on the medicine cabinet, checking to see if she looked any older. She didn’t feel any older, and she certainly didn’t feel any wiser. But she did feel curlier and thinner and happier. It was nice to be so loved. Judy cared, her roommates cared, the people at work cared, Eddie cared.

  The question at hand, however, was much more straightforward: what did an up-and-coming sophisticate wear to the Russian Tea Room, besides freshly permed hair and Charlie? Make-up, for one thing. Martha opened the medicine cabinet and assembled her collection of girlie creams and powders, all courtesy of Clinique. She hummed as she worked at transforming Martha’s face into Femme Fatale, applying Icy Mauve eye shadow with a heavier hand than usual. When she was convinced that she truly was a tribute to womanhood, she wrapped herself in a giant towel and went into the living room.

  Betsy and Lisa exchanged worried looks, and Martha’s heart sank.

  “Martha,” Lisa began.

  “Don’t tell me. Eddie’s not coming.”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. This is more... unexpected.”

  Martha pulled her towel so tightly against herself that her lungs shuddered.

  “Mart,” Betsy said, “Larry just called. You remember Larry, don’t you?”

  “What? What did he say?”

  “He’s downstairs, Martha. He’s waiting for you on the corner. He wants you to come down right away.”

  “Why didn’t he just come up?” Martha wriggled into a pair of underpants, looking forward to the day when getting dressed would no longer be a public event.

  “I think he’s afraid of running into Eddie. We ... mentioned that you were expecting Eddie shortly.”

  “Look, I’ll just throw on some jeans. I’ll have to get dressed for dinner later.”

  Lisa glanced at her watch. “Relax. You have about an hour.”

  “Unless Eddie shows up early. He has been known to do that.” Martha put on her jeans and a dirty T-shirt, one she had worn the day before when she and Judy went jogging. I’ll never be a Beautiful Person, Martha realized, but there was no time for remorse. “If Eddie comes, tell him I had to, um, return some library books, and I’ll be right back.”

  Martha dashed down the stairs unable to wait for the elevators. This is not a good sign, she rioted. My heart shouldn’t be beating so fast, I shouldn’t be so willing to relinquish my clean be-Charlied body to a sweaty T-shirt. I shouldn’t be so mistrustful of the modern technology that produced the elevator. Not when Eddie is coming in an hour to take me out for a hundred-dollar dinner.

  Larry sat on the curb on the corner, a hundred feet from her building. He, too, wore jeans and a T-shirt. Kindred spirits, she thought, and her heart ached. She remembered a song that the high school band used to play at football games, while she and Jasmine watched cynically from behind the Cyclone fence. “Heart-ache, heart-ache.” She never had learned the words to the song, but now she knew what had prompted the songwriter to create it.

  “Hi, Larry.” She tried to sound calm.

  He looked up, and grinned. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘‘Happy birthday, Martha.”

  “You remembered,” she observed, still trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  “Of course I remembered. We’d been planning to go to Coney Island tonight, remember? Just like on your eighth birthday.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that.” Martha felt weak.

  “You look really beautiful. I love your hair.”

  Martha could tell he was dying to touch it, but he knew he wasn’t allowed. “Thank you,” was all she could manage.

  “Betsy told me you were going out to dinner with Eddie tonight,” he went on.

  “Yes.” The sadness in his voice was making Martha’s insides collapse.

  “I didn’t know if it was appropriate,” Larry said sheepishly, “but I got you a present.”

  “Oh, Lar, you didn’t have to,” she cried.

  “Well, I’d been planning on it for a while. So, here it is.” He reached under the jacket that lay in the gutter beside him, and pulled out a tiny white kitten.

  “Oh, Larry!” Martha forgot to worry about whether or not her mascara was waterproof.

  “I had originally planned to name him after the night we went out for the first time. I wanted to call him Raindrop, but that sounded kind of weird. So I named him Snowflake. You can change it, if you want,” he added hastily, “I mean, he doesn’t know that’s his name yet.”

  Martha picked up Snowflake. She could think of a thousand things she wanted to say, but what she did say was, “He can play with Ralph.”

  Larry didn’t know what that meant, but he nodded, trusting that there was some logic behind Martha’s statement.

  “Maybe he’ll make you think of me, every now and then,” Larry said. It was at that point that Martha realized her mascara was running and black tears were staining Snowflake’s downy white head.

  “Martha, I’m sorry. I guess I should have just left you alone. But I wanted to give you Snowflake. Part of me hopes you’ll be happy with Eddie,” he went on, standing up and brushing the gravel off his pants. “But part of me still hasn’t given up.”

  Martha just stared at Larry. She kept thinking, I’ll ask Lisa if I can borrow her amber beads.

  “You may really resent this, Martha, but I still love you. I’m sorry, but I do.” He picked up his jacket and started down the street. “Happy birthday, Martha!” he called.

  Martha and Snowflake rode up the elevator in silence, looking like a pair of Alice Cooper rejects. Amber beads, Martha thought stubbornly. I have to borrow Lisa’s amber beads. And I’ll have to wash my face again.

  * * * *

  “You know, I wish I had a nickel for every ‘happy birthday’ I’ve heard today,” Martha said gaily. She pushed through the revolving doors of the Russian Tea Room, feeling extremely sophisticated. A bizarre calm had descended over her in the taxi on the way over, as it followed the winding roads through Central Park. The air felt unnaturally fresh, the trees were surreally green. Summer’s presence was too obvious. The sensory overload of the sweet air wafting through the open windows of the cab, the blaring radio, the scent of Charlie mixed with Eddie’s Royal Copenhagen had transported her into this serene state. Larry and Snowflake belonged to another century. All Martha knew was Eddie, and the fact that she looked marvelous with her clean fluffy hair, her new cream-colored blouse, and Lisa’s amber beads.

  Before she and Eddie had even been seated, Martha decided that the Russian Tea Room was her favorite restaurant. Luxury, she realized, could easily become addictive. The brilliant oil paintings, the contrast of the red chairs and the
forest green walls, the intimacy created by the small tables and hushed atmosphere could spoil a person very quickly. Sylvester’s, not to mention the Riverside Coffee Shop, was on the verge of obsolescence as far as she was concerned.

  “So, what do you think?” Eddie grinned. “I knew this place was you the first time I came in here.”

  “When was that?”

  “A couple of weeks ago. The account I was on before this one has its headquarters on Fifty-seventh Street. We came here just before I was switched.”

  “I feel like my name should be Natasha, or Princess Something!” Martha whispered after they were seated. “Look! Isn’t that the actress who just opened in that new play?”

  Eddie casually looked over his shoulder. “Yes. We’ll have to get tickets for that. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “You’re spoiling me, Edward,” Martha teased, unfolding the red napkin and arranging it in her lap.

  “That’s the idea.” Eddie reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I want tonight to be really special.”

  “Why? Do you feel sorry for me because I’m getting old?”

  Eddie smiled secretively. “Let’s just say I’m planning a little surprise.”

  A waiter in a red coat brought them two huge menus, and responded to Eddie’s champagne order with a quick nod. Martha stepped out of her bon vivant mood long enough to wonder who it was who supplied every restaurant in New York with red jackets.

  “Champagne!” she gushed. “You are spoiling me!”

  “You know, Martha, you look so beautiful tonight. I can’t get over it. Your hair is terrific this way.”

  “Thank you. Lisa gave me this blouse for my birthday.”

  “What else did you get?”

  “Membership in the Cheese of the Month Club.”

  “No!”

  “Yup. That was from Mom, Who else?” she smirked.

  “How about your sister?”

  “Her present came last week. A watercolor, done by a local artist. The Minnesota School, I suppose.”

  “Sounds good. What else?”

  “Some hair stuff, from Betsy. Oh, and a chair from Judy. A wicker chair.”

  Eddie frowned. “Is there enough room in your apartment?”

  “I’m moving. Judy and I are getting an apartment together. Just as soon as we find one.”

  Eddie looked surprised.

  “See, when you go running around the country to exotic places like Cincinnati, you miss out on all the gossip.” Martha sipped some water and watched the flambé dinner that was being prepared across the room.

  “I know,” Eddie said seriously. “I hope I eventually get switched to a New York account. I don’t like spending a lot of time out of the city. How come you decided to move?”

  “I’m tired of sleeping in a living room. I want my own bedroom. Judy and I are good friends, and we’ve decided it would be fun to live together.”

  The waiter appeared with the champagne. Martha found his obsequiousness delightful.

  “Well,” Martha said, picking up her glass, “if you’re gonna go off a diet, you might as well do it in style!”

  “Wait. Let’s drink a toast.” Eddie raised his glass dramatically. “To you, Martha. And to us.”

  The heat, the excitement, the devil-may-care feeling, all prompted Martha to gulp down her glass of champagne as if it were Kool-Aid. She giggled when she burped. “Umm. That’s so good. Pour me some more.”

  Eddie complied.

  “You know, Eddie, you look really nice. You’re a good-looker, you know? I can see why I was so hot for you right from the start.”

  “You’re getting drunk,” Eddie chuckled. “But I’m glad you think so. That was awful, that geology field trip, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. I don’t remember a thing about rocks, either. Do you?”

  “No. But I never would have met you otherwise.”

  Martha thought about that. “No, probably not. It’s funny how Fate works, isn’t it? If I hadn’t taken geology, or if I’d gone to a different college, I never would have met you. It boggles the mind!”

  “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked politely.

  “Let me order,” Eddie suggested. “You’d love what I had when I was here the last time.”

  Martha nodded and attacked the basket of rolls the waiter had brought. Irma Gold never even crossed her mind. She felt heady from the champagne, but it was a wonderful feeling. She was enjoying the evening. It felt good, being with Eddie.

  “You’ll love what they do to a chicken,” Eddie was saying. “And wait until we get to the baklava!”

  Martha rolled her eyes appreciatively. “So tell me. How was Cincinnati?”

  “It was okay. We worked, mostly. But there are some great French restaurants there. Who would think there’d be four-star restaurants in a place like Cincinnati? Anyway, maybe I can take you along sometime. It’s pretty there. There are a lot of trees.”

  “I have a feeling New York may be losing one of its citizens to the Great Midwest one of these days,” Martha said playfully.

  “Nah. In fact, it’s funny you mentioned moving. I’ve been thinking about buying a condominium. It’s a good investment.”

  “How cool! Some friends of my parents have a beautiful one-bedroom, with a fireplace, and huge windows overlooking the Park. Maybe there’s even something available in their building.”

  “Well, I’d probably get something bigger than a one-bedroom.”

  Martha smeared a salty roll with sweet butter, and bit into it. Ambrosia. “That’s a good idea. After all, you’d probably live there for a long time. It’s like buying a house, I guess, so you might as well get a nice big one.”

  Eddie filled her champagne glass again. “Maybe you can help me look at them. You have better taste than I do.”

  “All these residence changes. I’ll have to memorize a whole new bunch of phone numbers,” Martha observed.

  Eddie just smiled and downed a glass of champagne.

  By the time their waiter set before her a cup of steaming espresso and a plate of sweet shiny baklava, Martha was soaring.

  “I feel like a character out of War and Peace,” she sighed. “All this good Russian food, and these lovely paintings to look at...”

  “And all that champagne,” Eddie teased.

  “And a handsome count across the table from me,” Martha returned.

  “I bet you’re wondering why the count— notice I left out ‘handsome’—didn’t give you a birthday present.”

  ‘“What do you mean, Eddie? This lovely dinner is the best present I got. Even better than the Cheese of the Month Club, if you can honestly believe that.”

  “This isn’t a present. This is a celebration. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re being too nice to me. I’m getting suspicious. Did the doctors tell you I just have six months to live?”

  “No. Birthdays call for celebrations like this. And they also call for presents. Like this.” Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box.

  Martha, a victim of her champagne high, immediately concluded that the box contained amber earrings that matched Lisa’s necklace. “Oh, Eddie,” she cooed. “You shouldn’t have,” She took the box, oblivious to, the anxiety in Eddie’s eyes. “How sweet of you.”

  Martha opened the box, expecting two brown shapes. Instead, there was only one, and it was clear, not brown.

  “It’s a ring,” she observed. Then she gasped and turned bright red. “It’s an engagement ring!” Her first thought, at this important and dignified moment, was, I feel like Sandra Dee.

  “Martha,” Eddie said nervously, “I love you very much. Let’s get married.”

  “Oh, Eddie!” Martha was truly surprised. This was completely unexpected. “Oh, Eddie!” she said over and over again.

  The elderly couple at the table next to them glanced over and smiled. The waiter, Martha noticed, was hovering nearby, waiting for the outcome of this momentous scene.
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  “Well, Martha?” Eddie the Count asked, hopefully. The paintings of flowers danced before her eyes, the baklava and the rich espresso called to her.

  “Yes, of course,” Martha heard Natasha, the Russian empress, reply.

  * * * *

  “I’m engaged,” Martha breathed to Shirley as she rushed over to her desk, ten minutes late for work.

  “That’s nice,” Shirley answered, intent on unwrapping the doughnut she had just removed from the small brown bag. She pulled the lid off a Styrofoam cup of coffee and said, “You’re also late. Sylvia Akins is looking for you. Kate called right at nine. I took the message.” She handed Martha a small slip of pink paper.

  “Rats. Back to reality. I’ll go find her in a minute. Don’t you want to see my ring?” She thrust her hand toward Shirley proudly.

  “Martha!” she gasped. “I thought you were kidding! When did this happen?”

  “Friday night. We were having dinner at the Russian Tea Room to celebrate my birthday, and when they brought out dessert, he just asked me!”

  “May I ask a really stupid question?”

  Martha nodded,

  “Is ‘we’ you and Larry or you and Eddie?”

  “Eddie,” Martha snapped. “That was a stupid question.” She stormed off to find Ms. Akins, instantly thrown into a foul mood.

  As usual, Sylvia Akins was sitting behind her desk, telephone receiver perched on her shoulder, peering at all intruders through a veil of cigarette smoke. Kate led Martha in, then disappeared behind the closed door with an encouraging smile.

  What now? Martha wondered. Promotion, demotion, transfer, raise? Reprimands for being late? Accolades for being efficient? With Sylvia Akins, one never knew what to expect.

  “Well, Martha, we meet again.” Sylvia forced a smile, and Martha noticed that she had switched to a darker shade of lipstick. Red must be coming back, she noted, at least according to the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar.

  “I’ll get right to the point, since we’re getting started a bit later than I planned.”

  Martha suppressed her smile. In a few weeks, she thought gleefully, Sylvia Akins and AmFoods and the ghost of Aimee Ludlow will all be a part of my past.

  “As you know, the position of Public Relations Assistant has been open for some time.”