Once There Was a Fat Girl

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Do you?” Martha put down her records and faced him. “Hey, Lar?”

  “Umm?”

  “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

  “You mean I’m not just a ‘jealous lover’ anymore?” Larry said, teasing.

  “You can be that too, if you like,” she replied seriously.

  “If we shut the door,” Larry said, a devilish look on his face, “maybe everyone would forget we were in here.”

  Martha shook her head. She gathered up a handful of records and piled them onto the phonograph, then brushed her hands together lightly.

  “Come on,” she said to Larry. “This is a celebration.” She took him by the hand. “Come on back into the living room. I’d like you to meet the rest of my friends.”

  * * * *

  It had been a long day. Martha sat in the AmFoods’ building’s eighteenth-floor lobby, bursting with pride. The slight droopiness she felt from having just spent eight hours guiding a group of women around AmFoods’ corporate headquarters was insignificant, compared to the elation she was feeling. She knew that she had exuded confidence throughout the entire trying day. She had, in short, been a success.

  As she caught her reflection in the glass case that displayed cartons from Grandma Goodcook’s line of noodles and potatoes, she noted with great satisfaction that her appearance was impeccable. She looked elegant in the cream-colored silk blouse that had been Lisa’s birthday present to her and the new beige skirt she had bought to wear on her first day at World Air. A brown and pink scarf was tied rakishly around her neck, and her fluffy hairdo, made even fluffier with designer cream rinse, framed her face prettily. She had carefully made up her face that morning, taking care to apply two coats of mascara for this special occasion.

  Even Sylvia Akins had approved; she had seen it in the appraising look, followed by a smile of great relief, that she had given Martha during her briefing earlier that day. Martha Nowicki, Sylvia’s glance had told her, you’re the kind of person that Amalgamated Foods is honored to have associated with its good name.

  What Sylvia Akins had not readily seen, however, was that Martha’s pulled-together look came from the inside. She stood up straighter, instead of slumping over in the hopes that no one would notice her. She strode across the room with confidence, rather than shuffling, shrouded in an air of embarrassment. She even spoke more animatedly, for she had, as of late, begun to feel that people were genuinely interested in what she had to say.

  Martha had had the opportunity to show off a bit as she stood before a group of twelve women who had been flown in, at AmFoods’ invitation and expense, to see that there really was a human side to the corporate machine. Martha was but one element; this group, known as The Triple “C,” the Committee of Concerned Citizens, Minneapolis branch, had also met with five or six other employees who cheerfully tried to convince them that the company truly was responsive to the needs and desires of its customers.

  She had smiled warmly as she handed out copies of the slick corporate report and answered questions about the whereabouts of the chairman of the board, the wooden coffee stirrers, and the ladies’ room. Martha liked these women; they reminded her of her cohorts from Thin, Incorporated. Only this group was characterized by three main differentiating factors: their tendency toward thinness, their broad Midwestern accents, and their reserve which, Martha couldn’t help feeling, was a cover for their underlying belligerence and mistrust.

  She could scarcely blame them. Sylvia Akins had finally produced a copy of the article from the Minneapolis paper that had started this whole escapade. AmFoods had been presented as a cold, greedy corporation that scoffed at complaints and lawsuits and took pleasure in loading every single box that passed through one of its factories with as many carcinogens and fillers as possible. Martha, of course, was hardly in a position to judge the validity of these accusations. It was not her place to do so. She was simply required to smile and answer questions as positively as possible and create a generally favorable impression.

  “All right,” her voice had boomed over the excited chatter after the morning’s orientation. “Does everyone have a copy of the annual report? Good. In addition, gift bags filled with AmFoods’ products will be mailed to your homes. We hope you’ll enjoy them. Now, if there is any other information you need, please feel free to ask me, or anyone else you meet, anytime during the day. That’s what I’m here for.”

  The day had passed quickly. Martha found that the anonymous group soon took on twelve personalities. There was plump Aida Dalrymple, a matronly schoolteacher who had never been farther east then Milwaukee. There was Mary Beth Strong, who, at thirty, was juggling a family of four with night school classes in physical therapy and a part-time job at a local department store. There was Joan Schmitz and her sister-in-law, Emily Parton, who lived with their husbands and children in a two-family house and shared recipes and clothes and secrets about Joan’s brother, Mr. Parton. To Martha, they were the personification of all the bodiless, faceless names who had written to her over the past months to share their triumphs and their traumas.

  The Minneapolis contingent made no pretense about their excitement over visiting New York. It was the first time for all of them except for Winnefred Johnson, who, as an extremely successful Avon sales representative, had won two trips East in the past five years. The women giggled as they told Martha about the man who had exposed himself as they filed into their hotel from their chartered bus. One awestruck woman had gotten up at 6 A.M. to take a buggy ride around Central Park before convening at AmFoods at eight-thirty. They were quick to open up to Martha, and when she mentioned that she had a sister who lived in Minnesota, she received no fewer than eight sincere invitations to come visit.

  And now, it was just a lovely memory. Martha sat in the lobby, waiting to be summoned by Sylvia Akins. She had received a message toward the end of the day that she was to stop into Personnel before going home. Probably the usual obligatory “Thank you for doing a nifty job” speech. She hoped it wouldn’t take too long; she was counting the minutes until she could indulge in a long shower and an ice-cold Diet Pepsi, not necessarily in that order.

  “Martha?” Sylvia appeared in the doorway, smiling with more conviction than usual. “Come in for a quick chat. I realize you must be exhausted after such a long day, so I’ll keep this brief.”

  The two women settled into their respective places. Sylvia Akins’ office was beginning to feel like Martha’s second home, and she sat back in her chair, relaxed.

  “Well, Martha, from all that I’ve heard, you did a magnificent job today,” Sylvia beamed.

  “Thank you.” “Magnificent”; that was strong stuff.

  “The group raved about you as they were leaving. They found you an extremely charming hostess. I suspect that you did more to help AmFoods’ image than any of the long-winded speeches that the directors and vice-presidents delivered during the course of the day. You also received a lot of favorable comments from the other AmFoods people. Alex Turner, in particular, said he was most impressed with the way you handled yourself and controlled the group.”

  “Thank you.” This was getting to be tedious. Martha could picture the ice cubes dropping into the bubbling cola, she could hear the fizzing sounds...

  “And, after discussing your performance today with my boss and Mr. Turner, we have decided to offer you the position of Public Relations Assistant.”

  Martha’s eyes opened wide as Sylvia Akins’ words slowly sank in. “What? You mean the PR job that Aimee Ludlow had before...”

  “That’s right. We decided that you are undoubtedly the most qualified person for the job.”

  Martha stared at a pencil that sat on Sylvia’s desk, the only stray item on the entire surface, looking as if it had just mischievously jumped out of the pencil mug.

  “Excuse me, mind if I interrupt?” a masculine voice called heartily, and Martha glanced up to see Alex Turner leaning into the office. “I just wanted to tell you that you did
a superb job today, Martha. I must say, you had those consumer activists eating out of your hand. And I think you really impressed them— all of us, in fact—with your knowledge of the company. And the entire food industry.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Sylvia interjected, “I was just telling Martha that we’ve decided to offer her the position of Public Relations Assistant.”

  “Wonderful!” Alex exclaimed. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

  “May I ask a question?” Martha said deliberately, her voice even and low. “Why is it that I was not considered qualified for this job three months ago, when it first opened up?”

  “Hmm,” Alex commented. “That’s a good question. I didn’t realize you had interviewed for it before.”

  “Oh. Well.” Sylvia Akins blushed, and tried to hide her apparent discomfort in the act of busily returning the recalcitrant pencil to its rightful home. “There are so many things to look at in a case like this, so many people to consider...”

  “It’s not as if it didn’t occur to you then,” Martha went on, as though she were trying to figure out a solution to this puzzle. “I mean, I did interview for the job. And I’m not any more qualified now than I was three months ago.”

  Sylvia tried again. “As I said, there were other people who seemed more qualified...but,” she finished brightly, “after today, you’ve proven that you can handle the job quite adequately.”

  “Ms. Akins,” Martha interrupted, “I seem to recall you making some comment about make-up, of all things, when I talked to you about that job. And I also seem to remember some other allusions to my appearance at that time.”

  “Don’t be silly. I...”

  “Is it possible that I was never really considered for the PR job because the way I looked didn’t happen to fit in exactly with the way you expected me to look?”

  “Is that true?” Alex asked, surprised. “Were you really turned down for this same job before?”

  Sylvia Akins remained silent, staring at her folded hands, which rested primly in her lap.

  “I see,” Martha said after a short silence. “So you admit that my intelligence and my work experience and my ease with people have nothing to do with being ‘qualified’ for the job. All that matters is the fact that I now own a silk blouse and a tube of lipstick, and I wear a perfect size 10.”

  “I don’t understand,” Alex argued. “Martha is one of the sharpest people on the floor. Why, I would gladly hire her into my department...”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Martha said evenly. “I am leaving the company. I’m leaving AmFoods.”

  Alex and Sylvia both looked at Martha, aghast.

  “What?” Sylvia cried. “What do you mean? How can you leave when I just offered you this PR job?”

  “Under the circumstances,” Alex frowned, “I don’t see how any self-respecting woman could possibly accept your offer, Sylvia. Not after what seems to have happened.”

  “There’s really nothing left to say,” Martha said, standing up. “I feel that AmFoods—or at least the Personnel Department—has already made its priorities quite clear. What’s done is done. I’ll be handing in my letter of resignation first thing tomorrow morning. Goodbye.” She nodded at Alex Turner and walked out to the lobby.

  “Wait a second.” Alex caught up with Martha near the elevators. “I’m really sorry about all that. I had no idea ... Where are you going to work now?”

  “World Air. I’ll be a statistician there,” Martha explained. “I’m starting in a couple of weeks.”

  “We’ll certainly miss you around here,” Alex said sincerely. “I always enjoyed our little talks about the business and where it was going. As I said before, I’ve always considered you one of the company’s most aware employees. Common sense is not always as ‘common’ as it’s reputed to be. If you ever need a recommendation, or if you want to consider getting into marketing ... well, you know you can always call.”

  “Thank you.” The elevator doors opened, and Martha turned to Alex. “Well, goodbye.” They shook hands, and he said, “AmFoods is losing one of its finest people. I’m sorry to see you go.”

  The doors closed, and the elevator carried Martha down to the building’s main lobby. She would miss Alex Turner, as well as Kate and Shirley and the whole crowd that had been bonded together by the common experience of working at AmFoods. But it was time to move on; that part of her life was over. Instead of dwelling on her old job, it was time to start thinking about her new one. Martha walked out of the AmFoods building, out into the balmy July evening. Yes, she mused, it was time to start looking ahead.

  To Larry Ashmead and Diane Cleaver,

  who believed in me.

  And to S.J.M., who helped me believe in me.

  Copyright © 1981 by Cynthia Blair

  Originally published by Fawcett (ISBN 0449143945)

  Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

  http://www.BelgraveHouse.com

  Electronic sales: ebooks@belgravehouse.com

  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.