The housekeeper walked down the line and placed either a purple or red cardboard sign around their necks. The paper, hanging from yellow yarn, shouted their height and weight.
Seung A., a Korean woman wearing an oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants, looked the youngest and most athletic. Magenta-dyed hair bounced in a top-of-the head ponytail. Purple card: 5'3", 201 lbs.
Susannah C., white, gaunt faced, with a semimedium build from her waist up, bloomed out to enormous hips and a mammoth-sized bottom. Purple card: 5'11", 280 lbs. She appeared to be in her late forties.
Jennifer F., black, probably in her early forties or late thirties, crossed her arms over her massive breasts. An oversized hourglass shape and large orange glasses contrasted with her grim expression. Purple card: 5'6", 225 lbs.
Lauretta J., a Hispanic woman, somewhere in her early thirties, smiled painfully—a grin broad enough to neutralize the frightened and angry faces in the room. Everything about her proclaimed a hunt for perfection: the spiraling curls spilling down her back, sharp-pressed clothes, and the glossy pink nails touching the edge of her sign. Purple card: 5'1", 178 lbs.
Hania M. possessed the sort of beauty that made other women uncomfortable, if not downright jealous, as they compared themselves to her exquisiteness, embodying not only “What a pretty face!” but also “What lovely hair!” “What soulful eyes!” Her rosy gold skin, waterfall of black hair, and rush of gold bracelets circling her forearm all called out South Asian, perhaps Indian. Alice placed her in the category of “most likely to finish happy and thin.” Red card: 5'3", 170 lbs.
Daphne S., white, her plainness broken by a fizz of reddish-gold hair, had made herself memorable by lining her eyes expertly in shades of teal and brown. Red card: 5'4", 192 lbs.
And finally, Alice herself. Red card: 5'10", 220 lbs.
A massive man entered; he would have been right at home participating in a tractor-pulling contest. Even Alice and Susannah had to crook their necks to fully take him in. The shortest would need a stepstool to reach the top of his head. Few of their hands could span the solid girth of his arms.
“I’m Jeremiah Collins. Group commander. Let’s begin.”
Everyone appeared either terrified of or half in lust with this giant. Alice’s antipathy was replicated by Daphne’s furious expression.
Two decidedly not-fat women, twinned by frightening expressions and steel-cable forearms, entered and flanked Jeremiah. One was slight and innocuous, until you saw that each muscle appeared outlined with black chalk on her dark-brown skin. The other, her dirty-blonde hair skinned back so tight it lifted her brows, seemed ready to eat everyone for breakfast.
“Welcome to salvation, ladies,” Jeremiah said, “where we’ll teach you the path out from your anguish. I know you’re in pain. Why else would you be here? You had to have a damn good reason to leave your loved ones, your jobs, your homes—even your children, right?”
A noticeable relaxation went around the room. Yes. No doubt every woman wondered what the heck she was doing here. Alice would have happily boarded a bus home right now.
“Welcome to being the chosen ones. Why you?” He crossed his arms and let his eyes travel slowly from ponytailed Seung A. to Alice T. “You, among all women, showed that you have what it takes. You’re tenacious.” This he said to Jennifer F., who was staring out from her bright orange glasses.
Now he pointed to Lauretta J. and Hania M. “Inside you are magnificent women.” He turned his gaze to Alice and Daphne S. “You possess love. You only need to turn it on yourselves. This we will teach you. You will each become your own team of one.”
Despite having no idea what that meant, Alice was drawn in by his words. “Welcome to hell, ladies, where we recognize that life is unfair, and you pay the price for every action you take.” Jeremiah ran a hand over his thick buzz cut. “You’ve eaten your way through pain, through loss, through happiness, and just for the plain pleasure of crunching calories between your teeth. Not one of you knows how to live with privation. So you landed here. The last stop.”
He ran his eyes over the seven women lined up in front of him.
“What do you think?” Daphne S. said from the side of her mouth. “Are we being indoctrinated into a secret army of the thin?”
The woman’s uncanny ability to whisper without moving her lips impressed Alice, while her capacity to ignore the rules reminded Alice of her mother. Open flouting was a trait easier for white women to pull off without punishment.
Alice clamped her mouth shut and pretended she hadn’t heard the woman speak. She needed to be the absolute best student in the room, just like her father had always taught her. “Don’t be good, Al. Don’t be very good. Be tops. Always. Twice as good as every white kid.”
“Anytime you want to leave, just say the word, and we’ll return your phone, your wallet, and call a cab to take you to the bus station—it’s only a bit over an hour away. It’s your prerogative. Here, you will get thin. Leave, you will remain fat.”
“What’s with his An Officer and a Gentleman routine?” the woman continued.
Alice turned her head the slightest amount, just enough to raise her eyebrows and message, Be quiet; I’m not playing with her expression.
Daphne, apparently immune to chiding, continued as though Alice had nodded with encouragement. “We’re paying to be scared straight? You think that’s the plan?”
“Eyes front.” Jeremiah drew himself up, broadening his shoulder muscles.
The blondish trainer marched over. “Any more talking and you get a shot.”
“What’s a shot?” Daphne asked.
“You’ll find out. Although you don’t want to. And since you talked when I said not to, now you have one.”
“You’re probably wondering what you got yourselves into right about now.” Jeremiah’s face warmed with a toothy smile. “Listen up. I’m gonna give you the first five rules to get you to skinny. First, you’ll learn your room assignments. When you go there, you’ll change into your uniform. And then we’ll tell you the next step.
“Remember: you’re here to learn discipline, not dieting tricks. Not the damn calorie counts of an apple. If you’re here, you already possess a PhD in everything from calories to carbs.”
The women nodded like churchgoers finally hearing the right sermon.
He paused, obviously appreciative in advance of his next line. “Doctorates of dieting are bullshit. With me, you’re going to get whittled into shape, mind, and body. Coleen and Valentina—your trainers—your gods, your mother, your father for the next four weeks—plan to carve you out from the lakes of fat you’re lying in.”
Hania M. cleared her throat and spoke. “Who is that?” Her voice broke with a nervous catch as she pointed to the short Paul Bunyan type holding what Alice recognized as a DSLR video camera. Alice gave her kudos for opening her mouth.
“He’s invisible,” Jeremiah said. “You don’t see him.”
“Actually,” Hania said with great dignity, “I do.”
The taller trainer—god, mother, father—stepped up. “No. You don’t. You shouldn’t need us to remind you of the documents you signed before you came. Disciplined women do not require reminding. Do not embarrass yourself.”
Alice figured she was ahead. She was disciplined. She remembered the inclusions about filming in the pages-long document she’d signed. A strong sense of “Screw you, Clancy,” had imbued her as she wrote “Alice Townsend” under the lengthy paragraphs that added up to “We’re filming you. You give up rights to your image, which will be utilized for instructive purposes.”
“Any more questions?” the blonde trainer asked.
Nobody spoke.
“I’m Valentina. Shortly, I will know you better than anyone, including your BFF.” She used the colloquialism with the clipped measure of someone who did not want you to know that English wasn’t her first language.
“Rule one: no speaking when you are lined up. Rule two: a shot will be given for each t
ime a rule is broken. Rule three: no outside contact. Rule four: three shots results in discipline as we determine. Rule five: arguments about regulations will result in dismissal from the mansion.
“Coleen will now give room assignments. You will follow us to the rooms. Your bags will be there. When the bell rings, leave your rooms and wait for instructions.” She turned to the small, dark-skinned woman standing in a military position. “Coleen?”
Coleen gave a curt nod. Everything about her was severe, from her sharp shoulder blades to her defined thigh muscles. Her short hair, close on the sides with a low pile on top, appeared immobile, as did her pressed lips, outlined in a fuchsia lipstick, which stood in contrast with her somber expression and dead-serious eyes.
“Step forward when I call your name.” Coleen scanned the room. “Susannah C.”
The tall woman shuffled forward. Enormous thighs rubbed against each other. Her discordant body appeared grafted.
“State your stats.” Coleen stood with her legs apart, hands gripped behind her military style.
Susannah reached for the red card hanging around her neck like a noose. Coleen smacked her hand away. “You know your height and weight. Don’t read. Speak.”
Alice understood Susannah’s reluctance to state the facts. Reading allowed a sense of removal. Alice wanted to expunge her statistics forever. Once she lost this weight, she planned to erase the knowledge of that, too.
“Five foot eleven,” Suzanne said. “Two hundred and ninety.”
“Two hundred and ninety what?”
“Two hundred and ninety pounds.” Susannah’s eyes appeared deliberate in their lack of focus.
“Do you have any idea what I weigh?” Coleen asked.
Susannah shook her head with the smallest motion.
“Take a guess. Come on: if you are here, like Jeremiah said, you’re some sort of expert. Look at yourself. You could be a postdoctorate in fat. I bet you can do it with one glance.”
“I’m really not good at this.” Susannah’s voice trembled.
“Sure you are!” Coleen’s voice brimmed with false friendship. “Take a guess. It won’t cost you anything.”
Susannah raised her shoulders and pressed her lips together, her movements a clear indication of just how much this interaction cost her.
Jeremiah pushed in front of Coleen and put a hand on Susannah’s shoulder. “Just try, hon. Like she told you.”
“I don’t know,” Susannah whispered.
Coleen smirked as Jeremiah comforted Susannah.
Whatever program Alice thought she had signed up for, this scene didn’t match it. Perhaps she should have watched the Waisted documentary, but that would have meant asking Clancy for his screening copy. Instead, she’d registered in secrecy and simply slipped off, telling only her parents, who agreed to be on total Libby caretaking. She’d spoken to her daughter only at the very last moment, assuring her repeatedly that the time until Mommy returned would fly by.
Clancy, she notified by email. She left Boston based only on the knowledge that the film had been the first in a series on weight and women and that it had won the Mobie. She couldn’t stand Clancy judging her one more moment.
Her decision horrified Bebe and Zeke, but family was family. Steel bound them. Clancy’s role as their son-in-law never prevailed over a daughter’s primacy.
Coleen pointed at Jennifer F., who cocked her head, her expression blank, her bright glasses contrasting with her dark skin. The woman glared with a force field of minus sixty degrees.
“You seem like a smart girl, Jennifer. How much do you think I weigh?”
Jennifer crossed her arms, reminding Alice of the girls she worked with who developed too soon, the ones hunched over in oversized sweatshirts. “I can’t say, but I think you’re mighty proud of the number.”
“Are you in want of a shot?” Valentina marched to Jennifer and stuck her face close.
“You said no talking unless spoken to,” Jennifer said. “She spoke.”
Valentina jabbed her finger toward Jennifer’s chest. “Coleen asked what she weighed, not your opinion.”
“Sorry, ma’am. The parameters confused me.” Jennifer nodded with a slow smile and ran her gaze over Coleen. “I’d say you’re five foot two. Small as all shit, but I’m gonna say you weigh a hundred twenty-three pounds naked. Muscle is heavy, and you’re covered with it.”
Underground laughs slithered through the room.
Jeremiah left Susannah’s side. The rising triumph of mirth receded. Jennifer F. remained cross armed and kept the expression that managed to stay mildly disrespectful while still blank.
“Coleen is five feet three inches tall. She weighs one hundred five pounds.” He paced the line, stopping in front of Daphne. “Height and weight?”
Daphne appeared ready to punch Jeremiah. “Five feet four inches. One hundred ninety-seven pounds.”
“So let’s see. You weigh how many more pounds than Coleen?”
“Ninety-two.”
“A math whiz! Nighty-two pounds ahead and only two inches shorter. Imagine losing an entire Coleen. Would you become a freak? Hideous?”
Daphne stood silent, absorbing the humiliation.
“Let’s put it another way: if you lose eighty-eight pounds, you’ll be one hundred nine pounds. Is this a dangerous weight for you, do you think?”
Before Daphne could answer, he swung his attention to Susannah C. “You weigh two hundred ninety pounds. Most of it is hanging below your waist, right?” He shifted his gaze to the rest of the room. “Would you all agree?”
The room stayed silent.
“Ladies!” Coleen clapped her hands sharp and short. “Jeremiah asked a question. What we have here is an emergency room. Imagine he’s the head physician, and you’re the trauma team.”
Valentina walked to Seung and put out her hand, gesturing for the woman to approach. “Come. I do not bite.”
Seung seemed doubtful.
“Look at you all dressed for a workout.” Valentina swept her hand over Seung’s bright lemon sweatshirt and black leggings and tweaked Seung’s ponytail as though they were all pals together. “I love the purple hair!”
Seung, trapped, moved her head up and down as Valentina tugged. When the trainer freed the ponytail, she held out her hand, Seung took it, and then, wordless, let herself be led to stand in front of Susannah.
“Where are most of her pounds?”
Seung circled a hand ambiguously around Susannah’s lower half. Alice’s stomach roiled.
Coleen released a movie-sized sigh and walked to where the two women stood. She took a handful of Susannah’s meaty thighs. “Imagine this on a scale, ladies. Here we have her virtually carrying the equivalent of me—if I were soft, wiggly suet wrapped around her.”
Coleen released Susannah and walked up to Alice. She outlined Alice’s body with her hands as though drawing a pinup.
“I’m all over you. Do you feel me? Am I heavy enough?” Coleen reached up and put a hand on each of Alice’s shoulders and spun her around. “How’s your back, Alice?”
“My back?” Anger and humiliation competed for first place.
“Slipped discs?” Coleen asked. “Sciatica?” The trainer knew the answer. Medical forms had been required.
“I’m fine.”
Coleen reached up and pressed Alice’s shoulders. “Excellent. You’re first. Squat down.”
Alice obeyed, stymied by what gymnastic feat might be expected.
“Brace yourself.”
Alice tightened her muscles.
Coleen leapt on her back. “Get up. Walk.”
Alice, stumbling under Coleen’s weight, tried to stand. Finally, after tensing her stomach muscles to protect herself, she rose and then took a halting step.
“Giddyap!” Coleen yelled straight and loud into her ear. She dug her hands into Alice’s shoulders and wrapped her legs around her waist. “Around the room, please.”
All the women held themselves in some way.
They hugged their upper arms, laced their fingers, pressed their lips, and unintentionally moved closer to one another.
Alice circled the room, blinking away tears of pain and rage as Valentina narrated. “This is it, ladies. You are nothing but packhorses carrying hideous pounds of flesh, tying fat around your middle, your thighs, and your hips. You chew up every morsel of flavor and then let it lay on your body. A succubus, dragging you into the ground. A succubus you invited into the precious home you call your body.”
CHAPTER 11
* * *
ALICE
When Alice finished her lap around the room, Valentina forced the rest of the women to carry Coleen on their back. Lauretta, the shortest, appeared destined to end as a deflated balloon on the ground. She struggled one short step at a time as her fellow Waisted enrollees took prayerful positions.
“Go,” Hania whispered. “You can do it!”
Emboldened by Hania, the women joined in, quietly urging Lauretta forward until Valentina silenced them, moving down the line with her pad. “Shot. Shot. Shot,” she said, continuing until Lauretta dragged Coleen in silence.
“Sorry, ladies, but you got fat alone,” Jeremiah said. “You gotta learn to become thin alone.”
Alice’s cramps increased. She could tell that her tampon was soaked and that blood now leaked to her pad. She tried to catch Valentina’s eye, needing the bathroom, ready to seek permission. How quickly they had broken them down.
Spasms went through Alice’s lower half. “Valentina?”
The woman turned, anger coloring her face.
Alice rushed out the words. “I need the restroom.”
“You’ll wait.”
What would Bebe do?
“I’m not asking for permission. I’m asking where it is.”
“And I’m telling you to wait.”
“This isn’t a wait situation.” Alice turned left to right, trying to guess which way to walk.
Daphne stepped forward and stood beside her. “Me, too. I must go. Now. It’s a medical emergency.”
Waisted Page 8
