The Lighter Side of Large (43 page)

It’s not like I’m becoming a plastic doll or getting surgery on places, which don’t really need it. I do
need
plastic surgery. It’s really more like reconstructive surgery, as Dr Carver put it. Years of being severely obese took its toll on my skin, which is losing it’s elasticity with each passing day. I’m not getting younger and being fat harmed my exterior as well as my interior. Do I want to look my best or do I want to always have lingering signs of my past weight? Easy answer to that question: of course I want to look my best. And because one of my goals is to have the perfect body, how can I not get surgery? I have the man; I’m becoming successful in a career and financially independent. Now all I need is the perfect body.

Inside the house, I dump my keys and purse on the desk and walk down the hallway to the loo. I pause to smile at my image in the mirror. “Just six more months and I’ll see another woman in the mirror,” I say to myself. A successful woman. A sexy woman. A-

A knock at the door interrupts my fantasy. I’m stunned to find Cat on my doorstep. “What are you doing here? Come in, come in, long time no see,” I step aside to let her in and am immediately struck by the lack of odour. Her clothes look clean, too. “How are you?” I hug her and as usual, she doesn’t hug back. “You look great. Come in, sit down. Have you been staying with Riyaan?” I gesture to the sofa. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

The cleaner Cat sits on the sofa, her back not touching the sofa’s back. “No, but I will take tea.”

“Sure,” I say and hurry to the kitchen to fill up the electric kettle, throw in a few tea bags and plug it in. I return to the living room and sit next to her. “So how have you been? How are things going with Riyaan?”

“If you came around the coffee shop more often, you’d know the answers, wouldn’t you?” she replies. The bluntness of her reply doesn’t surprise me as much as the implication behind it.

“I’ve been very busy with my writing,” I explain. “I was on the radio this morning for an interview. Isn’t that exciting? More free publicity for my blog and column and magazine article. Did I tell you I’ve got a book contract?”

“No, you did not,” Cat replies. “How can you tell us anything when you’re not talking to us?””You make it sound like I’m avoiding you,” I defend myself, a little perturbed. “I’m not. I’ve just got a job now - a couple, in fact. Things are going really well for me. I don’t have a lot of time for socialising. But now you’re here, so fill me in on what’s going on in your life,” I try to change the topic and keep things light. “How’s Riyaan?”

Cat’s eyes dart around the room, everywhere except for me. “He’s still gay.”

“I suspected as much,” I laugh. “What I mean is how is he adjusting to you? Are you spending more time together? I mean, well, I’m sure you of all people don’t mind bluntness, but you do look showered and your clothes are cleaner than usual.
Something’s
changed and I’d like to know what.”

“Is the tea ready yet?’ Cat asks, ignoring my questions, spoken and unspoken.

“No.”

Cat fixates on an invisible spot on the carpet. “You can’t just leave your friends. That’s rude and mean.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “I haven’t left anyone. I’ve been busy. I have a new career. I’m finding success. Can’t you be happy for me?”

“Love to,” she replies, “if I knew what was going on in your life. Which I don’t.”

I sigh, exasperated. “Maybe Riyaan will let you read my blog on his laptop. That will catch you up on the latest developments in my life.”

“Sands used to tell me, but now she doesn’t even know.”

I’m struck by that thought. Doesn’t Sands read my blog? What is up with the gang? “Really, Cat,” I stand, “not to toot my own horn, but how often have I helped you and invited you into my home and the café, and yet the minute life starts looking up for me, you accuse me of abandoning you and Sands and Riyaan. Do you want my life to stay the same? Always struggling financially? Being fat and rejected by the rest of the world? Or is it you’re jealous because I have a boyfriend and am expanding my circle of acquaintances? I don’t intend on dumping you, but I would like - I would
hope
- for some semblance of support and happiness for my happiness.”

“Are you happy?” Cat asks, still staring at the spot.

Now it’s my turn to ignore the question. I move into the kitchen and listen to the water begin to boil in the kettle. When it does, I turn it off and pour Cat a cup with a splash of milk. When I return to the living room, she’s still staring.

“Your silence says otherwise,” she says taking the cup from my hand without looking directly at it.

“Of course I’m happy! Why would you even ask that?” I demand. “Do I look unhappy?”

She shrugs. “You were never defensive when you were fat.”

I gasp. “I was very unhappy when I was fat. That’s changed. If I’m ‘defensive’ right now, it’s because I feel attacked.”

“But at least you treated your friends well.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. After Jae went through the trouble of arranging the weekend to the Marlborough Sounds for you guys and after all I’ve done for you, I don’t show up for a few coffees and suddenly I’m the bad guy? What is this about, really? Are you guys jealous of me? Haven’t I gone through years of purgatory to finally enjoy a bit of heaven, and what do I find? My so-called friend accuses me of being stand-offish? Okay, fine. Do you want me to show up at the café on Saturday? Fine, I’ll be there. Let Riyaan and Sands know I’ll be there. So there, does that make you happy?”

Cat slurps her tea. “Tell them yourself. I’m not your messenger service.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I’ll call them. Right now, in fact.” I storm over to the desk and dig my phone out of my purse. I hit the speed dial number for Sands and sit on the desk, waiting for her to answer. I look at Cat for some sign of approval or recognition, but she’s mumbling something to her tea - no, she’s answering a question to her tea.

“Hello?” Sands finally answers.

“Hi Sands, it’s me,” I say brightly.

“Wow,” she says, “and here I thought you forgot all about me.”

My shoulders droop. “Of course I haven’t forgotten about you. I’ve just been extremely busy. But what are you doing Saturday morning? Are you up for coffee at the café?”

“Yes, I’d love that,” she replies. “But when are you coming back to the gym? Last time we spoke, you said you wanted to lose ten more kilos.”

“You’re right, I do,” I say “but I haven’t had a spare moment in between writing and interviews. I was on the radio this morning.”

“I wish you would have told me; I would have tuned in,” Sands complains.

“Well, maybe they’ll rebroadcast it on their web site and you can listen to it there. I’ll email you the link.”

“Sure, okay. Hey, have you talked with Riyaan lately?”

“No but Cat’s sitting in my living room as we speak,” I say.

“Like you’re going to get anything out of her. So you probably don’t know she’s living in a group home now to transition getting off the streets.”

“Really? That’s wonderful,” I say. “She hasn’t mentioned that yet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Riyaan will tell you all about it Saturday. I’ll fill you in on my latest breakup.”

“Breakup?” I laugh. “You mean you actually got past a one-night stand to start a real relationship? This I gotta hear.”

“Gee, thanks, Bella.”

“Oh, come on, Sands,” I tease, “when was the last time you had a boyfriend? Seriously, I want to know all about this ‘relationship’. Did you break up because you found out he’s married or because you seriously weren’t compatible? That didn’t take very long, did it?”

“Maybe if my best friend was around to support me when I needed someone to ask advice of and offer a shoulder to cry on, then, oh, never mind. I gotta run and teach a class. I’ll see you Saturday around ten.”

“Great. See you then. Bye,” I say, hitting the end call key.
What has gotten into everyone? If the gang is that dependent on me, then maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t been around so they can learn to stand on their own. Is that all I am to them, a support? So much for it being mutual.
“There, now. Saturday at ten we’re meeting for coffee. You’re coming too, right?” I ask Cat.

Cat slurps her tea again. “No. I have better things to do.”

She doesn’t contribute much in the way of conversation for the rest of her stay and it is with relief that she finally leaves. I sit at the desk and turn on my laptop - I have a couple of hours before I need to pick up the kids from school, a couple of hours of uninterrupted writing time. Before I finish typing one sentence, my phone rings.

I don’t recognise the number but answer it anyway. “Hello?”

“Is this Bella White?” a female voice asks.

“Yes, it is,” I reply.

“This is Clarisse Devril from the
Gab Gazette.
Are you familiar with our magazine?”

I brighten. “Yes, I flip through it when I stand in line at the grocery store.”

“Great. Well, I’m calling to see if you’d like to do an interview for us. We’d like to feature you and your crusade for equal treatment for larger folk, as you’ve termed it, on our
Back Page Heroes.
Are you interested?”

“Yes,” I smile. Another interview! I simply cannot believe my good fortune. “I’d love to. Just tell me when and where.”

“Does this Saturday at noon work for you?”

“Yes, no problem,” I say, jotting down the information.

“Good. Shall we make it a lunch interview, let’s say at The Bistro on Trafalgar and the High Street?”

“The Bistro is perfect,” I reply.

“Thank you so much. I look forward to meeting you.”

“Same here. Bye.” I hang up and squeal. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes,” I dance in my chair and speed dial Jae to share the news.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers the phone.

“Hey, handsome,” I say. “Guess what? I just landed another interview with a magazine!”

“Congratulations,” he says. “I listened to your interview on the radio this morning. You sounded more confident than before.”

“Good,” I nod, “because I felt confident. You know, I think I’m getting used to fame. It suits me well, don’t you think? Ha-ha!”

“As long as you don’t forget the little people, like your boyfriend,” he says, playfully mournful.

“As if I could forget you,” I scoff.

“Well, you made quite an impression at the charity ball. People are still asking me who you are.”

“Really?” I quiz. “No doubt impressed by the size of my butt, which weighs more than most of the models there combined.” I laugh but Jae doesn’t join in.

“Bella,” he says, his tone low, “your butt is beautiful. Don’t put yourself down. There’s no reason to compare yourself to those women.”

“You’re right, sorry,” I apologise. But I am curious if the inquiries about me are complimentary or critical. Jae is biased; he thinks I look good naked, and a man has to be biased to think that. I am sure after insulting Simon that my reputation was besmirched by him. “But,” I venture, “it would be nice to not have the biggest butt in the room. I can see why women get work done on themselves. If it makes them feel better, why not?”

“Isn’t it better to base one’s feelings on inner peace, not outward circumstances?” Jae argues.

“What if by changing the outward circumstances, you gain inner peace?” I challenge.

“Do you think any of the women at the ball have inner peace due to plastic surgery?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, “but they look happy. If I wanted to get some work done because I thought it would contribute to my happiness, could you be happy for me?”

“Bella, you know how I feel about plastic surgery,” Jae says.

“I’m not talking about being made into a Barbie Doll. I’m talking about taking care of attributes which spending months at the gym may never take care of.”

“So what attributes do you want to ‘take care of’? And is it worth it after you almost died from simple lap band surgery? Is it really worth the risk?”

“Jae, have you ever heard of someone dying from blood clots during a nose job?”

“So you want a nose job?”

“No,” I answer, “I’m just saying it’s a different ball game with liposuction and removing excess skin. I mean, I really need to get my excess underarm skin removed. There’s a danger of contracting gangrene, you know.”

“And the lipo? Where on your body needs that?” He does not sound happy.

“Where don’t I need that,” I laugh trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“I don’t think you need it anywhere,” Jae replies.

I sigh. “So if I got plastic surgery, you’d be angry? Because it really sounds like it.”

“Yes, I would be angry,” Jae admits. “Like I told you before, I’m used to being around anorexic, fake-looking women and women who think they need improving when they don’t. That’s one of the reasons I love you so much, Bella: you’re real. You let the inside shine outward. You don’t hold back when you laugh. You’re not afraid. So hearing you talk about getting surgery to change who you are, it just makes me wonder if I really know the real you.”