The Lighter Side of Large (44 page)

I’m so shocked, I can’t speak. “Did you just call me a fake?” I can barely get the words out. “I open myself up to you and share myself with you in every possible way and you wonder if I’m being real? It sounds like you want me to be a certain kind of person, but if I want to grow and change, then I’m no longer what you want. Is that it?”

“No that’s not it at all,” Jae denies. “I’ve seen you grow and change and it’s been beautiful to watch, but it didn’t come about because you went under the knife to carve out a new person. I can understand the lap band surgery because that can be done for health reasons. But there is no health reason for what you want to do.”

I can’t believe Jae can be so unfeeling. “Listen, I have to go. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay. Have a good day,” he says but without enthusiasm.

“Bye.”

After I hang up, I stare at my laptop screen, steaming about our argument.
How dare he? How dare he? I guess that means I won’t tell him about my surgery. He’ll just have to deal with it after the fact. And if he wants to break up with me, then maybe we weren’t meant to be together in the first place. I can reconnect with RoMANce and see how that goes. I’m thinner now; I have work. I’m a better catch than ever before. It won’t be so hard to find a man.

Pushing my anger and resentment aside, I wonder what my next column should be about. Something I haven’t covered yet. But my thoughts drift back to the charity ball, wondering if people were really impressed by me or were they just curious, like I was a circus sideshow freak? A novelty to be gawked at?

Of course, I can’t think about the ball without thinking of how the night continued in our suite. Then inspiration hits. I begin typing, followed by sketching a cartoon based on our special first night together. I hesitate, knowing Jae probably won’t be happy having a part of his personal life put into print, but it’s too good an idea to discard. And besides, he needs to lighten up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“What is frustrating? Doing all the things which are recommended to attract a guy and avoiding the things which repel them, but still find yourself alone on a Friday night.”

FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch25

Thank you for letting us interview you,” Clarisse Devril of the
Gab Gazette
shakes my hand as I take a seat at our table by the window.

“Thank you for wanting to interview me,” I chuckle. “I’m rather excited by the thought of people waiting in the check-out line at the grocery store reading about me.” A waiter approaches and we order our drinks.

“Yes, our
Back Page Heroe
s feature usually gets a high response rates from readers, which is why we want to feature you. We think you’ll generate quite a response. Do you mind if I record you?” Clarisse asks taking a mini digital voice recorder out of her satchel and placing it on the table.

“Not at all,” I reply. I feel tickled on the inside at the thought of
me
generating a positive response from the
Gab’s
readers and maybe increasing their sales for the week.
Me,
increasing sales?

We chat for a few minutes, and then after placing our meal orders, Clarisse jumps in with the questions. At first they are the same questions everyone else asks me: why did I start writing and drawing, what other sorts of discrimination did I experience as an obese woman, did I date much? I describe the disastrous date with Wesley, which led to me going into the AmandaE store in the first place to avoid him.

Our food arrives and I sip my first spoonful of chicken broth when Clarisse asks another question.

“So tell me, Bella, your newspaper column and magazine articles are about being comfortable with your own body and accepting yourself even when you’re imperfect. Now that you’ve achieved the perfect body, do you feel you can be authentic with your readers?”

I almost choke on my soup. “Perfect body? Thanks for thinking so, but I don’t view my body as perfect yet. Therefore, I am being authentic as I relate my own woes about weight loss and make light of the things that can happen when you’re overweight.”

“So you don’t accept yourself as you are?” Clarisse challenges.

I’m surprised by her sudden change of tone. “No, I do accept myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to improve my looks more and take care of myself. I still work out and am following the special diet, which I have to be on after having the lap band procedure done. Which was for health reasons,” I add.

Clarisse nods. “So when do you feel enough is enough in regards to weight loss and improving one’s looks?”

I shrug. “That’s up to the individual. Some women are happy being a size sixteen. Others aren’t satisfied unless they are in a single digit size. It’s all about perception and considering one’s age and height and bone structure. What makes me happy isn’t the same as what makes you happy necessarily. We’re two different people with different racial backgrounds and upbringings. That colours our views of perfection. Even if we lived one hundred years ago, our views of perfection would be different than what they are now probably.”

“What is your perception of perfection?” Clarisse asks, toying with her food.

There’s something in her voice, which makes me uneasy. I glance at the recorder, not wanting to answer.
I must choose my words carefully so she can’t twist them.
“Well,” I hesitate, “I’d say perfection is a happy heart; someone who is content on the inside and at peace not only with her body but other accomplishments.”
There! No way she can twist that.

A smile tugs at Clarisse’s lips. “Would you say that you’ve attained perfection?”

I chuckle. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” she pushes. “You have a career which is taking off; you’re gaining recognition and financial independence; you have a great body. Why aren’t you at peace?

“Well…” I bite my lip and grab my glass of water for a drink to cover my nervousness.

Clarisse plows ahead. “Do you think plastic surgery will help you attain perfection?”

I freeze, my glass midway between the table and my mouth. “Plastic surgery?” I squeak.

She nods. “You are planning to get plastic surgery, aren’t you? Didn’t you see a plastic surgeon this week?”

“How do you know that?” I stammer. I received my surgery confirmation date in the mail this morning and it brought me great joy: it is on the day of Tiresa and Mika’s wedding.
Oh darn, can’t attend now,
I had thought gleefully. But I feel no glee now.

She ignores my question. “Are you going to tell your readers that you’re getting surgery? How does that square with telling them to be happy with their bodies if you aren’t happy with yours?”

I set down my glass, astonished she knows I visited Dr Carver’s office.

“Don’t you feel you’re being hypocritical by saying one thing to your readers and doing another?”

My mouth opens, but no words come out.

“When is “enough” enough for you, Bella? First you had the lap band procedure and now you want plastic surgery. What kind of surgery is it? Augmentation? Liposuction?”

“The lap band was for health reasons,” I argue weakly. “I saw Dr Carver for a consultation about getting excess skin removed so it doesn’t turn to gangrene.”

“So your regular physician determined that you are in danger of contracting gangrene?”

“Well, no…”

Clarisse ignores my answer. “According to your blog, you already lost a significant amount of weight at the time you elected to have the lap band procedure done. Was there really a health risk which prompted you to have the surgery and if so, why didn’t you have it done in the first place before you started exercising and dieting?”

I squirm in my chair. “I, well, I reached a plateau and, uh, um, I thought it best to help my body, and…”

“Doesn’t everyone who goes on a diet reach a plateau? But not everyone resorts to surgery to get past it. Did you research other ways to kick-start the fat-burning process again, or was the lap band procedure done for aesthetics reasons rather than for health?”

When is she going to stop asking questions?
“I thought it best that…”

“Again, I ask you when is “enough” enough? Do you intend to have more plastic surgery after this?”

This is not good.
“I don’t know...”

Clarisse puts down her fork and folds her hands under her chin. “How does your boyfriend feel about your crusade against the AmandaE franchise? According to its latest business report, sales haven’t gone down, so is it really just a ploy to draw attention to the franchise, since even gossip can be good for his business?”

If I was surprised before, I’m floored by Clarisse’s swift change of topic.
How does she know who my boyfriend is?
“As I’ve stated in the past, I’m not leading a crusade against AmandaE; I’m just trying to draw attention to discrimination against overweight people and I happened to experience discrimination at one of their stores. And what
that
has to do with my boyfriend’s adventure tourism business is beyond me. I don’t see the connection.”

Clarisse smirks. “Your boyfriend is John Alexander Elliot, Vice President of the AmandaE Corporation, is he not?”

I shake my head. “No. My boyfriend is Jae Elliot, President of Go 4 It, a company down in Nelson Lakes National Park.”

“Jae? As in jay-ay-ee, John Alexander Elliot?” Clarisse spells it out.

My stomach clenches. “He does some work with the AmandaE Corporation,” I volunteer, but I know Clarisse is telling the truth. Jae isn’t an oddly-spelled name; it’s his initials. But he never told me that.

“So is this just a marketing ploy? Did you ever hear back from AmandaE after you wrote your letter of complaint to them?””No, it isn’t a marketing ploy and no, I never heard back from them.”
And now I know why. Why didn’t you tell me, Jae?
“I wouldn’t work to give free advertisement to a store which discriminates against the obese.”

Clarisse waves a hand at me. “But you’re not obese anymore. Do you shop there?”

I can’t look her in the face. All I can think about is getting out of there - fast.

“I spoke with the manager of the AmandaE store where the incident occurred and she says Mr Elliot and you shopped at the store not long ago and acquired quite a few items. Is that true?”

With a calmness, which belies my shaking insides, I take my napkin out of my lap and lay it on the table. “I think this interview is over,” I say, my voice trembling.

“Ms White, can you explain how you can shop at a store which is owned by your boyfriend without you even knowing he owns it?” Clarisse asks, holding the recorder out to me as I stand and grab my purse. “Ms White, why won’t you answer my question?” she calls after me.

I rush out the door.
She can pay for the lunch. I’ll be damned if I will pay for humiliation,
I think as I almost run down the sidewalk to my car. I bump into people without apology, but I don’t care if they think I’m rude.
Where did I park?
I wonder, digging my keys out of my purse and scanning the line of cars for mine. I just want to get as far away as possible from here, from her.
How did she know about Dr Carver and Jae? What else does she know about me? What intimate details of my life is she going to print? Where is my car?

I spot it and sprint towards it - and promptly break the heel off my shoe in a crack in the sidewalk. I swear out loud as I struggle to wrench the heel from the crack but it remains stuck. Swearing again, I leave it and hobble to the sanctuary of my car - and then drop my keys. The ring shatters, scattering half a lifetime of keys across the sidewalk, street, and down a sewer grate.

“Please don’t let my car key be one of those in the sewer, please don’t let it be in the sewer,” I repeat over and over under my breath as I frantically gather the keys into a pile and throw them into my purse. With dismay, I see none of them are my car key. I get down on my knees, tucking my dress under my knees so I don’t flash the people walking down the street, and peer through the grate. I can just make out my car key, among several others in the murky shadows. “Oh, no,” I groan.

At least I didn’t drop my cell phone. I call a car dealer, who takes an hour to rescue me with a replacement key, which costs seventy-five dollars because of the remote controls on the key fob and immobiliser anti-theft chip. At least I have the money in my bank account to cover the ghastly expense. I am on the verge of angry tears as I drive home, but once I get there, the tears stop and I can’t cry. I dial Jae and reach his voice mail. “I need you to call me as soon as you get this,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I don’t mean to sound angry, but I am.

I have an hour of uninterrupted speculating before Jae returns my call, an hour of mulling over what I am going to say to him for keeping secrets from me. What else hasn’t he told me that Clarisse didn’t get a chance to spring on me? His real name, his real other business, his co-owning the cabin with his ex-wife? At this rate, it will probably turn out that he owns his own island and runs an orphanage there for all his illegitimate children.