Conversations With the Fat Girl (7 page)

somehow make me less crazy. Usually on my walks with Solo, I think about

relationships. I know-.--a dog named Solo. I thought it would be so

cool. Now she's just this little self-fulfilling prophecy who 1 pick up

after twice a day. But I digress. For Peregrine's birthday one year, she

threw one of those sex-toy parties. As I sat there among the lotions,

lubes, and various other marital aids, I felt nothing except

embarrassment. My few brushes with sex have been these uneventful

fumblings where there was never any time to reach for edible glitter or

a feather tickler, let alone try any other position besides ?fully

clothed and humiliated.?The notion that there would be time and even the

proper lighting to utilize such tools is completely mind boggling.

During my first year at Cal I lived on the same floor as Mason Phelps, a

math major who studied nonstop. Whether in the library, the student

lounge, or the cafeteria, Mason was rarely without a textbook, graph

paper, and his calculator. His brownish hair was cut poorly and seemed

to only play up his massive cowlick, which stuck straight up in back.

His eyes were this beautiful yellow-brown color, which is what I finally

decided made me like him. Well, that and he seemed to like me. Even

during his twenty-four-hour study sessions, he would find time to knock

on my dorm room door and sit on my bed, talking about class and the

campus. I found myself laughing at jokes that were wholly unfunny while

working harder than ever to just keep the conversation going. Why did he

come over if he

50 44 Uza Palmer

didn't want to talk? And why did I keep talking to him if he bordered on

mind-numbingly boring? I eventually discovered the purpose of Mason's

visits. While the dorm erupted in Saint Patrick's Day festivities, Mason

knocked once again at my dorm room door. We immediately got into a

heated conversation about the choice of cereals in the cafeteria. As I

extolled the virtues of Cap'n Crunch, Mason leaned over and kissed me. I

remember very little after that, as everything seemed to move in fast

forward. The lights were off, his pants were down, and before I had time

to ask myself if I even liked this person, I had pulled him on top of

me. I could hear bursts of laughter from other students just outside my

door. The pure adrenaline of what was happening pushed me through the

fears of that first time. But as Mason got up after a magical ten

seconds had elapsed, he leaned down and pinched my thigh, commenting

that I wasn't wearing green. He didn't close the door all the way as he

left, and a small shaft of light from the hallway allowed me to see what

he had seen: me naked. I vowed I would never feel that vulnerable again.

I was steadfast in my promise to myself, giving in only once-at a

Halloween party in San Francisco, where I slept with a guy in an alien

outfit. I learned later his name was Bobby Bol and he was an electrician

in Daly City I was drunk at the time, and I've never forgiven myself for

that. During my first months at Joe's, I met Steven MacKenzie, a slow,

drawling Texan who could never commit to anything stable, not even

friendship. I spent night after night in his apartment with my head on

his lap, lazily watching art-house movies in the dark. Unlike Mason,

Steven never leaned down and kissed me. Steven and I went so far as to

take trips with each other. My earliest definition of lust was the

feeling I got when Texas Steven

51 Conversations with the Fat Girl 45

got out of his kayak with his wet suit unzipped about halfway down his

chest during one particularly frustrating jaunt to Catalina Island. A

beam of light from the heavens illuminated his golden skin, and the

blond hairs covering his chest. . . wait, a moment of silence for the

chest. Okay. . . the blond hairs, which covered his chest. He had hooded

hazel eyes that made him look boyishly ravishing. His golden hair was

always cut short. Of course, if you swing the camera around you'll find

me: sitting in the water while hurling myself out of my kayak, which is

now hermetically sealed to my ass. S I spend the rest of the day

packing, being rejected by prospective landlords and avoiding The Paper,

which now rests on the top of the television. I have to be at work

early, so I decide to turn in. I check my messages for a call from

Olivia letting me know she is in town, but there are only messages from

Mom and Kate about leads they have on possible apartments. I get caught

up in not hearing from Olivia. I can't get past why she hasn't called.

We're best friends. Her wedding is in a matter of weeks. I'm her maid of

honor. How do you not call your maid of honor when you're in town?

Lately, I'm beginning to think Olivia is just a figment of my

imagination and that I've dreamed up the whole friendship. You'd think

I'd develop a more reliable Dream Friend. Mom says she has a lead on a

house for rent and I write down the phone number of the management

company I will have to tell her about the internship sooner or later. As

if she doesn't already know. I bring the phone into my bedroom and sleep

fitfully thinking I hear the phone every two hours. I awake watery-eyed

the next morning and dress quickly for work. I refuse to be late again.

52 46 IJza Palmer

?Hey there, latey. there's something clipped to the bulletin board for

you,?Cole says. ?I'm not late. What is it??1 ask, noting that I am, in

fact, eight minutes late. How can that be? ?You are late, but i'll humor

you. And I don't know what's clipped to the bulletin board because 1

didn't open it up. I'm in a good mood, so I will give you two minutes to

find out what it is, and then you may come to work officially unlate.?

is it a note from the owner of Joe's? That fucking Cole has tattled on

my chronic lateness. I fucking know it. 1 don't know why I'm late. I

just look at the clock and keep pushing it. Five more minutes. What an

asshole. I've done this to myself. Stupid. Here I am, moving and all the

moving costs and I lose my . . . wait a minute. ?is this mine??I point

to the package. ?Huh? Yeah_What? One of the backup staff, Christina

Dahl, an aspiring model-actress, is washing dishes in the back room.

'Who left it??1 am flipping the package around, trying to not disturb

the mechanics. ?Fm not sure. I just got here about an hour ago, and it

was already like, up there. I don't even know what it is . . . it's like

wrapped up, huh??Christina is still washing dishes. I'm not paying any

attention to her, which is a foreign concept for Christina. And yet, I'm

female, so maybe not, unless she trying to steal my man. I'm sure she

gets plenty of female attention in that arena. Christina walks out with

her plastic bin for dirty dishes and leaves me alone with the package. I

pull the pushpin and make Sure it goes right back where it was. It's

wrapped in today's Calendar section of the newspaper. I unfold the

newspaper to find a blank CD case. There are four

53 Conversations with the Fat Girl 47

words scrawled in black marker on the gold surface of the burned disc:

To Maggie From Domenic

Oh ... my . . God I hear myself say the three words

out loud.

To Maggie From Domenic

My first thought is, He wrote my name. That's what my name would look

like on a scribbled note he left on my pillowcase the morning he had to

leave early for work: Maggie: Thank you for last night. YOU WERE

AMAZING!-Domenic. I go back to the CD case for some answers as to what

could have possibly motivated Domenic to do this, as he isn't at work

today. On the inside flap of the CD cover is a note. Once again, I stare

at the writing. This is to me from him. He was thinking about me.

Domenic Brown was thinking about me. Wait. Domenic. Brown. Was.

Thinking. About. Me. ?Maggie-Here's a few hidden tracks I think you'll

like.- Domenic.?I can't feel my legs. The back room door swings open,

and I instinctively try to hide the CD. ?IG been two minutes. So ...

what is it??Cole has a taster spoon from the ice cream case in his

mouth. ?What what??I obviously missed my calling as an international spy

?I can't even pretend I'm not annoyed with you right now.?

54 48 Liza Palmer

Cole has now bitten the taster spoon in half and is flossing his teeth

with the jagged edges. ?It's just a CD.?I show it to him, flipping it

around like it doesn't mean a thing to me, even though I secretly know

this CD is going to be treasured by our firstborn daughter as the first

gift her daddy ever gave me. ?Who gave it to you??he asks. I am in

physical pain. What if he makes fun of me? What if he makes fun of

Domenic? I know he doesn't see me as a woman in any shape or form. So

what is he going to think about Domenic giving me a gift? Am I

overthinking this? Am I breathing right now? Am I talking out loud?

?Well, uh... remember when you guys were talking about some hidden

tracks on that album and I said, 'Hey, what's a hidden track?' you know.

. and so, Domenic was there, and he tried to explain it to me, you know,

you were there, too. But you know me. . . I. . . I didn't understand.?

At this point in my retard monologue, I am inspired to nonchalantly toss

Domenic's CD on the metal rack next to the sink as proof it means

nothing to me. As it sails through the air I fight every urge to dive

after it. But I continue my explanation. ?So Domenic made me this... I

mean that CD, and I guess it's got some hidden tracks on it, or

something. I really don't know,?I breathe. By now, Christina is peeking

her head behind Cole and waiting for him to move from the doorway

?Excuse me, Manager.?Christina holds the plastic bin at her hip, causing

her pants to go even farther down her ass. ?Oh, Christina. Sorry?Cole

looks over his shoulder and right down Christina's shirt. Then he moves

in closer, letting Christina into the back room so she can wash the

newly bused dishes. He is silent for a good five seconds. I am standing

there in joy, fear, and excitement, waiting for

55 Conversations with the Fat Girl 49

Cole to check out Christina's model-actress ass. I am hopeful this ass

will aid me in my plan to get the CD once more. Cole reaches for the CD

on the counter; I can't believe I let it out of my hands for one second.

?Oh. Oh yeah. It's burned. That's cool. Domenic makes some good mixes.

Does he say what's on here??Cole is now investigating the inner workings

of our firstborn daughter's sixteenth-birthday present. ?Nope.?I am now

in full cardiac arrest. Must. Get. CD. Back. I snatch the CD from Cole

and hide it in the folds of my long black sweater, which I put on a

shelf in the staff bathroom. Peregrine comes back from the smoking

section, putting her cigarette out on her boot. This time, however, she

is coming on shift. ?Hey, what's up?? I preemptively blurt as Cole heads

back out front, tossing the broken taster spoon in the trash as he walks

past. Peregrine waits. ?It's nothing. It's just a CD,?I continue as

Peregrine passes. I am oddly embarrassed. I've never seen myself as

someone who has boyfriends or gets gifts-and to be standing here with a

gift from a man is so foreign. My face is hot and I feel like I just get

caught making out on the couch by my mom. 'just a CD? Honey it's never

just a CD. Who's it from??Peregrine hides the soul of an eighty-year-old

truck-stop waitress within her thirty-three-year-old tattooed body

?Domenic.? I hear myself say his name. Inside my head, I am saying

Domenico. ?He totally likes you, doll,?Peregrine exclaims. ?I don't

think it means anything. We were just talking about hidden tracks. So

what??I say ?So you've got a little admirer, button. Cute, don't you

56 Liza Palmer Think? If that doesn't work out, I've got a line on

another guy for you. A real looker, too. Okay so he's the guy who picks

up our recycling, but he did ask after you the other day-said you had a

nice rack.' A little crude, but you don't have to marry the guy Remember

Movie Night-don't bring anything. I've got popcorn, beer, and I rented A

Star Is Born-both versions-Garland and Streisand!?Peregrine whirls into

the front of the coffeehouse to start her shift, leaving me alone in the

back room with my CD. I'm afraid this gift will he like all of the

others. Texas Steven's Blade Runner DVD I got for my birthday Bobby

Bol's single rose wrapped in copper wire. Mason Phelps even gave me his

meal card with an unlimited amount one month. Is this CD yet another

token of friendship or fleeting desire? What ii for once this is the

real thing? What then? Domenic isn't working today so I have no idea. We

close early on weekday nights, so I get home before 8 PM. I clutch the

CD in my hand and walk into my packed-up house. I check my machine. I

have two new messages. Both are from people I called about an apartment.