Slim Chance (16 page)

Even an untrained eye like Morgan could see that new hair would be the most crucial aspect of my makeover. Makeup was the easy part—I just went to Saks, where the Lancome counter gives customers free lessons in makeup application and color selection with any purchase over $175. But my coif needed more than a department-store freebie.

I’d never really bothered much with my hair; I was used to it long and plain and boring, with the usual trim and blow-dry every six weeks and a plain-Jane single-color rinse every two months. No matter what, it was always drab brown, with varying degrees of reddishness. And the only time I’d ever cut it short was on a regrettable whim senior year. Bruce and I had only been dating for a few months, and he mentioned that he thought I’d look good with short hair like Winona Ryder. Like an idiot, I went out and chopped it off. In theory, it should have worked, because I have delicate features, too, but I didn’t account for the fat factor. Instead of irresistibly cute and waif-like, the pixie do left me disproportionally pear-shaped, with nothing on top to balance out my big butt below. It took two years to grow out, and I’m never making that mistake again. Besides, long hair is in again (
Vogue,
April: “Extend Yourself: Autumn Runways Fall for Long Hair”).

This time, there would be nothing to worry about. I knew they’d do right by me at Louis Licari. At three hundred and fifty bucks for a cut and color, they’d better.

The salon itself was an oasis of calm. Razor-thin, black-clad stylists and colorists drifted from room to room, tending to clients and pushing around carts. Although I didn’t recognize
anyone in particular, the place oozed with fame and entitlement. It was all incredibly impressive, and I made a mental note to send Morgan’s mom some flowers or something to thank her. The receptionist ushered me into a chair for my consultation. After about forty-five minutes, a team of two hairdressers and three color technicians decided on a shaggy shoulder-length cut with face-framing layers; for color, it would be a warm copper base with lots of chunky golden highlights over top.

Three and a half hours later, I stepped out into the warm sunshine on Fifth Avenue. Walking to the subway entrance, I caught a quick glimpse of myself in a mirrored window—a thin, blond stranger with fabulous shoes just going about her daily routine. It was shocking, sure, but it was also fantastic. Three guys turned to check me out as I passed by, and more than a few others stared openly at my chest.

I was gorgeous. Finally.

Jade whistled when he saw me walk into the gym Monday after work. He could barely take his eyes off me.

“Love the new look, Evie! It really suits you,” he said as he adjusted the scale. “Surprise, surprise, down another pound. You’re at the perfect healthy weight for your height. In fact, I’d say you were even on the low end. So that’s it, Evie. You’re done.”

“Good—my seamstress will murder me if I lose any more.”

“She won’t be the only one,” he said. “But don’t get cocky. The really hard part’s just beginning. Now you have to learn how to maintain. I’m gonna book you in with Giselle, the nutritionist. I suggest that all my clients go to see her when they reach their goal weight, if they haven’t already.”

The thought of not being on a diet was more than a little scary. What if I gained it all back? If I allowed myself to eat dessert, just once, it could be the beginning of the end. I knew what could happen—all my hard work would be down the drain. I didn’t want to go to that cow Giselle. She’d be able to see right
through me. And I certainly didn’t want to hear her bullshit about everything being good in moderation, or making sure to get thirty percent of my calories from fat. I wasn’t going to give this up. Not for anyone or anything….

Jade interrupted my reverie. “How’s Bruce dealing with all this?”

“All what?”

“Your hot new bod, the hair, you know.”

“Oh, well he hasn’t seen the hair ’cause he’s been out of town, but he’s not so happy about the rest of it, to tell you the truth.” By now, I was perfectly comfortable discussing all the intimate details of my personal life with Jade. Well, most of them anyway—we never talked about sex or anything like that.

“That’s too bad. You’ve worked really hard for this, and you deserve to be appreciated. God, you’ve been virtually reborn. I mean, look at you!”

Jade had a flair for the dramatic, but I wasn’t complaining. He was an actor, after all. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking,” I said. “But no matter how many times I try to explain it to Bruce, how important it is for me to finally be healthy, he just shuts down. He thinks if I don’t eat a gallon of ice cream every day, that I’m anorexic.”

He shook his head sympathetically.

“If you only knew how many times he tried to sabotage me,” I continued. “You’d be shocked that I didn’t
gain
weight this year.”

“You’re in the best shape of your life and you feel good about yourself, and you want to share that with him. But he just doesn’t get it.”

“Exactly.” It was uncanny, how well he understood me.

He came up a little closer and said, “Not that I can blame the guy. He probably wants to keep you all to himself now that you’re looking so good. If you want, maybe we could talk about it later, if you’re not doing anything, that is.”

“Um…”

“Over a real drink this time, none of that carrot and parsley crap,” he added with a wink.

There was no denying it: The man was asking me out on a date. Was he mad? He knew I was engaged. I’m sure he could tell that I wanted to accept—after all we were very good friends and he could probably read me like a book by now—but did he actually think I would? More importantly, did I want to?

I sighed deeply.
There is nothing in this world or the next I’d rather do than go out for a drink, just the two of us.
Instead, I said, “I’d love to, but I really have to get home afterward. Bruce is probably already there, and I haven’t seen him in days.”

There was nothing wrong with a little innocent flirtation, as long as I didn’t let it get out of hand. I’m certain that Bruce flirted endlessly with women all the time, I just wasn’t there to witness it. So what was the difference?

“Maybe another time, then?” he asked, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind his ear.

“I think…uh, maybe…” I stammered. “But, I’d have to give it some thought. You understand…”

I was suddenly aware that nobody could really see us because we were in the back corner of the room where the scales are. He ran his forefinger lightly up my arm. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Of course I understand,” he said. “But there’s not a lot of time left, is there?”

I was paralyzed.

A pasty teenager in white spandex and a pink thong walked up to us and began tapping her foot impatiently. She cleared her throat. “I think you’re neglecting your other clients,” I blurted, glad for the excuse to stop staring into those ungodly green eyes.

He spun around and said curtly, “Marla, I told you I might not have time for you tonight. Just do your regular workout and come see me tomorrow.”

Marla stormed off to the treadmills in a snit.

“Sorry about that,” he said and picked up my chart. “Shall we get started, Evie?”

“Sure, Jade.”

Just saying his name made me feel incredibly guilty. Guilty because for a second, I’d actually considered his offer. Or at least, what I thought he was offering.

B
ruce’s jaw dropped when I walked through the door.

“What the…”

“I did my hair! Don’t you love it?”

He stared at me for a long time, shaking his head.

“I go away for two days and this…
this
is what I come back to? A stranger in my fiancée’s body? Oh, excuse me—it’s not even your body anymore! What have you
done,
Evie?”

“It’s just a dye job, Bruce. It’s not like I had plastic surgery,” I moaned, trying my hardest to shrug off this latest attempt to undermine my individuality. If Jade were here, he’d be outraged.

“Look at yourself. Is that what you wore to work today?”

“Yes, Bruce,” I said, exasperated. “I wore a skirt and a shirt to work today. I’m such a slut.”

“It’s practically
underwear,
and that’s not a shirt, it looks more like…like…a bathing suit or something.”

“It’s a camisole. It goes under a jacket.”

“So where’s the jacket?!”

“I left it at work.”

“What are those shoes? Is all that new?
Did you go shopping
again?
” He was absolutely mortified, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“Yes I did. I got a few things. But listen—I reached my goal weight! Can you believe it? Jade says I shouldn’t lose another pound. I’m actually where I want to be. For the first time in my life! So I don’t really have to buy anything else until the fall….”

“Are you serious?”

“Stop it with that voice! You’re overreacting!” I shrieked.

“
Me?
You’ve been overreacting for six months straight! I think I have the right to be freaked out when you come home with blond hair and looking like you just stepped off the pages of
Seventeen
magazine!”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do! You’re not a teenager. You can’t wear…what are those? Clogs? Green clogs?”

“They’re platform sandals, jerk. And what the hell do you know about it? You wear plaid shirts with button-down collars.”

“Who cares?”

“I do, thank God! You think I want to go around with some guy who looks like he’s about to go yachting?” If it weren’t for me, he’d still be wearing yellow sweaters. “What’s wrong with taking a little pride in your appearance?” I asked him.

“Nothing’s wrong with taking a
little
pride in anything. But you’re taking way too much pride in everything! It’s offensive, and it’s ridiculous. You’re still the same person you were before you lost all this weight, you know—Evelyn Mays, plain and simple. Fancy hair and tight clothes don’t fool anyone.”

“Plain and simple? Is that what you think of me?”

“I used to, and I liked it.”

“Well, then, you’ve just proved my point. Remaking myself into the person I’ve always felt like I was on the inside has been the greatest success of my life. The
only
success of my life. And if you don’t like it…then…then you’re obviously not man enough to accept the real me.”

The tears were flowing now, and I was powerless to stop them. This had been building up for a long time, and I had to let it out. “You talk about how looks don’t matter, and how you liked me so much better before. But how do you think that makes me feel? You might think I like hearing about how you didn’t care that I was fat, that you liked me for who I was, but you’re a liar… You’re a liar, because all you talk about now is how I look, and how stupid I am, and how you hate everything about the new me. And that tells me looks do matter to you, Bruce, and that you care more about what I’m like on the outside than who I am on the inside.”

He sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. “When your life became all about how skinny you could get, you stopped caring about everything else, especially me. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re more interested in pursuing
your
goals rather than
our
goals. I was okay with that at first, because you wanted it so much. But when your entire world revolves around how you look…that’s where I draw the line. I can’t pretend that I want my life to be about your new clothes and what you weigh. How can you expect that from me? And when was the last time you asked about what
I
want or how
my
job is or what
my
plans are? I go out of town and I come home and all you say when I walk in the door is, ‘Bruce, your mother’s been driving me crazy,’ or ‘Bruce, they’re all out to get me at work.’ You’ve never,
not once,
asked me about how my trip was, or if I had a good time. You’re so damn preoccupied with your own life that you don’t even know what city I’m in.”

“Oh, believe me, I notice what city you’re in!” I shouted. “I know when you’re out of town because I don’t get crap about not eating dessert and I don’t get crap about how much money I spend and I don’t get crap about…”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t bother, Evie. This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so bloody self-involved that you can’t put yourself in my shoes for a single minute, let alone for long enough to realize you’re not the only one with
problems and complaints. Why don’t you acknowledge what I’m saying sometime instead of just defending yourself?”

Was he right? Did I really never ask him about his trips? Impossible—I knew far too many boring details.

“I know all about your trips,” I sniffed.

“Of course you do, because I tell you about them. But not because you ask.”

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I said between clenched teeth.

“But, oh, how I wish it were.”

What the hell did he want from me? “It’s like you wait for me to fail. I bet every time you come home, you’re just waiting for me not to ask you how your day was….”

“That’s extremely paranoid thinking,” he said, massaging his temples. “Could this be yet another charming character trait of the New-And-Improved Evie I can look forward to living with for the rest of my life?”

“…you wait for me to fail, you hold me up to your impossible standards, then when I don’t come through, instead of talking to me about it, you pull away!”

“If I’m pulling away, it’s because I’m being pushed.”

“No—that’s it,” I said. It was suddenly all very clear. “And the more you pull away, the more I think you don’t want me the way I am. If you expect me to turn into some demented Step-ford wife like your mother or your sisters or your high-school girlfriend and spend my life in a twin set and pearls, cooking and cleaning and diapering your babies, you can forget it.”

“Don’t lay that shit on me. Although I can barely remember it now, it seems to me the reason I fell in love with you in the first place was because you were definitely
not
that person. You know I don’t want that! But I
do
want someone who knows her own mind, and someone who’s comfortable being herself, which you’re obviously not anymore. And you can slam my
mother as much as you want…God knows you love nothing more than reminding me how much you hate her guts…but the truth is that since we got engaged, you’ve become more and more like her every day.”

“Liar!
Liar!
” I screamed. He crossed the line. He finally crossed the line. I could handle being told I was turning into
my
mother—that would be bad enough. But his?

I stomped into the bedroom and pulled the covers over my head to cry in private. But he followed me in and kept on at it.

“It’s true—you’re exactly like everybody you used to despise most in this world. Remember when you used to make fun of all the lollipop girls and fashionistas? But now you’re the one not eating and you care more about what strangers think of you than the people who love you.”

“Why don’t you just kill me with your bare hands and put me out of my misery,” I sobbed. “I can tell you don’t love me anymore. You don’t even
like
me anymore…”

“
You’re
the one who doesn’t like you anymore,” he interrupted.

But I ignored him and went on. “…and it’s really obvious you don’t…”
Dare I say it?
“…you…you don’t want to marry me.”

“Unless you get a hold of yourself immediately and cut all this shit out, you’re right. I don’t want to marry you.” I couldn’t see him, because my face was under the pillow, but I felt him sit down on the bed. His voice started to crack, just a little bit. “Why can’t you just be the way you were before? Why can’t you just stop all this?”

“Me?” I said, sitting up. “You’re the one freaking out.” I’d never seen him this close to tears.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

I reached over for his hand. “All my dreams are coming true, Bruce. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Evie,” he sighed. “You just might get it.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I pleaded.

“Maybe not for you, but it certainly is for me. It’s been a nightmare.”

“I had no idea you were really this upset.”

“Well maybe if you’d asked me once in a while, you’d know. Although you probably wouldn’t have listened to the answer, anyway.”

I wasn’t going to let him get all aggressive on me again. It was out of character for him, and very irritating. Besides, hadn’t I given Bruce more than enough opportunities to discuss things openly with me? There were plenty of examples to choose from, but I decided it was enough for tonight.

“So how was Boston?”

“Fuck Boston. I can’t take this anymore,” he said simply, and left.

I was afraid to go to the gym the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Until a week had passed. Not that I didn’t trust myself, but I thought a little distance right now between me and Jade might be a good thing, just to be on the safe side. Plus, I couldn’t bear the thought of telling him all about my big fight with Bruce. It was so humiliating.

Over an emergency lunch meeting, Morgan agreed.

“I’ve told you, never dump your problems on your trainer. Even if you’re sleeping with him, it’s very inelegant.”

“But he’s more than my trainer—he’s my friend.”

“Sure he is, Evie. But he also wants to get you into bed.”

“I know,” I said, still reeling at the thought of it. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Morgan stared incredulously.

“Amazing-flattering, not amazing-good,” I explained, but she still seemed suspicious.

“Either way. Listen, you have to decide if you want this,” she said tentatively.

“Want to get married?”

“Of course you still want to get married, you idiot. I won’t
tell you that Bruce is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. No man is that to any woman. But you two do work well together. You complement each other, and that’s the secret to all great relationships, or so I’ve been told. So of course you still want to be with Bruce. What I meant was, do you want this thing with Jade?”

“What do you mean? Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes I
want
to. He’s gorgeous and he smells so good. But I could never actually…”

“Maybe you just need to listen to what your heart is telling you.”

“Didn’t you just say that I should stay with Bruce?”

“Yeeees…” she sang, waiting for me to get what she was trying to tell me. “But maybe there’s another option…”

“You mean
sleep
with Jade?” I whispered.

She grinned broadly. “You’ve just had what I believe Oprah would call a Lightbulb Moment.”

“That’s ridiculous, Morgan. Thank you for your advice, but I think I’ll take it from here.” Was she crazy?

“Evie, you know I would never suggest you do something you don’t want to do, but I would try to open your eyes to the potential benefits of doing something you
do
want to do. And you
do
want to…”

“But that’s cheating.”

“Oh, that
word
. That horrible word. Put it out of your mind. You’re about to get married to the man you love. In this sad, lonely, random world, you and Bruce have found each other and want to make the biggest commitment of all….”

“If you’re trying to get me to not feel guilty, you’re doing a crappy job,” I told her.

“Hear me out. But on the other hand, you’ve also experienced an awakening—physical, sexual, spiritual, whatever you want to call it, right?”

“I guess so.”

“I know so. Losing fifty pounds is enough to make any woman take a good long look at herself. Evie, since it seems like nobody’s ever told you this, then let me be the first: You’re entitled to feel attractive, and you’re entitled to enjoy a little attention from the opposite sex. You’re a gorgeous, vibrant twenty-seven-year-old woman. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Then why do I feel guilty?”

“Because your mother did a number on you, and because you think you know how to avoid hurting Bruce. I bet you probably think monogamy is part of being a decent human being!”

“Hello? Am I missing something here?”

“Yes. You’ll never be a good wife if you’re not a good Evie first. And to be a good Evie, you have to be faithful to yourself above all others. If you go into your marriage wondering what might have been, or wishing you’d taken a chance just once, then you’ll end up resenting Bruce—unfairly I might add—and it’ll ruin your relationship.”

“It’s almost ruined now.”

Morgan threw her hands up into the air and shook her head. “So what do you have to lose? Maybe you need to indulge your urges to finally be free of them. If that sounds crazy to you then whatever, but it’s worked wonders for me. You think I sit around all day torturing myself over what I want or don’t want or what I should or shouldn’t do? As if. My advice in all this is don’t be afraid of Jade. Go back to the gym and talk to him. See how you feel. If you want to have a fling—
a single solitary fling over the course of your entire life
—then this is the time to do it. The world won’t end. You might even find it empowering. Then you can go forward with everything else. Evie, we all have a right to experience the joys in life,
and
to keep it to ourselves if we want to.”