Slim Chance (6 page)

Fact #2: I do not have an underactive thyroid. Or type-two diabetes. Or undiagnosed edema of any kind. No systemic medical condition is to blame. An emergency lunchtime visit to my
doctor on Wednesday confirmed these findings. Not at all worth the $120 fee to rush the results of the blood test.

Fact #3: Pregnancy causes weight gain.

Fact #4: I am not pregnant. That is, unless there has been an immaculate conception.

Fact #5: In 1991, doctors at Stanford University Medical Center removed a 303-pound tumor from the right ovary of an otherwise healthy thirty-four-year-old woman. She made a full recovery.

Fact #6: There is no such tumor in either of my ovaries, also confirmed by my doctor. I do not even have a small tumor.

Fact #7: Obsessing over one’s weight can be a sign of anorexia. Might I be teetering on the brink of losing half my body weight?

Fact #8: After completing 14 self-diagnosis questionnaires, it appears the only eating disorder I might be afflicted with is something called binge-eating disorder. Symptoms include eating until feeling painfully full, eating alone due to embarrassment, eating when not hungry, and feeling disgusted and depressed after overeating. The prognosis? Weight gain and, eventually, obesity.

By Thursday afternoon, I had reluctantly drifted away from the hopeful expectations of the medical Web sites to the more familiar depression-inducing body mass index calculators of the diet sites. There, I was forced to concede that my symptoms, although severe, were not altogether uncommon. In fact, they were quite mundane. What I did learn is that my body has betrayed me in a way as cruel as any organic disease, as ferocious as any pathological malignancy. It seems the years of yo-yo dieting have taken their toll. The culprit? A wonky metabolism. The cure? None to speak of, although one thing has been known to help other sufferers—exercise. The time of desperation was nearly upon me; the only option, painfully clear.

I would have to join a gym.

What else could I do? If I’d learned anything from my research—aside from the fact that there were also downsides to thyroid problems and massive abdominal tumors—it was that I
was verging on an unhealthy attitude regarding weight loss. I would have to accept that, despite all promises to the contrary, there is no quick fix, no magical ampoule full of ginseng that would make my ass fat morph into muscle. Only hard work and a healthy outlook could prevail.

As I stared at the daunting pile of color-coded folders Thelma had gradually been depositing in my In Box, I realized that I’d done nothing all week but pray for various horrible illnesses, research the best liposuction clinics in the five boroughs, and neglect my professional responsibilities. Pathetic. How could I expect to be promoted if I can’t even bother returning an e-mail or two? Bruce was right—I
was
in danger of losing it. Well, not anymore.

On Friday afternoon I left early since I figured it would be my last chance for a while, with Pruscilla’s return just one short weekend away. While I’d been embroiled in online research, Thelma had spent the better part of the week pulling her hair out in Pruscilla’s office, which was by now a complete mess. The tension in the air was almost palpable, and it floated out of the office and hung over my cubby. I didn’t envy her—she’d probably be in there all weekend. But it was hard to feel sorry for her. The simplest things seemed confusing for Thelma, even deciphering Pruscilla’s handwriting proved nearly impossible for the poor woman. But it was no trouble for me. I’d gotten quite used to it, in fact, and almost looked forward to typing her long-winded reports and memos (Pruscilla’s typing is slower than her writing), since it afforded me the rare opportunity to look busy while keeping my headspace completely free. I was getting quite good at drawing it out as long as possible.

The first week Pruscilla was gone, I didn’t mind interpreting for Thelma all of the purple little Post-its Pruscilla had left stuck to everything. But then she started bothering me twenty-five times a day with questions about how Pruscilla does this and how Pruscilla does that, and since I wasn’t put on this earth
to save Thelma’s ass (and neglect my work besides), I developed a set of avoidance techniques to divert her ceaseless calls for help. Mostly, that meant pleading ignorance. For example, Thelma has no idea that part of my job is to coordinate the printing of all promotional materials. Nor is she aware that I have input all of Pruscilla’s notes and market-research data for all new product launches for the next 18 months. Best of all, she thinks most of my time is spent returning Pruscilla’s e-mail. If she wants to be a good manager, she’s going to have to learn a little bit about self-reliance.

As I got ready to leave, she yelled out, “Evie, Evie! Wait!” In her hurry to stop me, I could hear a flurry of papers swishing to the floor. But I pretended not to notice, and scooted down the hall to the elevators. If Thelma doesn’t get it by now, then there’s nothing anyone can do to help save her. Besides, if there’s one thing I’ve learned working at Kendra White, professionally speaking, it’s to form alliances with the right sorts of people, not to go down with a sinking ship. That, and never name a lipstick after a disgraced White House intern.

Although there are tons of gyms in Brooklyn near our place, I decided I’d be more likely to go if I joined one near work. Not
too
close to work, of course, in case somebody should see me, but close enough so that I can walk over during lunch if I want. Part of the Kendra White benefits package includes paying fifty percent of employees’ gym memberships—not that KW is such a saintly place to work; judging by all the fat ladies who work there, paying for gyms was a pretty safe bet—which meant I could afford something pretty nice. I remembered a place I passed by once when the subway station was closed because of a bomb threat and I had to walk to the next line.

It was still there. Mid-Town Fitness. Inside, it was the archetypical New York City health club—iron and granite decor, with a three-storey-high, half-block-long plate-glass window facing the street. Half a dozen Wall-Street types hung off a
climbing wall off to one side. A battalion of machines crossed the length of the room, ten rows deep. Scores of pony-tailed socialites wearing diamond earrings bigger than the earphones on their Discmans walked, ran and stepped off the calories from the salads they ate for lunch. Up above, weight machines on a mezzanine. I scanned the room for a fatso, but the only person I could find who didn’t look like she’d been born there was the dumpy old woman spraying down treadmill consoles with a bottle of pink disinfectant. It was perfectly awful, but morbidly fascinating.

I was so enthralled by the moving sea of boobs and biceps that I hadn’t noticed a young red-headed tart descend on me from behind the front desk.

“Hi, I’m Missy. Can I help you?” she asked sweetly.

“Um, no, I don’t think so,” I said, turning to leave.

“Would you like a tour?”

What I’d like is to get the hell out of here. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” she laughed. “Have you ever been a member of our facilities before?”

“What do you think?”

She tried not to look, but her eyes inadvertently traveled down to the waist of my bulging trench coat. A single vein throbbed at the center of her forehead. “I’m gonna guess…no?”

“That’s right, Missy, the answer is no. No, I haven’t been a member here before.”

“Come on, it’s not so bad. Let me give you a quick tour. You’d be surprised how friendly everyone is,” she said, oblivious to my extreme discomfort, and started walking. “Let me show you the women-only section. If you’re shy or uncomfortable about a co-ed workout, it’s the perfect…” I reluctantly followed as she yammered on and on. The deeper we got into the bowels of the place, the uglier and heavier everyone became. I felt a little better. It seems the thin and the vain crowd the machines at the front by the window because they
enjoy
being gawked at like zoo animals by passersby.

“…and wait till you see our new eucalyptus and tea-tree-oil steam room! Have you heard about it?
New York Magazine
did a piece on it last month. Did you know that eucalyptus can clear your body of cancer-causing toxins? My hand to God! Our smokers really seem to enjoy it. Do you smoke? You can get a regular steam, too, if you prefer, but I don’t see why anyone…”

“Can I see the weight room?” I asked. Muscle, I’d learned, burns more calories at rest than fat does, if you can imagine that. So my plan was to get ripped.

“Of course! Of course!” she said, and trotted toward the stairs. “Our weight room is equipped with the latest air-pressure machines, free weights…”

Missy droned on. At the top of the stairs, I leaned on a railing to catch my breath and look around. Abs as far as the eye could see. Mostly men up here, thank God. Struggling with these ridiculous machines in front of skinny little girls would be worse.

“…of course, if you’re trying to lose weight, you’ll need at
least
three days a week of strength training, so we’ll customize a program just for you….”

Then I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the mirror-covered walls. My face was red as a beet, and I felt like how those guys lifting the huge barbells looked—like they were about to have an aneurysm. Could I really do this? I peered over the railing down at the floor below. Rows of well-conditioned pony-tails swayed from side to side as their owners marched silently onward with fists clenched. Would I ever look like one of them?

“…so if you opt for the deluxe membership package, you have access to both the cardio and weight rooms, along with towel service, of course, and—”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “I don’t know if I can do any of this. I don’t know how.”

“There are three personal trainers on the floor at all times whose job it is to show you exactly how everything works and to make sure you have the right form!” Missy looked around wildly. “Jade? Jade! Come on over here, would ya?”

The fellow in question jogged over from the old bald guy he was spotting.

“Hey, Missy. Is this lovely young lady a new member?”

“She’s thinking about it. She’s never been to a gym before.”

“Hi! Jade Hollowell,” he grinned, and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” His eyes were so green and his teeth were so white, it was hard not to stare at his face.

I grabbed his hand and looked down at it. Veiny. “Hi. I’m Evelyn. Evie, actually. Evie Mays. Hi.”
I am such an idiot.

“Jade’s one of our top trainers. He’s been with us five years,” Missy said slowly. She looked at me with knowing eyes. She’d brought out the big guns for the hard sell.

I looked down and realized I was still holding Jade’s hand. Oh God. I pulled it away quickly. “Sorry,” I mumbled. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled.

“If you like,” Missy offered, “you can book private training sessions with Jade up to five times a week. Or with one of our other trainers.” She was a lot smarter than she looked, that Missy.

“I don’t know…”

“It’s more expensive, of course, but you get what you pay for,” she said. “People find they improve quicker when they have someone to answer to. Plus, he’ll help you get the most out of your workouts.”

“If you want to get serious, I’m your man,” Jade said, staring into my soul. Those eyes. It was like they could see the skinny person buried inside me.

“He really is good,” Missy assured me.

Jade shook his head modestly. “It’s just that I love my job,” he said. “I can’t help it. This is a great place, Evie, really low-key. Everyone here is super friendly. I personally guarantee you that you’ll love it.”

“Come on.” Missy reached out and grabbed my hand. “Give it a shot—you’ve got nothing to lose!”

“If that were true I wouldn’t be here,” I said, and Jade laughed. He actually laughed. At
my
joke.

“Working out is addictive, Evie, you’ll see. At least it is for me. You know, if I wasn’t here all the time, I’d probably be a much better actor,” he said grinning, and winked right at me.

Missy giggled.

“Where do I sign?”

“D
idn’t you once tell me that gyms were the devil’s playground?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, but…”

“And wasn’t that you who told me that exercise was the dominion of the vain and the indulgence of the wicked?”

“Well, I might have…”

“Yet you feel that this is something you’d like to do?”

“Not that I need your approval, but yes.”

“I’m just teasing you, Evie.” Bruce put down the paper and took off his glasses. “I think it’s amazing. It’s a great way to work off stress, you know. Maybe I should join, too.”

“No way,” I said. What a horrible idea. I would never be able to work out in front of Bruce, and he’d hate it there anyway. This was definitely something I needed to do on my own. “You’re a beanpole. You don’t need to lose weight.
I’m
the fat and revolting one. And if I don’t lose weight fast, I’m going to be miserable and disgusting on our wedding day, and I’ll never be able to look at the pictures for as long as we both shall live.”

“Maybe we can use that last bit as part of our wedding vows.”

Annoyed though I was, I had to laugh.

He put his glasses back on and sighed. “I think you look wonderful the way you are.”

Liar.

Morgan was far more supportive of my newfound initiative. She works out seven days a week, and has been on my case to do this for years. We even went shopping on Saturday and picked out all kinds of fun workout clothes. Spandex, it turns out, also has miraculous fat-taming abilities if you buy your items a size too small, and I even considered wearing my new shorts under my work clothes on Monday to help control my wayward gut. But I didn’t plan to tell anyone else about the gym.

Unfortunately, we bumped into Kimby and Theo at Annie’s café.

“Morgan, you look
fabulous,
” drooled Theo. “I wish you’d let me steal you away to my studio sometime. That you haven’t been discovered yet…it’s an affront. I could maybe start a portfolio for you and then we could see where it goes. I know some people. What do you think?”

Morgan tugged at her skirt and pinched the back of my arm. It was my duty to get her out of there before she embarrassed me. Morgan has the unfortunate habit of saying exactly what she thinks to people she doesn’t like, and I was tired of having to apologize for her. “Uh, Annie? Can we get those lattes to go?” I asked.

“Oh hush up now, Theo. You’re always bothering her, the poor girl,” said Kimby. “Evie! How are you? Why the heck didn’t you call me back last week?”

“Last week?”

“You didn’t get my message? We went out for Nicole’s birthday on Saturday.”

“Sorry about that, I had a ton of work,” I lied. I just hadn’t felt up to it. “But I called her and wished her a happy birthday.”

“Nic looks
fabulous,
” said Theo. “Much less…engorged? Is
that the word I’m looking for?” Kimby nodded in agreement. “But she could never hold a candle to you, Morgan,” he added.

He grabbed the arm of a good-looking guy who happened to be walking by and pinched Morgan’s cheek with his other hand. “Is she not
gorgeous?
” he asked loudly.

The guy nodded and smiled suggestively at Morgan. Uh-oh.

“Thank you very much, sir. I’ve been trying to immortalize this vixen on film for years, but she’s far too coy,
far
too coy. Don’t kid yourself, though—she knows she’s a knockout and she’ll break your heart. You can go now, sir, unless you’d like to stay and join us. Are you a model yourself? Your bone structure is simply magnificent.”

Kimby shrieked hysterically as the poor fellow muttered an excuse and scampered away. “Theo, you’re awful. Isn’t he awful?” she asked, delighted.

“Actually, he is awful,” Morgan said. “He’s a prick, too, and probably a misogynist to boot. Kimby, my condolences. Evie, I’m leaving.” She grabbed her latte from Annie and headed for the door.

“Was it something I said?” asked Theo in mock confusion.

“Isn’t it always?” Kimby sighed. “She really hates you.”

“Miss Morgan’s miffed? At me? My, my, whatever shall I do?”

“Sorry, guys,” I said and grabbed my coat. “You know how she is. I’ll call you later, Kimby. ’Bye Annie.”

“Don’t forget your bag, shopgirl,” Theo said and handed it to me, but not before peering inside. “What’s this? Could it possibly be…Nikes? And—oh my God—a
sports bra?
What are you going to do with these, Evelyn Mays?”

“I joined a gym,” I mumbled. Morgan looked at me from the doorway and rolled her eyes.

“You?” gasped Theo, bringing a hand to his chest. “But didn’t you once tell me that exercise is what shallow people do to feel deep?”

“No, that’s yoga,” Kimby giggled. “I believe she said exercise is what mentally weak people do to feel strong.”

Theo smacked his forehead dramatically. “Oh, yes. You’re right, of course. Well, good luck with it, dear. Call me if you need to borrow my body-fat calipers.”

Let them have their fun. Let them laugh at my expense. This time, I don’t care. Because I am going to do this. I will find strength in adversity. For once, I know I’m going to get it right. It is finally my turn. My turn to be thin and happy and beautiful.

Annie called me in tears the next morning. Her boyfriend of five and half weeks, Dieter, had left in the middle of the night, without so much as leaving a note.

By the time I got to her place, she was nearly inconsolable. She was sitting on the floor in front of his side of the closet, which was empty save for a few wire hangers and an old pair of flip-flops.

“Why?
Why?
” she moaned, rocking back and forth. “Why did this have to happen to me?
Again?
”

I sat down beside her. “It’s not you,” I told her, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “It’s them—they’re all assholes.” Granted, it wasn’t a particularly inspired insight, but it was the sort of platitude she needed to hear right now. This was the third time in as many years that Annie had been suddenly dumped by a live-in boyfriend.

“Why do they all hate me?”

I figured she wasn’t so much heartbroken over Dieter as she was concerned about her track record. “They don’t hate you, Annie, they just use you. And after they get what they need, they move on.”

“You mean sex?” she sniffed.

“No, I mean a place to stay.” Annie claims to meet her boyfriends at work, but I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that she hangs out at Penn station, and just picks up any good-looking actor or musician fresh off the bus from shitsville with a duffel bag and a dream. “Your heart’s in the right place, you just haven’t met the right guy yet.”

“But Dieter loved me. He
said
so.”

“He did? My God, then! We should call the police! Maybe he’s been kidnapped!”

She looked at me skeptically and laughed through her tears. “Don’t make fun. I’m in serious pain here.”

“I know,” I said, squeezing her hand. “It’s just gonna take some time. You know the rule—a week of misery for every month you were together. So by next Tuesday, I expect to see you back in action!”

She shook her head and sighed. “I just didn’t see it coming this time. I thought he was a good guy. He bought me chocolates with his last thirty dollars.”

“Wow. Then I’m just as shocked as you are. You’d think that after thirty-nine days, you really get to know someone….”

“Evie,”
she giggled, “come on! This isn’t funny.”

“I know it’s not. It’s very serious. Very serious. Now tell me, do you still have those chocolates?”

With that, she collapsed in laughter and fell back onto the floor. “I guess it is kinda funny.”

“It’s not, actually,” I told her solemnly. “We should have a moment of silence now for Dieter, the best boyfriend ever.”

“Yes, let’s,” she giggled. “And one moment also for his grandmother in Austria, who he called every night from my phone.”

“Fine. But just be thankful we’ll have more than your long-distance bill to remember him by,” I said, and retrieved a giant green flip-flop from the closet floor and held it up for closer inspection. “Hmm…if the size of his feet are any indication, I can see what you’ve been so upset about.”

“Actually,” she confided, “you know what they say about big feet…big shoes!”

“Well, then, I’d say that’s definitely something positive you can take away from all this. Next time, look for a man with small feet and a big heart.”

“Thanks, Evie.”

Monday turned out to be a classic Day From Hell. Pruscilla’s office door was closed when I got there, but I knew she was in from the smell of her perfume. That, and the look of abject fear that had returned to the pale faces of the Marketing Drones who occupy the third-floor offices of Kendra White Cosmetics.

All morning long, she was holed up in there. I could hear her on the phone, yelling. Probably at Thelma. Poor Thelma. She tried her best. I just hope Pruscilla realizes she did everything she could in her limited capacity. I was just relieved I’d done pretty much everything
I
could to keep things running smoothly on my end.

As I was getting ready to leave for my first-ever super lunchtime workout, her door opened. “Evie, come in here,” she bellowed. “And close the door behind you.”

Figures. Another fitness saboteur to contend with. I grabbed my notepad, anticipating a long list of nasty memos to get down.

She was sitting with her hands folded neatly on her desk, which showed no trace of the towering stacks of folders Thelma had been grappling with for six weeks.

“Pruscilla!” I said warmly. “Welcome back! How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“How was your trip?”

“I didn’t go on a trip.”

“Oh. How was your…time?”

“Everything went as well as can be expected, I suppose.” She stared blankly at the wall behind my head. She seemed different, somehow, but I couldn’t place it. “But now it’s back to normal and I can already see that we’re going to have our work cut out for us. Do you mind if I eat while we talk?”

“Go right ahead,” I said. Pruscilla’s lunch. What a rare treat. Nobody here has ever seen her eat before. We suspect she’s a closet binger, because her breath always smells like peanut butter. Andrea’s theory is that she keeps a loaf of Wonder Bread
and a jar of Skippy locked in her desk drawer, along with Twinkies and Mallomars and things like that, and that she’s really just stuffing her face whenever she goes into her office to “take a call.” She’s here at least 12 hours a day, and she’s got to eat sometime. How else could she maintain that weight?

Pruscilla pulled a cloth napkin out of a drawer and placed it down on the desk. “I’ve been going over things with Thelma all morning,” she said. “She’d been bringing me up to speed.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Thelma totally tried her best, you know. She worked her butt off, put in a lot of overtime.” Why not put in a good word for her? It was the least I could do.

“She certainly has,” Pruscilla agreed. She pulled a crumpled brown paper bag out of her briefcase. Was that a new pink cape she was wearing?

“You can’t really expect everything to be perfect. Filling your shoes was no easy task, especially for someone like Thelma. She was just overwhelmed, I guess. But I don’t think she knew what she was in for.”

“Oh no, Evelyn, don’t misunderstand me. I’m
delighted
with what Thelma has accomplished. To tell you the truth, I could hardly have done a better job myself. If I had known this place was in such capable hands, I would have spent a lot less time worrying. Maybe I wouldn’t have come back so soon.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Was she serious?

“Great,” I said weakly.

Then she looked me right in the eyes and said, “Well, what do you think, Evie? Is there some reason I should have been worried?”

Suddenly, I had the feeling I was standing at the edge of a very tall cliff, and the wind was just starting to come up behind me. I thought about my bottom desk drawer, stuffed full with paperwork and invoices Thelma had shoved my way.
Steady, Evie, steady.

“Um, I think you’re right. Thelma did a great job.”

Pruscilla pulled a bottle of Evian and two soda crackers out of her lunch bag and placed them on the napkin.

“And how have you found it?” Was she setting me up?

“Fine, Pruscilla. Everything went great on my end, just like we talked about.”

“Yes, well…before I left, we discussed how important it would be for you to handle more responsibility and take some initiative if you ever want to move out of that cubby and into an office here someday….”

She was going to promote me! And to think, I was actually worried that a dolt like Thelma was going to foil my plans for corporate domination.

“I remember what we talked about, and I’ve been keeping it in mind these last few weeks. In fact…” I hesitated. Pruscilla opened a small Tupperware container and spooned a teaspoon of tuna onto each cracker.

“What?” she asked.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating lunch.”

“That’s lunch?”

“I have grapes, too,” she said defensively, pulling a sorry-looking bunch out of the bag. “In fact what, Evelyn?”

“Oh. Um, I’ve implemented a new filing system. Aren’t you going to be hungry if that’s all you eat for lunch?”

Pruscilla sighed and put down her cracker. “I suppose you’re all going to find out sooner or later. I just don’t want anyone making a big fuss about it.”

“Fuss? Fuss about what? What happened?”

“The reason I went away was to do something for myself, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Oh God, she’s had a sex change. Pruscilla is a man. A gay man. I
knew
it. I knew she looked different. And this would explain the pink cape.

“I’ve had gastric bypass surgery, Evelyn. To lose weight.”

“What?”

Pruscilla appeared decidedly hurt. Shit.

“Wow—it’s just, uh, that’s not what I thought you were
going to say. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Really. But, uh…wow! Surprised, but totally happy for you, of course!”

“I know, it’s pretty drastic,” she said, relieved. “But it’s really becoming quite a popular treatment for morbid obesity. Insurance paid for it completely because I weigh over twice what I should. Or rather, I
weighed
twice what I should. I’ve already lost forty-five pounds in six weeks!”