Conversations With the Fat Girl (9 page)

just now ten thirty I'm sure she's just finding parking somewhere.? I

sip my coffee and look around at the empty parking lot. We smile at each

other as my ridiculous statement hangs in the air. Olivia laughs and

shoves me aside, regaining her composure. ?Are you meeting us at

Martine's on Tuesday for the wedding dress? Badgley Mischka, can you

believe it? This is my final fitting and I can't believe I've left it to

the last minute. But I just couldn't, you know. I couldn't even think

about walking down I lie aisle in anything but a size two, just this

weekend I bought I his pair of jeans and the four was too big. I thought

maybe maybe. I asked the girl to run get me a two. She did and it fit.

You can't imagine how incredible it feels to look at the tag of a Piece

of clothing you're wearing and see SIZE TWO Just staring right back at

you. Girl, it's amazing. So I knew this week was it. I called Mommy

right from the store and told her we were going o that last fitting as

soon as I could catch a flight out.?I try to picture a size 2 tag

staring up at me. That would be incredible, because I would probably

have a tiny person stuck in the back f my pants, struggling to free

herself. Olivia looks at me, as I am obviously a little speechless. I

ever, not once, thought about getting gastric bypass. I know it

66 60 LIza Palmer has worked for her, but I can't fathom such a last

resort. Not that I'm doing any better. Doing nothing is certainly not

something I'm comfortable with, either. ?I have Tuesday off work. We can

do it then,?I say, sipping my coffee. A flash of recognition of her faux

pas passes over Olivia. ?I'm sorry, Maggie. I know you're struggling,

and I'm just over here rambling on about size twos and shit like that.

Whatta bitch, huh? I'm sorry just please give me a little leeway right

now, I think I'm going a little nuts, you know? All this wedding stuff.

I just never thought it would be this big of a hassle. All of my clients

are completely pissed at me, and I haven't worked out in days. I just

feel everything slipping away, you know? Just please, don't pay

attention to any crazy shit I say, okay? And there'll be plenty, 1

promise you that. You've got to be the one that holds me steady just

please keep me grounded through all of this. Please? Plus, I don't even

know what you're worrying about anyway I've always told you you're fine

the way you are.? Olivia is flipping her cell phone open and closed. ?I

know. But a size two would be nice,?I say. ?Don't try to be all

pity-pot, girl. Let me lust run get my Rolodex of stories that prove

when it comes to bring pitied for getting called fat, you need not

apply. Don t make me reenact the Thar She Blows night. I will. I'll bend

my ass over right now and make you play the parts of those fucking

dickheads in that car.?Olivia grows angrier and angriier as she

remembers that night. ?I know. I just want to look nice at your wedding.

I'm not trying to take away your crown, Moby.?Olivia smiles, but it

quickly fades. It's as if she wants to joke about the good ol' days, but

when she actually commits to it she regrets it immediately. ?So will you

come? To Martine's?. You're the only one who is

67

Conversations with the Fat Girl 61

ever honest with me about what looks right on me. Need I bring up the

velvet pants??Olivia quickly changes the subject again. She snaps her

phone shut. I remember those velvet pants. They were a deep navy blue

and had a huge embroidered butterfly right across the ass. Olivia wore

them constantly throughout the summer before our freshman year in

college. As she packed for orientation, I finally broke it to her that

the butterfly made her ass look twelve times bigger than it actually

was. You couldn't even make out that the embroidery was a butterfly at

all. It looked more like an homage to our nation's purple mountains

majesty Olivia and I stand in silence for the next ten minutes. Her

anger is escalating. She paces up and down the steps of the city hall. 1

sit on the top step and drink my coffee. The morning is crisp, a

wonderful reprieve from one of the hottest summers I can remember.

Olivia is pacing at the bottom of the steps when a high-end sport

utility vehicle pulls up and parks next to her rental car. The woman

behind the wheel pulls down her mirror and reapplies her lipstick.

Olivia taps her foot and puts her arm at her hip. I push myself into a

standing position. ?Olivia! You look amazing!?The woman is just shy of

her third face-lift. ?Patrona? You are fifteen minutes late and I have a

two-page list of problems with this site. You're not charging me for a

full hour, are you?' Olivia asks. ?Of course not. Let's get right to

that list.? Patrona is a professional. She offers Olivia a Pellegrino

from her purse and takes her hand as they enter the city ball gardens. I

trail into the gardens behind them, Pellegrino-less, and behold the

setup for an event that evening. Bustling caterers and jumpsuit-clad

workmen wind their way around the gardens with various tables and

bunches of flowers. The fountain is lit

68 62

Liza Palmer with white pillar candles on silver plates with gardenias

floating in bunches on the water. The tables are done in all-white, with

large glass bowls of cabbage roses in the center of each. Olivia gasps.

She walks through the setup in a daze. There are twinkling white lights

winding around every pillar, while bell jars, with a single candle in

each, hang from every tree. Patrona and Olivia discuss lighting,

flowers, the cake placement. the DJ stand, the dance floor, and the head

table. Patrona uses the already setup event as a guide for Olivia, and

it works perfectly ?Mags!?Olivia calls, I snake my way through the

tables to find Patrona and her at an obvious focal point. ?This is where

the head table is going to be. Can't you just imagine? You and me

sitting here-everyone will have a clear view of me, right,

Patrona??Patrona nods excitedly ?And Adam??I add. 'Oh my God, of course,

Adam.?Olivia's voice catches as she tears up. ?This is really happening,

huh??I put my hand on her shoulder Patrona takes a few steps back,

sensing our need for privacy. ?Sweetie, are you okay??I whisper. '1 just

never thought it would happen, you know? Remember when I used to walk my

fat ass here all by myself every Sunday_hoping there would be a wedding

going on? I never thought Olivia trails off. She pulls a perfect

handkerchief from her purse and dabs at her eyes, careful not to let her

mascara run. ?Everything is going to be beautiful.? I wipe an errant

tear away from her face. Olivia smiles and turns once again to where the

head table will be. 'You and me at the head table for the whole world to

see.?Olivia spreads her arms wide and beams at me. Patrona slinks back

over and begins the business of plan-

69 Conversations with the Fat Girl 63

fling the wedding once more. Olivia is checking off items on various

lists and passing Patrona color-coordinated card after color-coordinated

card. But then suddenly at one point in their tour, Olivia holds up one

finger, shushes Patrona, and tells her she is ?dismissed.?Patrona skulks

away as I stand there, mouth open. Who is this person? That night,

Olivia and Adam fly back to Washington, DC. Olivia will then catch a

return flight to LA for her final dress fitting. It seems Dr. Farrell

didn't want to fly home alone. As I walk Solo, I think about who Olivia

is becoming: the night at the restaurant, that whole bit about the size

2s, and how she acted with that event planner. I am confused. I wonder

what happened to the fourteen-year-old Olivia who brought a cricket into

our homeroom one morning and named him Elmer. Does Olivia think she has

to be someone else to marry Adam? She's riot fat anymore. How could she

think Adam wouldn't love her ii he knew about these things? These are

the things I love about Olivia. Her humor. Her uniqueness. Her

confidence. It's like it's .Il but disappeared. Her new confidence is

somehow forced and disingenuous. How can she not he proud of her own

life? I walk into work a good five minutes early Cole feigns a heart

attack. ?Whatever.? I sound like a thirteen-year-old girl when her Dad

asks her what is the deal with that homework and the little attitude,

missy I walk into the back room. I am met with the object of my

suppressed desires. ?Hey,?Domenic says as he stands over the sink. ?I

didn't know you were working today,? I say. I manage to calm and cool,

pretending not to notice he is wearing a new light blue T-shirt I have

never seen before. I have carefully documented his entire wardrobe. I

use these observations for the

70 64 Liza Palmer

random fantasy when I am not doing so well at the repressed- desire

thing. He looks up. I am in physical pain. ?1 switched with Dre. I guess

there's a big wrestling match on TV tonight and some people are getting

together to watch it.?Domenic dips each glass in soapy water. His hands

are strong and wet. I look away ?Wrestling, huh? And Cole isn't there??I

say. ?Oh. Well, maybe he doesn't know about it.?Domenic is mumbling.

?Cole not know about professional wrestling? You've got to be kidding.

Let's make fun of him for having to work tonight and missing out on all

of the fun.?I turn around and make for the front of the coffeehouse and

a bigger rock to throw at my Goliath. ?Did you get the CD I left for

you??Domenic blurts out, not looking at me. ?Oh, yeah. It was amazing,?I

say, turning back. I wonder if amazing is a bit over the top. Now I'm

mumbling. ?Thanks. Which song did you like the best? I mean, were there

any songs you especially. . . urn. . . you skipped? I always like to

know the songs people skip past.?He smiles, but keeps his focus on the

dishes and not me. ?I love song four. I put that on an old mix I had way

back in the day I remembered it was a hidden track, but that was

definitely a nice surprise. I skipped seven and eight because they're a

little too punk rock for my tastes. And where did you get that one

song-that.?I can't help myself. ?The Reverend Horton Heat song??he says

quickly I wasn't talking about that song. Who would ever talk about that

song? I was talking about the other song, the song, the one that stopped

me dead in my tracks as I packed that night. The song that plays in the

background of my every fantasy: Domenic

71 Conversations with the Fat Girl 65

slowly walks toward me, he's a little shy, maybe thinking I don't have

the same feelings for him, but he cradles my face in his hands and

kisses me gently to that song. And this time maybe there is time for

edible glitter and feather ticklers. In reality, I realize I am standing

in front of Domenic, who is now staring at me. I chicken out. I agree

with him that the song I want to pull out of the chorus for its solo is

the Reverend Horton Heat song, rather than the sweet ballad. ?Maggie?? I

hear Cole from the front of the coffeehouse. Domenic picks up his

plastic bin and opens the door for me. Another time, my sweet Romeo.

Another time. . . another balcony

72

Cottage. Hardwood Floors. Fireplace.

Mom provided what she could when we were growing up. She quit her

nowhere job and decided to become a lawyer when I was around ten years

old. She worked in the law library when she could, but we made ends meet

by being on welfare and cutting any corner we could find. Olivia, on the

other hand, was from one of the wealthiest families in Pasadena, so I

was able to experience things our family could never afford. Mrs. Morten

signed me up for camp and paid for it; she took me and Kate to dinner

when she knew Mom was studying late. We were members of the Morten

family. We never felt like we were too poor to be in their beautiful

home. Mom was my only parent until Russell came into the picture ten

years ago. I was young when my father left. Mom got us through while my

father went to ?find himself.' Apparently he never quite tracked himself

down because we have yet to hear from him. My mom is, and always was, my

own manifestation of God. But even from her, I still feel uncomfortable

with too much scrutiny Attention, like most things. feels tight on me.

?Phone's for you.?Cole points to the perched receiver.

73 Conversations with the Fat Girl 67

Domenic moves past me and heads to the outside tables. I watch him as he

stops short and bends to pick up a loose Equal packet. ?Hello??I ask,

but wait, drumroll ... the suspense is killing me. Ah, the boxers-are

those martini glasses? Martini glasses? ?lt Mom.? ?Is everything okay??

I try to focus. What would those boxers look like in my house? In my

washer and dryer. There I am folding those boxers as he approaches with

a small, velvet box. ?You got it. The house on Wilson,?Mom blurts out. I