Conversations With the Fat Girl (11 page)

?I'm not eating today.?I say ?I had this vision of the wedding

pictures.?Years from now, Olivia sits with her towheaded

children-of-the-corn kids reminiscing about her wedding day She pulls

out the wedding album and the room falls silent. 'Who's that big fat

girl, Mummy??one of her children says in a Dickensian British accent,

pointing at me in the photograph. ?She frightens me, I shall have bad

dreams if we have to keep

81 Conversations with the Fat Girl 75 looking at her.?Olivia closes the

wedding album forever, tousling her child's hair. At that, they all

scamper out to their rose garden to have high tea. ?1 know, huh? Just be

glad you're not the one who has to try on your wedding dress in less

than an hour. I haven't eaten in days,? Olivia says, waving off the

muffin her mom is offering. The bridal shop is an emporium of white

dresses. Dresses saddled with so many hopes and fears, perfect bodies,

perfect weddings, and even more perfect marriages. Olivia has made an

appointment, or rather Mrs. Morten has made this final fitting

appointment. We are led over to our space. This space is my own personal

hell. There are mirrors everywhere: to the side of you, to the hack of

you, to the front of you. Every possible angle. The bride stands on a

small platform in front of everyone and presents herself for inspection.

I catch glimpses of my body from the side, from the hack, and From the

front. Every possible angle. I dry-heave. All I can see is my Area. I

have completely forgotten Olivia is trying on her wedding dress. I have

completely forgotten there is anyone else in the room. ?Maggie??Mrs.

Morten asks. ?Love, can yOU run and get a disposable camera? Adam has

got to see this.?She stands in front of me. Where did she come from? Why

isn't there yet another mirror directly in front of me? ?Sure.? I gather

my purse and take a twenty-dollar bill from her. Olivia is in the

fitting room being pinned and sewn into a size 2. She will be a size 2

for her wedding. Where will I be? Olivia has not spoken to me since we

entered the bridal salon. Part of me knows she still fears this

mirrored, platformed performance space as much as I do. I return with

the disposable camera to find my best friend

82 76 Liza Palmer

standing on a platform looking like a fairy princess. She is stunning.

There is a crowd forming around her. Olivia is magnetic. She is the envy

of everyone around her: the maids of honor who are here for support, the

brides who will try on their dresses for their big day, and the

teary-eyed moms who stand back gazing at their grown-up girls. Olivia is

the perfect bride. I snap a pic.ture. I watch Olivia stand and twirl.

She's staring at herself in the mirror. Is she blown away, too? She's

probably used to looking at her perfect body by now, but all dressed up

in a wedding gown has got to be something of a mind fuck even for her.

Still, somewhere in this process the magnetic Olivia becomes the

barking- orders, condescending Olivia, shooing people away with a royal

flick of her hand. There is a collective sigh of relief from the entire

bridal salon. At least that pretty girl in the size 2 is a bitch. They

wouldn't know how to deal with Olivia if she were friendly and

self-effacing. Instead, she gives everyone in the store exactly what

they want: a common enemy. Mrs. Morten has taken over the role of

photographer. It didn't hold my attention. I have spent the first hour

running around grabbing pins and telling Olivia how the dress looks from

every angle. At one point she asked me at what angle it looked the most

like a size 2. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying The one

staring down at the tag. I'm no longer in on conferences regarding the

dress. I'm reduced to giving thumbs- up or thumbs-down. But no one

really minds one way or the other what my thumb is doing. I could shove

it up my ass for all anyone cares. Mrs. Morten is snapping pictures from

every angle. My new game is avoiding being in the background of any of

the snapshots. After that gets old, I start watching the girl by Olivia.

I noticed her when I came back with the disposable camera. She is

83 Conversations with the Fat Girl

quite heavy and holds it all in her middle. I know Olivia spotted her as

well. It's the reason she's positioned herself four platforms away. Once

again, it's the Fat Entity Theory As in any subculture, there is a

pecking order among the overweight ranks. Those afflicted with the

disease of obesity constantly compare themselves with other overweight

people, the perennial question being whether they are as fat as that

woman or this other unfortunate girl. And being in close proximity with

another of your overweight brethren doesn't bring you comfort. Quite the

contrary It brings shame and backbiting. No one wants to shop in the

second-floor Plus Size department-the proverbial Fat Girl HQ. And once

you no longer have to shop there-like the welfare line or traffic

school-you want to forget you were ever there. This is the club that

Olivia has distanced herself from. She doesn't want to be among the

alumni. She doesn't want the monthly flyer. She wants nothing to do with

the culture of being at anymore. And really, who can blame her? I wear

my membership with shame-covered up with coffeehouse aprons and

untouched by human hands. Today Olivia must do the unthinkable: try on

her wedding dress next to a woman of size without imagining people are

comparing her with the girl on the next platform. The overweight bride's

maid of honor is snapping pictures of her day as well. The maid of honor

is dressed in funky fashions that look thrift store vintage but actually

cost more than new clothes. She and the mother of the bride, who weighs

about a hundred pounds wringing wet and who's ravishing in a

white-and-black Chanel suit, look on and commiserate about the outcome

of this session. They fret about the outcome of this session. What are

they to do? The dress they ordered came in the wrong size and here's

only six weeks until the big day I overhear. They can't order another

dress like this in her size and guarantee it will

84 78 Liza Palmer

arrive on time. The girl stands on the viewing platform and is silent. I

watch her. She is me. Bridal shop workers run to find bigger sizes. When

she emerges from the fitting room, there is no celebration, no

thumbs-up. Just someone to quickly throw a shawl over her shoulders, an

accessory they feel is a must. Sometimes she emerges with her girdle

fully visible in the back because some dresses cant be buttoned at all.

Then the call comes. ?Go get the next size up!?Martine herself cries,

with chiffon wrap in one hand and a tape measure in the other. What

young girl imagines her wedding day as a fat bride? How many months

passed during which she told herself she would lose weight? I identify

with the look of horror on her face as she tries not to act like she's

dying a little each time a dress doesn't fit. I identify while at the

same time distancing myself from her in every way You smile for your mom

and best friend and suck it up. They assure you the dress looks great.

But there's always a beautiful! girl next to you who has the salon

helpers ogling her. The beautiful girl they never once hand a wrap.

85

Most Like a Supermodel

Once in an English class at Cal, the assignment of the day was to write

about your favorite place. I sat there, unable to think of anything. I

looked around at all the smug faces of the other students who couldn't

wait to tell everyone about sitting on a porch in some chair their

grandfather whittled or standing under the great oak where they received

their first kiss. Then it came to me. I was most happy while driving in

my car. What does it say about me that my favorite place is en route to

somewhere else? ?Hey there, Christina, how's everything going??I walk

into work early and find myself in a good mood because of it. I don't

know what it is about Christina. I want so badly to get along with her

to prove to myself that I'm not a skinny- woman hater. Just because

someone has a great body doesn't mean I have to insult her or think her

inferior. Christina Dahl is turning out to be a tough one, however. ?I

applied for this acting school, like, to help my career.?Christina's

?career? consists of some morally questionable fashion

86 80 Liza Palmer shoots on an assortment of chrome-plated vintage cars

where her only direction was to ?look hot.? ?Oh, that's great. When will

you find out if you got in??My voice is high and forced. ?Yeah, I got in

... I said I applied.?Christina stops and puts her hands on the rim of

the sink. ?I don't know why people have to be such bitches sometimes.?

?Are you having problems with someone??You stereo typical tart. ?My best

friend started all these, like, rumors about me. I know it's just

because she thinks I'm jealous of her and her boyfriend.? ?And you're

not??I ask. ?Fuck, no. Her boyfriend is like this hairy guy with

clothes, you know.. ?Yes, people with clothes can be very

disconcerting.? ?It's, like, not even about that, you know. I mean if

she really had something, like, going on that was good, I would be

jealous.?I finish tying my apron around my waist and pull out my

T-shirt. ?But that's hard to find,? she continues in a quiet voice,

whisking her bangs out of her face. I stop. Has Christina Dahl said

something mildly insightful and touching? Can she be one of us

underneath? ?You'd be jealous of a man like that, of a relationship like

that??I ask. ?Who wouldn't? I mean, like, most guys I go out with are

much older, you know? Sometimes I think they think all I'm about is

being sexy I was voted Most Like a Supermodel at my last acting

school.?Christina has told me that nugget of information ten times since

the big election. I have already drafted my letter to the Better

Business Bureau regarding an acting

87 Conversations with the Fat Girl 81 school that has elections with

categories such as this priceless example. I only have seconds before

Cole notices I am gone and about thirty minutes before Domenic comes in

for his shift. To be seen back here chatting up Christina Dahl would

definitely be something. Maybe I can learn from The John Sheridan. I am

doing charity work. I will look at my relationship with Christina as a

bit of mentoring volunteer work. Wouldn't it. be great if she turned out

to be a girl who isn't all caught up in her looks, who believed herself

to be intelligent and good at other things rather than showing off her

midriff and ass crack at the drop of a hat . . . a hat, a spoon, a leaf

from an autumn tree . . hell, at the drop of a mention from some frat

boy wanting to see some ass. Enough. I am not jealous. I will find the

good in Christina Dab 1. Underneath that tiny, barely clothed figure

there is a girl who just wants to be accepted and loved, to have

somebody hold her hand as she lies dying. I will find our common ground.

?I'd better get on out there. You know Cole.? Maybe later. That common

ground will still be common tomorrow. Christina begins to get the mop

bucket out of the bathroom. She has to make the back room look perfect

before Domenic arrives. Once again, she has fallen behind. She looks

hesitant. I get a sudden wave of energy to start my mentoring right now,

so I stop a second before I walk out. ?Your best friend sounds like she

may be a little jealous of you,?I say ?She knows you disapprove of her

relationship and thinks it's the one thing she's got that you don't.

Just try to understand where she's coming from. Women can be especially

cruel to each other, you know, and jealousy is usually at the root.?

?Well, I know she's jealous of me. I mean Christina trails off and

traces the outline of her figure as proof. ?But that doesn't mean she

has to be a complete bitch about it.?

88 82 Liza Palmer

Fucking conceited ass . . . this is going to be harder than I thought. I

shake my head, push open the door into the coffeehouse, and wonder how

it is that a brainless twit like Christina has such confidence and I, a

worthy candidate for it, have nary a speck. I never think anyone is

jealous of me, except maybe bulimics and anorexics for eating anything I

want and keeping it down. But this girl just walks around knowing people

want to be her. I remember Kate telling me a story about when she

enrolled Emily in ballet class at the Pasadena Athletic Club. Kate was

told to bring Emily to class in full ballet togs so she could hop around

for an hour with a former ballerina named Miss Janie. Upon their

arrival, Kate was horrified to see that all the other little girls were

wearing little black leotards and pink tights. Emily on the other hand,

was in pink from head to toe, including her tutu and sparkling wand.

Kate turned to Emily thinking her daughter would be humiliated.