Jemima J. (42 page)

“He never noticed me, of course, not in that way, but I remember how he was always nice, he never made cruel comments about my size, or laughed and shouted Big Bird when I walked into the room. He used to tell the others to shut up, not to go on about my size, he’d tell them to leave me alone, which only made me love him more.

“It wasn’t until we left school that I understood why he stuck up for me. He’d long gone by then, left for college, while I stayed and took a secretarial job. There was a woman I worked with, Judy, whom I became very close to. She used to say I was just like her when she was a girl, and Judy certainly looked like me, we were the same size.

“We were at work one day when I mentioned what school I’d been to. ‘You must know my son,’ she said, and she pulled a picture of Brad out of her wallet. I remember staring at his
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photo in disbelief, and, although I admitted I knew him, I never told her how I felt about him.

“Even when I left that job I kept in touch with Judy, and she’d always tell me how he was getting on. I never really had boyfriends, I never felt that anyone would be interested in me, but I never let go of the dream that Brad and I would somehow, someday, be together.”

I’ve stopped looking at the pictures. I can’t take my eyes off Jenny, and I know I should hate her, she’s ruined my life, but I can’t hate her because sitting here listening to her voice I’m hearing the story of my life.

“Judy used to tell me about his girlfriends,” she continues. “But they never seemed to last, and then a few years ago she told me he was in LA, he’d started this gym, and he was looking for an assistant. I thought about it and thought about it, and I knew I had to come out here, I had to be with him.

“Even if nothing ever happened, I knew the only way I’d be happy was if I was near Brad, so I left my hometown and caught a Greyhound bus to Los Angeles.

“I didn’t think Brad would even remember who I was, but I went to the gym, and his mouth dropped open when he saw me”
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—a small smile plays on her face at the memory
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—“and I started working for him that day.

“Two months later we had an office party, and Brad drove me home. He came in, and that was that. We fell in love.”

Jenny pauses, and I stop her from continuing, I don’t think I want to hear any more, I don’t want to hear about them being in love. I just want to hear the answers to the questions that haven’t been answered, but it’s finally beginning to sink in, this whole sordid thing, and my voice comes out in a whisper. “So why am I here?”

Jenny’s voice hardens again. “You think it’s easy to look the way I do in a town like this?” she says. “You think I don’t know what people think of me, what people would think of Brad if they knew he and I were together?” You know, strange as it seems, I start to feel sorry for her. I start to understand, be
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cause, even though I haven’t been here long, already I know how superficial Los Angeles is, how people will only accept you if you’re beautiful. And slim.

“So that’s why you’re here,” Jenny sighs. “Because Brad needed a trophy girlfriend. He needed someone who’s blond and skinny.” The disdain in her voice hits me like a slap in the face. “He needed someone like you to prove that he’d made it.”

“But why do you put up with this?” I’m still whispering, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I can’t believe what I’ve just heard, or maybe because I can’t believe the pain this is causing. Not just for me, but for Brad. And Jenny.

“Because I love him,” says Jenny simply, as a tear starts rolling down her cheek. “I love him, and I know what this town is like, and I understand why he needs someone like you. I have to understand. I have no choice.”

“I’m sorry.” Brad’s words come out in a whisper and he looks up, up into Jenny’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Jenny.” He looks at me. “And I’m sorry, JJ. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant for you to find out.”

“What?” I really don’t believe this. “You thought you could spend the rest of your life with both of us?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I can’t believe I’m here,” I say, the words out before I can even think about them. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” I look up at the ceiling. “Why me?” I ask softly. “Why did this have to happen to me?” I look at Brad. “This is true isn’t it?” I say, because for a moment there I thought that maybe Jenny had made it all up, maybe she found a way of hurting me beyond belief, of winning the war. But I don’t really have to wait for an answer from Brad. I can see in his eyes that it’s true, and I can see from the way Jenny takes his hand and he doesn’t pull away that it’s true.

I stand up and walk to the wardrobe, ignoring them both, and, as I start pulling my clothes off the hangers and flinging them on the bed, I’m vaguely aware that Brad and Jenny leave
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the room. Brad and Jenny. Even the words, their names, make me feel sick.

But other than the sickness, there really isn’t any other feeling. No rage, no grief, not even much pain. Numbness. I just feel numb. I pull out my suitcase and start piling in clothes, throwing things on top of one another, not bothering to fold, or smooth, or press. Suddenly I have this overwhelming urge to get out of here. Fast.

Brad comes back into the bedroom. “Jenny’s gone,” he says softly.

“I’ll be gone too,” I say curtly. “As soon as I’ve packed I’ll be out of here.”

“You don’t have to go,” he says.

What? Did I just hear what I think I heard? “Are you completely out of your mind?”

“I mean, I do have a spare room. You can stay there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” And even though I’m planning to phone Lauren as soon as possible, I don’t intend to share that with him. “Look,” I say to Brad. “I’d like to be on my own if that’s okay.”

“Okay,” he says. “Will I see you again?”

“I very much doubt it.” And as I look at him I realize that actually this is the first time I’m really seeing him. Despite the pain, the deception, the lies, he is still the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. But looks mean nothing. So he’s good-looking. So what? And I suddenly see that that’s all Brad ever was to me. A handsome man. I fell for his looks, not for who he is.

And, most importantly, I fell for him because he wanted me. He was the first man to show any interest in me, and I was flattered, and I think, oh God why didn’t I realize this before, I think I felt I had to love him back.

Brad leaves and I pick up the phone to ring the airline.

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“I’d like to change my flight to London,” I tell the reservation girl on the other end of the phone.

“Certainly, ma’am. Just tell me which flight it is and when you were thinking of flying.”

“LAX to London Heathrow. As soon as possible. Can you get me on the flight tonight?” I give her the flight number and hold my breath.

“I think that flight is full, ma’am. Can you hold the line while I just check my computer?”

I hold, and my foot taps the floor impatiently as I wait for what feels like hours for the woman to come back on the line. “I’m sorry, the flight is full, but we do have a seat on the flight tomorrow.”

“Thank God.” I breathe a sigh of relief.

“You do realize that will be full fare.”

“What?” She’s got it wrong, she must have got it wrong. “But I changed my flight a few weeks ago for $100 and I understood that that was the cost.”

“I’m afraid that the inventory is now full, we are unable to do that anymore.”

“So how much is full fare?”

“That will be $954 plus tax.”

I can’t have heard right. I clutch the phone and whisper, “What?”

“Nine hundred fifty-four dollars plus tax.”

“But I can’t afford that!” In my head I’m mentally calculating how much that is in pounds, that’s about £700! No way, I haven’t got that sort of money.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s the best we can do.”

“So you mean I have to wait here until I’m booked to go home? I can’t change my flight again for $100?” I can’t believe this is happening to me, I really can’t.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Forget it,” I sigh. “I’ll just have to stay in this godforsaken place then, won’t I? Thanks.” And I put down the phone, feeling as if I’m going to cry.

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Lauren, I’ll have to call Lauren, and surprise, surprise, she’s not there. Probably out with her bartender, I think, and that’s when it hits me. I’m on my own. Again. I came out here to be with Brad and now he’s left me and that’s it, I’m in a strange town, with one friend who isn’t home, and I’m all by myself.

I can’t help it, I can’t stop the tears that start rolling down my cheeks and within seconds I’m gulping huge pockets of air, sobbing like a baby. I pull my knees up to my chest and cradle them with my arms, crying as if my heart is going to break. Stop it, I try and tell myself. He’s not worth it, but even as I think that I know that this isn’t about Brad. This is about me. This is about finally thinking you’ve found someone to share the rest of your life with, and not being good enough for them. It’s about thinking that being blond and slim and perfect will automatically bring you happiness, and then discovering that life is full of as many disappointments as there were before.

It takes about an hour to cry myself dry, and when I’ve finished I leave a message on Lauren’s machine. “It’s JJ,” I say, hiccuping a little. “Something terrible’s happened, I need a place to stay. Whatever you do, don’t call me at Brad’s. I’m going out and I’ll keep ringing you until I get you. Speak to you soon.” And I put the phone down.

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I lug my suitcase down the hall, thanking God that Brad didn’t change his mind and decide to see me off. It’s so heavy I’ll probably do my back in, but I’d rather be laid up than accept any help from him now.

I take the case to the front door, and the taxi driver runs out and picks it up for me.

“Where to?” he asks, when I’m settled in the backseat.

“I haven’t got a clue.”

He turns round and looks at me quizzically. “You don’t know where you’re going?”

I shake my head, and as I do the first tears come, but not in a torrent, just a single tear rolling down my cheek.

“Are you okay?” he says gently.

“Yes.” I try to smile. “I’ll be fine.” And we sit there for a bit as he waits for me to compose myself, and as I wipe my eyes I remember the Santa Monica mall, the food hall, and my nostrils are filled with the mingling smells and I know as an absolute certainty that the only thing that will make me feel better right now is food. Lots of it. As much as I can eat.

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Cravings. I’d forgotten about cravings, but now I’m getting the strongest craving of my life, and for your information I’m not sitting here thinking about lettuce, or rice cakes, or even, gasp, a loaf of bread. I’m sitting here thinking about spare ribs. About Singapore noodles. About pasta. About cookies. About cakes dripping with sugar and cream.

And the more I think about it, the more vivid the pictures become until I can almost smell the food, taste the food, hear it beckoning me from afar.

“Santa Monica mall,” I instruct the driver, not caring about my fat-free, cholesterol-free, obsessive diet. I don’t give a damn, I just need to stuff my face.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he says, as I start to lug the suitcase up the steps of the mall. “I’m sure,” I tell him, and push open the doors.

Where do you start when you’re about to have the biggest binge of your life and you have a choice of practically every type of food from around the world? It doesn’t matter really, because I plan to sample everything, and I start with a sandwich from the deli.

I don’t bother sitting at one of the tables, I stand just next to the deli counter cramming a pastrami on rye sandwich into my mouth, barely tasting it.

Next I hit the hamburger stall, where I bypass the burgers and go for the fries instead.

I stop at the Chinese and order Singapore noodles and spare ribs, at which point I do sit down because it’s far easier to tear the flesh off the bone with your teeth when you’re sitting down.

Sweet things, sweet things, sweet things. I go to the bakery and buy a bag of six hot, fresh cinnamon rolls, and I stuff them into my mouth within minutes.

Now what? I look around, stomach full, but I know I haven’t even started if I’m hoping to fill the huge, gaping hole in my heart. The candy store. I fill a huge paper bag with sweets, every kind imaginable, and even before I’ve left the
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shop I’m cramming handfuls into my mouth without even tasting them.

I leave the mall and lug the suitcase to a phone booth outside, undoing the top two buttons on my tiny denim shorts, which are now painfully pressing into my flesh, and as I dial I rub my stomach to try and dispel the ache from so much food, and I curse myself for wearing a short white crop top instead of a voluminous shirt to hide my sins.

“Lauren?”

“I’ve been so worried!” shouts Lauren down the phone. “Don’t tell me now, just get your ass over here.”