The Next Big Thing

by Johanna Edwards

  “Here’s my business card,” Jon said, smiling. “Give me a call this week or drop me an e-mail. We’ll set something up.” He grasped Donna’s hand in a prolonged shake. “Enjoy your ladies’ night,” he said, backing away from the table. He kept moving backward—narrowly avoiding a collision with a busboy—until he’d reached the exit, as if he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off of Donna.

  As for me, well, Jon had managed to make it through the entire exchange without ever directly acknowledging my presence. This kind of thing has happened to me numerous times. I’ve had men hold the door for the girl in front of me, only to let it slam in my face. I’ve sat staring at the wall as guys introduce themselves to every girl at the table and then skip over me altogether.

  “Sorry about that,” Donna apologized, tucking Jon’s business card into her wallet. She was positively beaming. “That was kind of weird, wasn’t it?”

  “Not really. It would be weird if it didn’t happen to you all the time.” I tried to keep my voice even, but it didn’t work.

  “What’s wrong?” Donna asked. As if reading my mind, she added, “I didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”

  “No big deal,” I said, brushing it off. “So I noticed you didn’t tell him you have a boyfriend.”

  “Nope.” She flashed me a coy smile. “Sure didn’t.”

  “Donna! You’re not seriously thinking about cheating on Chip?”

  She considered this. “I haven’t made up my mind. Do you think I should?”

  “No! You’re terrible! Five minutes ago you were accusing Nick of cheating on his fictional wife, and how here you are thinking about cheating on your actual boyfriend.”

  “Eh, I was only kidding. Honestly, I think it’s time to pull the plug on things with Chip. We’ve been together practically forever, and our relationship has lost a lot of its spark. He’s not as much fun as he was when we first started dating.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You guys haven’t even been together six months!”

  A waitress arrived at our table, her arms loaded down with food. “I’ve got a Sizzling Fajita Salad, no guac, no sour cream, no cheese.”

  I raised my hand. “That’s me.”

  Her face registered surprise. She didn’t say anything, but I could read her reaction. It said, Fat girls only eat things deep fried in a vat of lard.

  She set the dish down in front of me.

  “Stacked Border Nachos?” she asked.

  Donna nodded. The waitress placed the plate in front of her. It was overflowing with chips, ground beef, and at least three kinds of cheese. “Enjoy. Your server will be around in a minute to check on you guys.” I wanted to smack that waitress. I wouldn’t be caught dead eating something as fattening as Stacked Border Nachos in public. If they’d had a fruit plate, I’d have ordered it. She should get her facts straight: Big girls rarely pig out in public. We don’t want to give the general population any more ammo than they already have.

  I chomped angrily on my salad and thought about how Jon had ignored me. Men were so predictable. Just once, I’d like to have a fantastic guy lavish attention on me. Once I got skinny and fabulous, I would treat all people equally—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even though I’d have the kind of body that would garner attention from male models, I would ignore them in favor of average-looking men. I wouldn’t date any of these guys, of course. I’d be with Nick. But I could make them feel special, just by flirting. Duds, not studs. That would be my motto.

  “So back to your Nick problem,” Donna said, scooping up a chip and popping it into her mouth. “If you really want to continue with this, I think you should just bite the bullet and call him.”

  “No way,” I said. “He wanted space. I’m giving him space.”

  “Kat . . .” Donna’s voice trailed off. She twirled a chip around, stringing it with cheese. “Yes?” I looked up between bites of my fajita salad.

  “Look, let’s just assume Nick really is who he says he is – that he’s not hiding anything. Then there’s something else you need to consider.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sometimes the reason men don’t call isn’t because they’re hiding anything, and it’s not because they’re busy, either. It’s because they’ve lost interest.”

  “I know,” I said. “But why would that happen so suddenly?”

  Donna laughed. “God only knows. Ask someone with a penis. I can’t explain it, but men do it all the time. They’re madly in love with you one day, then the next day they couldn’t care less. Sometimes it’s because they’ve met another girl. Sometimes it’s because they got bored. Who knows.”

  I nodded miserably. “Yeah, but how would me calling him change anything? If Nick’s lost interest in me it’s not like he’s going to suddenly get re-interested when he hears my voice. If anything, it will just reinforce how much he doesn’t want to talk to me. Shouldn’t I play hard to get?”

  “Even if he doesn’t have a wife, he’s probably at least got another girlfriend in England. And maybe you’re a fun challenge right now, but it’s only a matter of time until he gets tired of your runarounds. You guys have already invested way too much time in a relationship that was—in all likelihood—doomed from the get-go. I bet Nick just wants to meet you so he can find out one way or the other.”

  I ate my salad in silence, glaring hard at Donna. She had basically said I was lucky to have someone like Nick interested in me and I should bend over backward to keep him.

  As if reading my mind, Donna reached over and squeezed my forearm. “I’m sorry, Kat,” she said softly. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s tough, ’cause I know how much you care about Nick. I don’t want to see you lose him. Honest. Take my advice and call him as soon as you get home tonight. You’ll see. I bet he’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”

  “Even if I did call him, there’s nothing I can say to make things better. He’ll start in, offering to buy me a ticket to London . . . Don’t you think it’s best if I stall until I can think of something to say, some good excuse that will smooth things over?”

  Donna bit her lower lip. “Opportunity,” she said, “is fleeting. I know we don’t see eye to eye on this Nick situation, and a lot of that is because he just seems too good to be true. But let’s say you’re right and I’m wrong. Let’s say Nick’s the real deal. Well, if that’s the case – if he really is all he says he is, then a guy like that isn’t going to stay on the market for very long.”

  I stared at her in surprise. For a minute I thought she was joking, but I could tell from her expression that Donna was deadly serious.

  “If you wait too long, Nick may wind up being the one that got away.”

  It was a horrifying thought, but I knew she was right. “But what am I going to tell him when he wants to know why I can’t come to London?”

  “Tell him your mom’s sick, tell him you totaled your car,” she said. “Use the newspaper for inspiration, like I do—whatever it takes. But if you want to keep him, you’ve got to keep him interested.”

  I took a huge gulp of my margarita and tossed her words around in my head. I was attempting to play hard-to-get, but what if it backfired? “I thought guys didn’t like girls who were too available. You know, the thrill of the chase and all that.” Donna laughed.

  “Kat, you’re an ocean away. I’d hardly call that available.”

  I was starting to come around. “Maybe I’ll send him a quick e-mail when I get home. . . .”

  “Call him, don’t e-mail,” Donna insisted, dipping her fork into my salad and trying a bite.

  “Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Yeah, I thought, like I want to be eating this myself.

  “England’s six hours ahead of us, so I can’t call him tonight—it’ll be nearly four in the morning. I’ll call him tomorrow, when I get home from H and G.”

  Donna nodded approvingly. “Guys like Nick don’t stay on the market long. Do it the first chance you get.”<
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  ***

  The following night I rushed home from work, speeding through yellow lights and nearly sideswiping a mail truck on Union Avenue. Despite what Donna had said, I didn’t believe Nick had another girl or was in prison in England. Not for a minute. But she was right about one thing—guys like him don’t stay on the market for long. I pulled my car into the parking lot of my apartment, leapt out, and dashed up the stairs to my place.

  The phone was ringing when I got inside. I grabbed it off the receiver without bothering to check the Caller ID. It must be Nick!

  “Hello,” I said, gasping to catch my breath.

  “Hi, this is Zaidee Panola calling with From Fat to Fabulous. I’m trying to reach Katrina Larson.”

  My jaw dropped. Zaidee Panola! I recognized the name from the USA Today story. I’d read the article so many times every detail of it had become emblazoned on my brain. Be cool, I coached myself, just be cool.

  “This is Kat,” I said, trying my best to sound at ease.

  “Hi, Kat, I’m glad I caught you. Is this a good time to talk?” Hell, yeah, it’s a good time to talk! I thought.

  “I’m free,” I said in what I hoped was a casual voice.

  “Good, because I’d like to go over a few things with you. First off, the assistant producers and I have reviewed your audition tape and we’re interested in possibly having you on the show.”

  She put grave emphasis on the word possibly, as if to drive the point home that I was still one of many candidates.

  “The audition process is fairly complex, but I’m happy to say you’ve survived our early eliminations. So congrats on that front. Now, what I need to do today is get you to expand on some of the things you touched on in your app and video.”

  I took a deep breath. I wished I’d had even the slightest bit of warning, some time to prepare. I hadn’t expected them to call me for at least a month, and it hadn’t even been a full week.

  “Fire away,” I said. My heart was pounding hard and fast, and I could feel pools of sweat forming under my arms.

  “Great! Make yourself comfy, Kat. This is going to take a few minutes.” I slumped against the couch and drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves.

  Zaidee started off with a bang. “You’ve slept with only three men in your entire life. Do you feel your weight has played a role in that?”

  I gulped. It was a tough question, and not something I felt comfortable discussing with a total stranger.

  I didn’t want to answer outright, so I responded with, “My weight has played a role in everything I’ve ever done, so yes.”

  But she wouldn’t let it drop that easily. “And how has it played a role in your sexual relationships, if you could be more specific? Do you have a hard time exposing your body to men? Are you shy about undressing in front of a lover?”

  I struggled to keep my tone as upbeat as possible. I was starting to be plagued by a very real fear that I might cry. I figured as long as I kept joking I’d be okay.

  “Uh, yes and yes.” I laughed. “When your hips are four feet tall, you kind of want to keep them covered.”

  “Right. I wanted to ask you about that. You made a comment in your app that your hips are almost four feet tall. I’ve got to admit I’ve never heard that one before. What’s the story?”

  I explained that my hips—which measured forty-six inches—would stand nearly four feet tall if stretched out.

  “Clever. You’ve found a way to make light of a depressing situation. I applaud that,” Zaidee remarked. “Now, can you tell me about your ex-boyfriends?”

  It went on for quite a while. Our phone call was like a tennis match, with Zaidee serving up questions and me lobbing them back. We discussed everything from my written application and virtually nothing from my videotape. In fact, she didn’t even mention the video until the tail end of our thirty-minute conversation.

  “I had a good feeling about you from the moment I saw your audition tape, and I’ve gotta say, Kat, you do not disappoint.”

  “Wow.” I breathed, unsure of how to respond to her praise.

  “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Liked it? I loved it! The guys around the office haven’t stopped talking about it.”

  “Oh, uh, great,” I mumbled, thrown off.

  “You’ve been very forthcoming, Kat, and that really helps us in this process, so thanks. Oh, and before you go, I’ve gotta get you to do one more thing for me. E-mail me two digital images of yourself, one head shot and one full body. They’ll need to have been taken within the past six months, and be in jpeg format, three hundred dpi. Are you familiar with how to scan and upload pictures?”

  I told her I was. My knowledge of Photoshop, after all, was what helped me doctor the photo I’d sent to Nick.

  “I’d like those as soon as possible. As inventive as your idea of the ‘talking breasts’ video was, we have to see a more accurate picture of you before we can make any kind of decision.”

  “Talking breasts?” I repeated, horrified. I erased that take, didn’t I?

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. That’s just what the folks around the office dubbed your video. Kind of like how you get talking heads when you watch the news. But whatever you call it, I’ve gotta tell you, it was a creative approach.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  Chapter Five

  “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  These were the first words out of Nick’s mouth when I called him the next day. No “hello,” no “I’m sorry we haven’t spoken in a week.”

  “Okay.” I breathed, bracing myself for the worst. “What is it?”

  “I can’t very well tell you! Then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?”

  “Come on, Nick, give me a little hint.”

  “Nice try, but no. This is too good to spoil.”

  “Okay. Then what have you been up to this past week?” I asked, shifting topics.

  “Not a lot, really.”

  “Is work keeping you busy?” I ventured. The conversation was so awkward.

  “No. Remember, I’m off deadline at the moment.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, silently scolding myself. His editor had cut his section in favor of a Johnny Depp feature. How could I have forgotten?

  “How is the weather in the UK?”

  “It’s quite rainy at the moment, a typical English spring. And Memphis?”

  “The heat’s suffocating,” I told him.

  “It hit ninety-two degrees yesterday, and the humidity was around sixty percent.” After our pleasantries about the weather I sat there, tongue-tied. There was so much I wanted to tell him, so much I longed to explain.

  “Nick . . .” I began, trailing off. “I’ve . . . um, really missed you.”

  “Me, too,” he said, his voice softening. “It’s been ages since we last talked.”

  “Well you wanted space, remember?” I said, feeling shy. “You said you wanted time to think.”

  He chuckled. “I’m foolish like that sometimes. I never know what I want.”

  “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “Mad at you!” Nick exclaimed. “Kat, I was never mad at you. I was disappointed and hurt and confused that you didn’t want to see me. But I wasn’t angry.” I let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  “When you didn’t call for a whole week I jumped to all sorts of horrible conclusions. I thought our relationship was doomed.”

  Nick sounded alarmed. “Why would you think a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I was just worried. I expected you to call.”

  “I intended to ring you,” he apologized. “But then Mum phoned and invited me to Salcombe in Devon. I was aching to get away from the city, so I went for a few days. I love it, the air’s so much fresher in the country than in London. My family has a holiday home there—a converted eighteenth-century farmhouse.”

  I pictured a quaint l
ittle farmhouse on the coast of England. It reminded me of something straight out of a Regency romance novel. It was ironic, really, because I’d spent so much of my life reading romances. Now I was living one.

  “That sounds amazing. What did you do while you were out there?”

  “We have twenty-two acres and riding stables, so I spent a good deal of time wandering the local area on horseback,” Nick began.

  I imagined him in jodhpurs and a riding jacket as he cruised along atop a mighty steed. Maybe one day we’d ride together, me sitting behind him, my arms clasped tightly around his waist.

  I sank back against my bed. I could listen to his accent all night. It was so elegant and charming.

  “It was a wonderful holiday. I’d love to show you someday. Devon’s in the southwest of England, Kat.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be patronizing. But I know how you Americans are when it comes to geography,” he teased. “If it’s outside of the States you barely know it exists.”

  “Hey!” I protested. “My geography skills are pretty good, thank you very much.”

  “Are they now? Okay, think fast: what’s the capital of Sweden?”

  “Stockholm,” I shot back.

  “Very well.” He sounded pleased. “But even if you’d gotten it wrong, I’d still be madly in love with you, Kat.”

  I felt giddy, like a teenager. I drew in a breath. “I love you, too.”

  “I feel so lucky to have met you,” Nick said. “The way things are sometimes, I just get so lonely.”

  It was hard to believe. His life seemed so glamorous. “

  You have a lot going for you.”

  “Now,” he said, “I have everything.”

  I blushed. “Yeah, me too. . . .”

  We kept chattering on excitedly, flirting and catching up on everything we’d missed during the past week.

  Right as we were about to hang up the phone, Nick dropped his bombshell. “In regard to the surprise I mentioned earlier. You’ll need to make sure you’re home between the hours of noon and four P.M. next Saturday. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Yes, it sounded like a very big problem! “Uh, I’ll do my best,” I said. “I may have to work, you know. Richard’s got us doing tons of overtime because of these new clients.”