Holding Out for a Zero

by Wardell, Heather

  I’ve never fasted before, and the idea freaks me out, but so does the idea of how many calories I inflicted on myself yesterday. Today I can officially have 600, but I probably ate 1500 or even more yesterday so adding more to my body isn’t right.

  But fasting… that doesn’t seem right either.

  I go back and forth, but as I leave the subway station and realize I barely have the strength to get up the stairs I decide I need to eat. I’ll start fresh. Eat my 600 today and my 200 tomorrow, and just keep moving. Let yesterday’s mess be in the past.

  I line up at the little café by the office to buy a yogurt, since a smoothie would be too many calories, feeling like I’m doing the right thing.

  But when I have the plastic cup in my hand and am about to pay, the image of that cheesecake clinging to my hips fills my mind with such intensity I panic. I drop the cup on the counter and flee, ignoring the cashier’s surprise.

  As I rush away, my embarrassment and fear morph into a calm numbed satisfaction. Control. I am regaining it. Excellent.

  In the office, Jaimi holds out half a banana to me. “I can’t eat the whole thing, not with my yogurt and granola too. Want to help me out?”

  My hand goes forward to grab the banana while I watch and wonder how that happened.

  She smiles. “Awesome. You do look great, but I’m glad to see you eating. It’s been a while.”

  See me eating. That’s it. Why waste calories when nobody’s around to see me? If I only eat with other people, I can manage my food intake and also cut down on the critical comments I’m getting from everyone but my coworkers.

  Perfect.

  *****

  I survive the day on Jaimi’s half banana, coffee with sugar-free syrup, and pure determination. My promotion presentation is as solid as I can make it by the end of the day, but I take my computer to the hospital with me anyhow. Remy teaches an art class on Monday nights so I don’t feel too worried about seeing him there, but I’m still relieved to walk in and find both of the chairs beside Gloria’s bed unoccupied.

  She doesn’t open her eyes or react when I say hello, so I sit down quietly and get to work reviewing my presentation, admiring my newly polished CFO-worthy elegant beige nails. This time my manicurist didn’t comment on my weight, and I’m glad. I’d hate to have to find a new salon.

  “Val…rie?”

  I raise my head from the computer. “I’m right here. How are you? I didn’t want to bother you while you slept.”

  “Not sleeping,” she says. “Sad.”

  I snap the laptop closed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, what you’re going through. You’re doing great, though. The doctors say you’re getting better and—”

  Her single head shake cuts me off. “No. Not me.”

  Every word seems to take her so much effort that I don’t want to make her talk more than she has to, but I don’t understand. “Then what’s wrong?”

  She doesn’t speak, but she runs her eyes over me. Down, then back up, where they linger on my exposed collarbones at the neckline of my black dress. “Sad,” she murmurs.

  I swallow hard. “Are you talking about me? About my weight? It makes you sad?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers.

  If she’d somehow screamed at me it wouldn’t have hurt so much. “But I did it for you, it was the only thing I could do to—”

  “I know.” Her quiet words cut me off. “Sad. That.”

  “Because I did it for you?” I say, finally getting it. “No, don’t be sad about that. It’s okay. I decided to do it. I’m okay. I just…” My throat tightens. “I can’t lose you. Not you too. This is all I can do to prevent it. I know it’s not much,” I say, then backpedal hard because I can’t even let that thought into my head. “But it has to be enough because it’s what I can do. I didn’t do anything for Anthony, just the opposite in fact, but for you I can do this. So I am. It’s okay. When you’re okay…”

  I trail off, the mute misery on her face too much to ignore. “What? What did I say, Gloria? I really am fine, I am. And you really are getting better. Don’t worry, I’ll stop once you’re out of the hospital.”

  A tear slides down her cheek, then another.

  “Gloria.” I reach out and lay my hand on hers where it’s gone back to being bent into her chest, a sign that she hasn’t yet recovered as far as we all hope she will. “Don’t. It’s okay. I failed Anthony but I won’t fail you.”

  As her tears fall faster, a nurse bursts into the room. “Is something wrong?”

  I turn. “She’s crying, but I don’t know why. How’d you know?”

  “Her heart’s racing,” the nurse says briefly, brushing by me to look down at Gloria. “I think you should probably let her rest. And whatever you were talking about? Don’t do it again.”

  Stung, I say, “She started it!” then realize how pathetic that sounds. “Sorry, never mind. I won’t. Can I say goodbye to her?”

  She nods and takes a step back, but clearly doesn’t intend to leave us alone. Trying to ignore her presence and the awful feeling that I’ve somehow set Gloria back simply by being here, I give my sister’s shoulder a squeeze and say, “I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay? And I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, just take care of yourself. You’re all that matters.”

  She doesn’t respond, or open her eyes, so I pat her hand, trying not to feel awkward in front of the nurse, then gather my stuff and head for the door. When I look back, the nurse is gently wiping fresh-fallen tears from Gloria’s face.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My worries over Gloria and how I somehow upset her combine themselves with my presentation-related nervousness and the gnawing sick emptiness of my stomach to make it impossible for me to sleep more than a few minutes at a time that night despite taking two sleeping pills, and I get up and shower and dress the next morning feeling even more like I’m walking through a thick fog than usual.

  I miss my subway stop, because I don’t register that I’ve reached it before the doors shut again, so I end up rushing into the office only five minutes before the presentations are to begin. I cut off Andrea the receptionist’s greeting with, “Could you grab me a coffee with four artificial sweeteners? Right away? I’m running way behind today.”

  She looks taken aback. “Sure, of course. Coming right up.”

  She rushes off, and is back just as I’ve stuffed a notebook and pen into my bag because Elle is famous for never attending a meeting without taking notes and I want to impress her.

  “It’ll be one minute for the—”

  “I don’t have one.” She should have already had some brewing. “Gotta go.”

  Her eyes widen but she says nothing as I speed past her to the elevator.

  In the elevator, fidgeting from foot to foot during the seemingly endless climb to the top of the building, I look at myself in the mirrored wall and realize why Andrea looked so confused at the sight of me.

  I only made up one eye.

  “How the hell?” I mutter, horrified. Fortunately I have makeup in my bag, but it isn’t exactly what I’d used.

  Though my hands are shaking from fear and anger at Andrea for letting me leave looking like this, I manage to put on a halfways decent line of eyeliner that more or less matches the other eye. Certainly better than nothing. As I do mascara, though, the elevator jolts to a stop and I jerk the wand across my cheek.

  “Damn it!” I stare at the ugly black mark for a moment, then realize I’d better move fast before the waterproof mascara sets. Holding the elevator open with my foot so I can use its mirror, I dig in my bag for a tissue then lick it and scrub at my cheek. The mascara does come off, but so do my foundation and blush, leaving my face with a visibly bare streak.

  The elevator begins loudly protesting being held open, and I have to get out. There’s no time to fix my face, and even if there were this floor of the building has no restrooms because Elle doesn’t want “that sort of thing” in her domain, so all I can do is slap a coat of po
wder over my whole face and hope it evens out the coloration.

  My legs feel like rubber as I walk down the hall toward the plush conference room where my fate will be decided. Reaching for the door, I hear Jaimi say something and everyone’s answering chuckles, and for the first time it sinks in that the executive might make their decision based on more than just job skill. I am smarter and more experienced than Jaimi, but people seem to like her for some reason. And of course there’s the wild card, the outside guy. I have no idea what he’s like. I wanted, I needed, to come in here calm and prepared and controlled so I’d ace my presentation and be the only possible choice for CFO, and instead my makeup looks like a monkey applied it and I’ve got no food in me and worse no coffee and—

  I snap the rubber band on my wrist, harder than I ever have before, and the sharp sting makes me gasp and shuts down my rising panic. I can do this. I will do this.

  I push my shoulders back and lift my chin to make myself look confident in my size-zero hunter green dress, though even that movement dizzies me, then pull open the door.

  Then I nearly keel over.

  At the table, across from the executives and between Jaimi and an empty chair that’s obviously meant for me, is a man I don’t know.

  The blond man from Gloria’s photograph.

  “Ah, Valerie,” Elle says, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  What sounds like a hint of disdain in her voice weakens my knees even more, and I know I need to pull myself together, but I can’t stop looking at the man.

  “Robert Adrian,” he says, getting to his feet and walking toward me. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” I say, staring at him so intently I don’t realize he’s held out his hand for me to shake until I hear suppressed chuckles from the executives. I jerk my hand out and we shake, and as he smiles at me I realize it’s not him.

  At least, I don’t think it is.

  I’ve looked at that photo so many times that I should be able to know for sure, but I don’t. This could be my chance to figure out an element of Gloria’s life, but it’s also my chance to make my career dreams come true, and I can’t process any of this right now.

  “I’m Valerie Malloy,” I manage to say, studying his face to see if he reacts to my last name.

  He doesn’t, just nods and smiles and says it’s nice to meet me. I do all of that back to him but my smile freezes on my face when he adds, “I’m glad you did make it. I’d hate to win the position without a fair fight.”

  His confidence, and his willingness to express it right out loud, surprises me, but I clear my throat and say, “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  He nods and smiles again, but now I can see the hunger in his eyes. I’m still not sure whether he’s Gloria’s photo man, but he’s definitely my biggest competition for this job.

  As we move toward the table, Jaimi says, “How’s your sister?”

  Though her voice holds nothing but concern I wonder if she’s trying to make me look bad for what I said about not missing the presentation.

  “Far better,” I say, “which made being here today easy.” I settle gratefully into my chair and immediately feel less like I’m going to faint. “The doctors say she may make a full recovery.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Jaimi murmurs, but Elle speaks over her. “Yes, I’m sure we’re all glad to hear that. We do need to get going, though.” Elle’s eyes focus on my face then lock onto my cheek where the mascara was, and I fight to keep my expression calm and relaxed.

  It must work, because she looks away without seeming bothered and says, “Now, who’s going first?”

  Our chief information officer Drew says, “Age before—” then cuts himself off sharply as I glare at him and Elle clears her throat with meaning. He flounders for a moment, then says, “Alphabetically?”

  “Fine with me,” I say, trying to sound like I’m letting Jaimi go first because she’s probably nervous and not like I desperately need a few minutes to collect my thoughts.

  “And me,” Robert says, and I take the opportunity to glance at him again. Is he the guy from the photo? I’m not sure. If only I’d put it into my phone, I’d be able to check. Why didn’t that occur to me?

  Jaimi gives a little giggle, sounding like a scared teenage girl, then clears her throat and pulls a sheaf of papers from her bag. “If you’ll each take a copy of my handout, I’ll just connect my laptop to the projector and we can get started.”

  We pass around the papers, and I study my copy. It looks good. Not as good as mine, since I reused the exact format George always used for his presentations which I know Elle likes, but good.

  Her presentation’s good too. She does sound terrified at the beginning but she quickly gets herself together and explains her vision for the company clearly, and when the executives and Elle and Robert begin firing questions at her when she’s finished she handles all of those well. There’s a bit too much “I’ll do whatever you think, of course” in her answers for my taste but the executives appear to like that. Elle seems to be reserving judgement, and I like that. It leaves room for me.

  I know I should ask questions too, point out the flaws in her plan and make myself look good, but I can’t think of any. Elle does eventually say, “Valerie, any questions?” and I struggle for a second to come up with something then have to say, “They’ve all been covered.” She just nods and turns away, but I know I’ve disappointed her and I feel bad. Worse.

  “Robert, you’re up,” Drew says, and I promise myself I’ll find some challenging questions for him. I try hard to stay focused on his presentation, which is frankly not as good as Jaimi’s, but despite my best efforts my mind keeps shifting gears to wonder whether he is the photograph guy. If he is, what does it mean that he’s here? It can’t be a coincidence.

  But the longer I watch him talk, the less I think he is that guy, because something about his eyes isn’t right, and by the time he reaches his final statements I’m sure enough he’s just a random guy that I’m able to focus in on his words and realize his plan is never going to fly with Elle. Expanding into all regular sizes and even plus size clothing? Not a chance.

  That the board agrees with me is pretty clear from the kinds of questions he gets, but what really surprises me is how ferociously Jaimi goes after him. Unlike me, she obviously took in every word he said, and she doesn’t seem to like even a single one. I manage to get a question in this time, challenging his estimate of the cost of retooling our overseas factories to produce larger clothing, but that’s nothing compared to how much Jaimi attacks him.

  Robert does defend his proposal but I don’t think he’s impressed the board. The problem is, I don’t know whether I will either. I thought I’d feel better sitting in the comfy chair, but instead my brain seems to be getting less active all the time. When Robert takes his chair and Elle says, “Thank you. Valerie?” I have no idea what I wrote in my proposal and even less idea of how to explain it.

  I can’t admit that, though, so I snap my rubber band under the table to give myself a jolt then push my chair back and get to my feet, carefully so as not to pass out. Once I’ve given out my handouts, I get my computer connected and get to work.

  Each brain cell feels like it’s been packaged individually in cotton. My thoughts seem quiet and dull, and every sentence I speak feels like it takes an eternity to be assembled and come out of my mouth. Fortunately I’ve practiced so many times that the material comes back to me once I get going, but I can hear that I sound flat and unenergetic. I try to perk up my voice, but I have no energy anywhere in my body to give to that effort. Staying standing and talking is absolutely all I can do.

  When I’m finished, Drew asks me, “How is your proposal better than Jaimi’s?”

  A simple question, and one I’d expected so had prepared for, but as I stumble through an answer I hear myself and cringe inside. I know this stuff, but my words won’t come out right.
>
  He nods when I finish, like I said something insightful. Maybe I did; I can barely remember my own sentences now that they’re out.

  Robert does pepper me with questions, but not as many as he asked Jaimi, and my protégée goes almost insultingly easy on me instead of attacking me as she did Robert. Even the board doesn’t ask much, and Elle asks nothing at all. Is this good or bad? I have no idea. I should know, and I don’t.

  Once the questions peter out Elle mercifully says, “Well, thank you, Valerie. Why don’t you take a seat while we discuss what happens next?”

  I nod and make my way back to my chair, trying not to look like I’m rushing there even though relief at being done and shock at how difficult it was are making every joint in my body come undone, and as I sink onto the seat she says, “So. Thank you all. You have different views, but you’ve all put a lot of effort into your presentations and I appreciate that. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?”

  The other board members nod, and I wonder whether a bunch of older white men will prefer the younger and prettier Jaimi or the ‘another guy just like them’ Robert to me. Nothing I can do about that, though.

  Fear and helplessness slink through me and I snap my rubber band to push them aside as Elle goes on with, “The board and I will discuss, and then take a little time to think, then meet again at two-thirty to vote. Assuming we can decide, we will call Jaimi and Valerie back to this room at three, put Robert on conference call, and make our announcement. Understood?”

  We all nod, and she pushes back her chair and gets to her feet. “Well, thank you again, and we will talk later.”

  Everyone rises, since she did, and I scoop up my stuff and head for the door as Jaimi and Robert do the same thing. Robert leaves without a word to anyone, but Jaimi is stopped by Drew and the departing CFO George, who begin telling her in what sound to me like condescending tones how surprised and impressed they were with her presentation. I keep going, not wanting to look like I’m waiting for someone to compliment me, but Elle’s quiet “Valerie” behind me makes me stop and turn around.