The Fat Girl

by Marilyn Sachs

  Five and a half months, I thought to myself as I drove. I’ve been going with Ellen for five and a half months. When I met her she was ready to kill herself. That night she’d be going to the prom in a magnificent, golden gown, and her joy would be written all over her face. Because of me.

  seventeen

  Ellen’s mother opened the door. Her smile was as big as my mother’s.

  “Jeff, Jeff,” she said. “You look—oh Jeff, you look wonderful.”

  Her father came out of the living room, shook hands with me and made a few man-type jokes. We all walked back into the living room together.

  “Ellen’s ready, but I’m under orders to keep you here so she can make a grand entrance. And she certainly does look wonderful. I must say.”

  “I’m sure she does, Mrs. De Luca. I think that dress is a knockout, and it sure suits her.”

  Mrs. De Luca hurried out of the room and I could hear her calling up to Ellen, “He’s here, Ellen. You can come down now.”

  Mr. De Luca shook his head proudly. “Women!” he said. Then he moved over to where I was sitting, sat down next to me and said quickly, putting his hand into his pocket, “Listen, Jeff, I know this is costing you a fortune, and my wife and I . . .”

  “No!” I told him. “Please don’t! My father gave me money, and my mother gave me money, and if I get any more, Ellen and I will charter a yacht and go around the world.”

  He laughed and took his hand out of his pocket. Then I could hear her steps on the stairs, and in my mind I could see her in the gold caftan, my golden Ellen.

  Her mother came in first and pretended to blow a trumpet. “Da, da da da dum dum.”

  And there she was.

  I stood up and smiled.

  And then I stopped smiling.

  Ellen was standing in the room, giggling softly. She was not wearing the golden caftan. Instead, she had on a long, white dress, low cut with thin little sequined straps. The dress fit her closely. She was still fat, but not so fat that you couldn’t see her full bust, her small waist and her large, round hips. And her face—her hair—it was all different. It wasn’t my Ellen at all. Instead of a curly Afro, she had a new kind of hairdo with straight, short wisps of hair. Her face had hardly any makeup. She wasn’t golden. She was just an ordinary fat girl—maybe a pretty, fat girl but not a golden goddess, not anything to do with me.

  “But—why?” I said.

  Ellen continued giggling. “I wanted to surprise you,” she said. “I didn’t want to wear that silly old caftan. I don’t have to anymore. I can wear regular sizes now. So I just pretended to buy it. And the earrings too. And then I brought them back, and Mom and I went shopping on Monday. You were working, so you weren’t suspicious. And this was the first dress I tried on. See, Jeff, it’s a fifteen. I could have taken the thirteen, but Mom thought it would be too tight across the hips. And then yesterday, I went for a haircut. I’m sick of that silly Afro. Everybody’s into a layered look now. And see, Mom and Dad gave me these little diamond studs to wear for earrings.”

  “You brought the gold caftan back?”

  “Uh huh, and Mom . . .”

  Here Mrs. De Luca chimed in. “I didn’t think it was at all appropriate for a prom. Maybe for a statue, but not for a young girl. And she’s really got a nice shape now—another few pounds and she’ll really be something.”

  “And then Dad . . .”

  “Well,” said Mr. De Luca, “of course I don’t know anything about clothes, but I hated all that gook she kept putting on her face. I know, Jeff, it was your idea, and when she was really fat, I think it was a great idea. It took her mind off her problems. But now . . .”

  “Yes,” continued her mother, “now she certainly doesn’t need it. She has a wonderful complexion, and just look at all that natural color in her cheeks!”

  They went on and on, admiring their dumpy, ordinary daughter in her silly, ordinary dress, while she continued giggling and blushing and looking at me, as if she expected me to join in the chorus of praise and admiration.

  I wanted to throw the flowers in her face. I wanted to smack her fat, pink cheeks, and most of all, I wanted to storm out of that house.

  Her father was opening a bottle of champagne. “This is a special night for all of us.”

  Ricky and Matt trooped into the living room and whistled at their sister.

  “Turn around, Ellen, and show them the back.”

  Ellen twirled around, displaying her big, fleshy, bare back with the two sequined straps crisscrossing it. I hated it.

  When I handed her the flowers, she cooed over them and attached them to her wrist.

  “Lovely, Jeff, just lovely,” said her mother. “They’re really exquisite.”

  Ellen began waving her fat arm in the air. “What do you think, Mom?” she asked. “I knew he was going to get yellow ones.” She giggled. “He thought they’d go with the caftan.”

  “Well, well,” her mother said quickly, not looking at me, “Yellow works very well with white.”

  “You know, Jeff,” Ellen said, “I nearly called you to say you should get me pink or red roses, but then I figured you’d be suspicious, and Mom said yellow would be fine and so did Nancy.”

  “Who?”

  “Nancy—Nancy Rosenfeld from Weight Watchers. She came shopping with us too, and then we also went and bought these white pumps and the shawl. Nancy said . . .”

  Everybody said. She listened to everybody but me. She knew I wanted her to wear the caftan, but she didn’t care.

  Her father passed around the champagne and toasted us. “To Jeff and Ellen!” he said.

  Ellen giggled.

  “For a night to remember,” said her mother.

  More giggles from Ellen.

  I don’t remember what Ricky and Matt said, but it went on and on and on. Finally Ellen said, “Well, I guess we should go now.” And her mother went off and brought a long, white, lacy shawl. She handed it to me to drape around her shoulders, and I could smell the same kind of cheap perfume that Nancy Somebody liked to wear.

  “I don’t know if you’ll be warm enough,” said Ellen’s mother. “It’s a cool night. Maybe you ought to take a warmer jacket—just to wear in the car.”

  “Oh no, Mom,” Ellen said with a mock pout. “I’ll be fine.” She went over to each member of her family and kissed him or her. You could see everybody found her bewitching.

  It wasn’t until we were in the car that I told her what I thought.

  “Sneaky!” I said. “It was sneaky and mean to keep fooling me—to make me think you were going to wear the caftan.”

  “But Jeff, I wanted to surprise you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I told her. “You wanted to trick me. You wanted to make a fool of me.”

  “I hated that dress,” Ellen said.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  “I tried to, Jeff,” she said, “but you wouldn’t let me.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” I told her. “Now you’re blaming me. It’s my fault. Well, I think it was a pretty lousy trick, and I felt like a real fool standing there. Everybody knew what a jerk I was. Everybody was in on the secret. Everybody but me.”

  “But Jeff,” Ellen said, “don’t you like the way I look?”

  I didn’t hesitate one second. I told her the truth. “No,” I said, “I don’t like the way you look at all. You look like anybody on the street. You could have looked like a . . . like a goddess, but now you just look ordinary and boring.”

  She didn’t cry. But she turned away from me and looked out of the window and kept quiet all the way to Ondine’s. As we got out of the car, she said in a soft voice, “Look, Jeff, it’s too late to change anything now. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I guess I thought you’d be pleased that I can wear a regula
r dress like anybody else. You’ll see, it will be a wonderful evening anyway. Why don’t we just forget it and have a good time.”

  She took my arm as we walked into the restaurant, but I couldn’t forget it. Not even during dinner. We sat at one of the window tables and watched the sky turn rosy pink, but I couldn’t forget.

  And yet, under my anger, I didn’t want it to end. Maybe the evening was ruined for me. Maybe I wanted to ruin it for her too, but that’s all. I didn’t want it to end. The next day I wanted to start all over again. And I wanted her as much as ever, even in her silly dress.

  But I couldn’t help feeling betrayed. I had wanted to bring Ellen to the prom as a goddess in a shimmering, golden caftan. Instead, she was like any of the other giggling, silly girls, only fatter.

  Norma was there with her new boyfriend. Norma had shed her jeans and old Indian shirts for the evening. Even her fingernails were clean. Her hair still flowed down her back, and in her long, blue dress, she looked like something out of a fairy tale.

  She introduced me to her boyfriend, and when the music started up again, he asked Ellen to dance. I had to offer to dance with Norma, but she said, “Why don’t we just stand here and talk awhile, Jeff. It’s been a long time.”

  “Okay,” I said foolishly. The whole evening was turning into a real drag. I watched Ellen dancing with Norma’s boyfriend, smiling at him with every one of her teeth showing. Norma watched her too. Then she said, “Ellen’s a very nice girl, Jeff.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I guess it took me a while to get to know her, because—well, I don’t mind saying it now, Jeff—I was jealous.”

  I began mumbling something, but she stopped me.

  “No, forget it, Jeff. I have. Or nearly. I realize now what a good person you are, and how hard it must have been for you. I always knew you were sensitive, but now I know you saw something in Ellen nobody else did. You had to be a special person to do what you did—brave and compassionate, too.”

  She was embarrassing me. I began shaking my head.

  “Let me finish, Jeff. I’ve wanted to say this to you for a long time. It’s not easy for me, but I’ll feel better after I say it. I was—I am—sorry to lose you. There aren’t many boys like you . . .”

  “Oh, come on, Norma.”

  “Just a little more. I think we had a great time, and I’m glad we did. John is different from you. It’s a lot of fun. I’m going to Alfred in the fall, and he’ll be going to MIT. I guess we’ll go on seeing each other. So life is good for me, too, now. I want you to know that, and I want to tell you—you’re a nice guy, Jeff.”

  Ellen was giggling. You could hear her from where we stood.

  “Just listen to her,” said Norma smiling. “How happy she is now, thanks to you. And doesn’t she look lovely? It’s hard to remember that just last Christmas, she . . . she . . .”

  “Looked like an elephant?” Now I was smiling too.

  “She really is very pretty—lovely skin and wonderful green eyes.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And so good-natured. And helpful too. Everybody likes her in the ceramics class.”

  “But she’s no good, is she?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Norma looked puzzled.

  “I mean as a potter. She’s no good, is she?”

  “Well, she’s just beginning, so . . .”

  “But she’ll never be any good, will she?”

  “I don’t know,” Norma said quickly. “You can never tell. She might develop her own special style.”

  “If you like fat, clumsy, pink pots,” I said. “You don’t have to pretend, Norma. I won’t be insulted.”

  “Well,” Norma said carefully, “she may never become a professional potter, but as long as she enjoys herself, why not?”

  The evening dragged along. Ellen talked to everybody. And laughed. Suddenly, it seemed she knew lots of people, and they knew her. She kept squeezing my arm, laughing, talking, pointing out this one and that.

  “Look! Look! There’s Dolores Kabotie and Roger Torres. Look! They’re dancing. No, they’re talking to somebody. Oh, look, Jeff! They see me. They’re waving. Oh, see, Jeff, they’re coming this way.”

  After the prom, some of the kids had private parties—a couple in the hotel, some at their homes. Ellen wanted to go to all of them. I didn’t argue. I went everywhere she wanted. She wasn’t thinking of me at all. I was quiet, but I went.

  We had breakfast at Cliff House, overlooking the beach, with a bunch of kids I hardly knew. Then all of us greeted the dawn, shivering together down on the damp sand. Somebody made a fire. Ellen borrowed a blanket and draped it around her. A bunch of kids started dancing on the beach, barefoot, still in their evening clothes. Ellen and I sat silently near the fire.

  “Look at the sky, Jeff,” Ellen said. “I’ve never seen dawn come up like this. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Hmm!” I said. “I’m cold.”

  “Here, Jeff, come under the blanket with me. I’m nice and warm.”

  “I’d like to go home,” I told her.

  “It’s been a wonderful evening,” she said. “I’ll never forget it.”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  Then suddenly everything changed. She turned toward me, and her face was angry.

  “Cut it out, Jeff,” she said. “Enough’s enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. You’ve been trying to spoil it for me all night. From the moment you saw me in this dress, you tried to spoil it.”

  “No danger!” I said to her. “You said yourself you had a wonderful time.”

  “In spite of you,” she said. “I did have a wonderful time. But you didn’t have anything to do with it. You were too busy being sore. But I can enjoy myself without you.”

  Her hair lay limp and shapeless on her head, and her face was pale. She had the old gray blanket wrapped around her, covering the silly white dress. I should have stopped myself. I should have said, “Okay, Ellen, let’s drop it.” But I didn’t. Maybe everything would have been all right if I had. Maybe not.

  “And you can make a fool of yourself too,” I told her, “without me. Playing up to everybody—especially that ceramics crowd. They just throw you a couple of bones because they’re sorry for you . . .”

  “No,” said Ellen, her green eyes very bright and fierce. “No. They like me. They . . .”

  “They’re sorry for you.”

  “Norma really likes me. She gave me one of her pots. She . . .”

  “She said you’ll never be a good potter. That’s what she said. Everybody knows that except you. You keep wasting your time making ugly pots, but you just don’t have the knack and you never will.”

  Ellen jumped up and tore off the blanket. The morning winds blew her white dress around her and whipped up her hair into spikey points. She screamed at me in a loud voice, so loud that a bunch of the kids who were dancing on the beach stopped and stared at us.

  “I hate you, Jeff!” she screamed. “I hate you! I hate you!”

  eighteen

  It was all over after that night. For a while, I kept calling and calling. I talked to her mother and her father and even her brothers. They all thought she had gone crazy.

  But she said no. And she stayed angry. When I talked to her, I could hear the anger in her voice sizzling over the phone.

  “I said I was sorry,” I told her. “Okay, so I was a jerk. It’s all over now. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she said fiercely. “You belittle me. You always belittle me.”

  “Belittle?” I said. “What kind of a word is that—belittle?”

  “There!” she cried. “You’re doing it again. You’ll always do it with me. You think you own me. You think I can’t do
anything by myself or think anything by myself or say anything.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so go ahead and say belittle.”

  “I’ll say anything I like,” she said angrily. “I don’t need you to tell me what to say.”

  “I just don’t know why you’re making such a big fuss. You never were like this before.”

  “No, because I was your slave before, and I’m not going to be your slave anymore. I’m tired of feeling trapped. All those years I was trapped inside being a fat girl, and then you came along . . .”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I came along and let you out, didn’t I?”

  “No,” she yelled. “You didn’t let me out. You locked me up again. It was the power—that’s all you ever wanted. You never really loved me! But I’m not going to play that game anymore. I’m going to do what I want from now on.”

  “Fine,” I said. “So who’s stopping you?”

  “That’s right,” she answered. “Nobody.”

  The last time I called her was when I received notice from U.C. San Diego that I had been accepted.

  “Hi, Ellen, I just heard from San Diego. I’ve been accepted,” I said, trying to sound low-key.

  “That’s nice,” came her sulky voice over the phone.

  “How about you? Have you heard anything?”

  “Last week. I got in too.”

  “Well, look, that’s great. And Ellen, why don’t we get together and talk it over?”

  “I’m not going, Jeff. I’m going to stay here and keep taking lessons from Ida O’Neill.”

  I remained silent.

  “I don’t care what you think, Jeff. I don’t care what anybody thinks. I’m going to learn to be a potter—a good potter. That’s what I want to do, and that’s what I’m going to do, and nobody’s going to talk me out of it. Not you! Not my parents! Not anybody!”

  How deluded can anybody get? In a million years, she’d never be a potter. Everybody else knew it. Everybody but Ellen.