Diary of a Mad Fat Girl

by Stephanie McAfee

  She takes a deep breath and looks out the passenger side window.

  “Not moving.”

  “I am accompanying a man on business trips who is having a secret affair with a married man and I’m just there to make them look not so,” she pauses, “gay.”

  “Uh, seriously-”

  “There. I told you. Are you happy now?”

  “Sounds like that could get confusing at bedtime,” I say, being very sarcastic.

  “What?” she says with exaggerated exasperation. “You have hounded me to death about this for five months and I have told you no less than a thousand times that I couldn’t talk about it and I have asked you no less than ten thousand times to trust me and you never would, so there. Are you happy now?” She flips down the visor and starts fiddling with her sleek blonde hair, “Can we get a move on? Please?”

  “Okay, off we go,” I say and put the car in reverse. “So, are you like a lesbian or a fag hag or some kind of weird sex freak or what?”

  “Do not use the term ‘fag hag’ because that is derogatory and insulting to both gay men and their friends.”

  “Sorry,” I say and mean it, “so what is the politically correct term for what you are then? An escort? A call girl? What?”

  “Not having this conversation, Ace, just drive, please.”

  “Right,” I say, “because it’s not what it looks like, right?”

  And we ride in silence from my house to the school.

  “Pull up behind the cafeteria and let’s go in that side door next to the gym,” she says, pointing. “You got your keys?”

  “No, Lilly, I used a screwdriver to crank my car and left my keys at home.”

  “You are such a smartass.” She whips out her school issued photo ID card that has a picture of her looking like an advertisement for Crest White Strips and Pantene.

  I whip out my school issued ID card, but my picture looks more like a startled primate at the zoo. I swear, the woman taking the picture said “one” then paused for thirty seconds and said “two” then I popped my lips and the bitch screamed “three!” and snapped the flash and now I have this jewel of a photograph that I am supposed to wear around my neck every day.

  I begged to have another photo made, but that vagina wart Catherine Hilliard refused. I waited a few weeks and claimed I lost it thinking that would do the trick, but Mrs. Hilliard was kind enough to fish up the same old photo to put on my new ID. Then she docked my check $35 for her trouble.

  “C’mon,” Lilly says impatiently, “let’s do this.”

  “Do what exactly?” I ask. “What are we going to do when we get into the school? You know the lobby is locked and then Catherine Hilliard probably has dead bolts on her dungeon door.”

  Lilly points to a crisscross of bobby pins in her hair.

  “Are you freakin’ kidding me right now?”

  “I can do it, trust me,” she says and I’m not feeling reassured. “Ace, I have to get in there, alright? I have to. You don’t even understand how important it is for me to get in that building and get my stuff.”

  “What stuff is it that you so desperately need?” I ask, stalling because I really don’t want to get arrested again this week. “All the hog-head had in her hand that day was pictures and post cards.”

  “It’s not the pictures and post cards that I need,” she looks at me. “It’s one of the frames.”

  “The picture frames?”

  “Yes, the thick black and brown frame. Did you notice if she had that one in her hand that day?” She gives me a mean look, “Because it wasn’t in the stuff you threw out in my yard.”

  “Yeah, she did because I remember thinking to myself what a big ass picture frame that was and, uh,” I look at her, “kinda dwarfs the photo, don‘t you think?”

  “It has a computer chip in it.”

  “It didn’t have a cord.”

  “Not one of those chips, stupid. It’s taped in where the inner and outer frames snap together.”

  “Oh, so it’s one of those deals that could be two smaller frames or one big one.”

  “Yes, glad you’re up to speed on that. Can we go now?” she looks around nervously.

  “I’m not sure I really want to know, but I have to ask,” I look at her, “what’s on the chip?”

  “Everything.”

  “Oh. Okay. That’s clear as mud. Like pretty much everything else you’ve said so far today.” I sigh and think to myself that we go to jail then her sassy ass can bail us both out. “Why would you keep that at school and not at home?”

  She just stares at me.

  “Well, in that case, I guess I’m ready,” I say and don’t move.

  “Great. Let’s go.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and nods for me to get out.

  “Wait,” I put my hand on her arm, “what about the security cameras?”

  “On the weekends, they only activate if there is an intrusion at the school.”

  “Like breaking into the main office?”

  “No, like a broken window or a kicked down door or something like that.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Sheriff Jackson told me.”

  “How very thoughtful of him.”

  “Ace, shut up and get out of the car!”

  17

  We waltz up to the school trying not to look like the criminals that we are about to become. I unlock the door and we walk through the commons area to the office lobby.

  It’s unlocked.

  “It’s a trap!” I whisper. “Let’s get the hell outta here!”

  “They don’t always lock it, you idiot, and I think you know that!” she whispers and walks into the lobby like she owns the place. I walk behind her looking around like a bleeding man in a shark tank.

  We get to Chloe’s office and she pauses, then looks back at me.

  “I don’t think she’ll be back this year,” I whisper and she shakes her head and moves on down the hallway.

  My stomach knots up when we get to Catherine Hilliard’s office because I can’t stop thinking about all the ways this could go wrong. I’m so damn nervous and it’s so unbearably hot that I think I might pass out right there in the hallway. Lilly is on her knees working the lock with her bobby pins and I start to wonder if her new gay friends are some sort of criminals.

  Then I hear it.

  Click.

  Lilly gets up and walks into Principal Catherine Hilliard’s office and I trail behind like Shy Ronnie in a Saturday Night Live skit.

  “C’mon and help me look!” she says and starts rifling through the piles on Mrs. Hilliard’s junky ass desk.

  I walk around and pull open the top drawer on the left side. In there, I find a mixed mess of office supplies and a Cover Girl compact that looks like it was purchased sometime around 1986. The second drawer is full of hanging file folders so I thumb through those, not looking for anything in particular when, at the very back, I see an unusually wide file with “L.L.” written on the tab in thick black letters.

  I pull it out and lay it on the desk and all kinds of pictures spill out the sides and it doesn’t take me but a second to discern a common theme.

  The same three people are in every photo. Two very distinguished looking gentlemen and one Lilly Lane. Maybe she’s not screwing Drake Driskall after all.

  “Got it!” Lilly yelps. “Let’s get out of here!”

  She turns around and sees the pictures and gets this look on her face like she just got flashed by Larry King.

  “Is this?” I take a gulp of air. “Are they-”

  “Oh holy shit!” she screams. “Where did those come from? Where the hell did those come from?”

  “Back there.” I point to the drawer. “Lilly, what the hell?”

  “Oh my God! This is so much worse than I thought. Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! What am I going to do?”

  I have no idea how to answer that so I scoop up the file, grab her by the arm, and hustle her out of the office.

  “L
ock it back!” I order and we haul ass out to the car.

  Lilly trips over her high heeled flip-flops in the parking lot and I pull her up and turn around just in time to see a patrol car turning into the drive.

  “Oh God! Please let that be the Sheriff,” she whispers as we pile into my car. I cram the file folder under my seat and turn the air conditioner on full blast.

  The patrol car parks sideways behind me, effectively blocking any exit I might have planned. In my rearview mirror, I see Deputy Dumbass get out of his patrol car and unsnap his billy club and I can’t stop thinking about Rodney King.

  “Give me your school ID!” I whisper. “Now!”

  “Okay, we can handle this,” she says, and starts digging in her pockets. “I just need to take a deep breath and get my head back on and handle this.”

  She comes up with the ID card just as Deputy Dumbass starts knocking on my window with his stupid billy club. I roll down the window and decide that now is not the time to be bitchy.

  “Good evening, Deputy,” I say and try to smile.

  “What’re you ladies doin’ parked around here?”

  “We were just working out in the gym,” I say, hoping that will stave off any questions about why I’m sweating like a whore in church.

  “We both teach here and sometimes we come in on the weekends to work out, but not very often because it’s so unbearably hot in there.” I mop my forehead with one hand and offer him our school ID’s with the other. He looks at Lilly’s, raises his eyebrows, and smiles like men do when they feast their eyes upon her image. He flips mine over, jumps a little, and hands them both back to me.

  “I ain’t never seen ya’ll back here before and I patrol this parking lot every night ‘cept Sundays.”

  “Who patrols it on Sundays?” I ask and Lilly punches me in the arm.

  “Officer,” Lilly says sweetly and leans over so her tank top falls at just the right angle to expose her pink polka dot bra. “It seems like we run into you every time we turn around and, you know what? I don’t even know your name.”

  She throws open the passenger side door and struts around to where the deputy is standing and it’s clear to me that she has his full attention.

  “Lilly Lane,” she says sweetly and holds out a delicate hand, “and you are?”

  “Dax, ma’am,” he says with goofy-looking smile. He takes her hand and I think for a second that he might drop to one knee and kiss it. “Dax Dorsett. I’m from the Delta and don’t know many folks around here or where they work and what not, but I’m trying to get it all together.” Dax taps himself on the head and is unsuccessful in keeping his eyes off her boobs.

  “Well, Dax Dorsett from the Delta, have you had supper?” Lilly asks and I shoot her a hard look that she doesn’t see because she is all about Deputy Dax Dorsett right now.

  “Why, no ma’am, I haven’t,” Dax says, and relaxes his stance. “I always ride by the school here, then take a break for supper.”

  How convenient.

  “Well, why don’t you come join us over at Pier 57? You like pizza?” Lilly says and I’m shaking my head no, but have apparently ceased to exist.

  “Yeah, I love pizza. ’Specially theirs.” He’s grinning and looking at her tits again.

  “We’ll follow you there,” she pauses, “unless you were going to arrest me for being a bad girl.” She bats her eyelashes like a 14-year-old girl feeling the first sting of Cupid’s arrow.

  “Oh, no ma’am,” he says and his cheeks turn red. “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, you big sweetie!” Lilly says. “See you at the pizza place.”

  She blows him an air kiss and Deputy Dax Dorsett hustles back to his patrol car like he’s been called to the scene of a triple homicide.

  “Lilly,” I say when she gets in, “what the hell was that about?”

  “Making friends, Ace,” she smiles at me. “You should try it sometime.”

  18

  After a remarkably pleasant dinner at Pier 57 Pizza with the surprisingly funny Deputy Dax Dorsett, Lilly and I set out to stalk that rat bastard Richard Stacks.

  “Ol’ Deputy Dax is a real a sweetie,” Lilly muses after we get in the car and buckle up.

  “Yeah, and who knew he served in Iraq and Afghanistan?” I say. “You know I have this image in my head of veterans being sweet little old men with mesh back caps or long haired fellows on motorcycles, but now there’s like this new wave of veterans and it’s all these hot young fellows that don’t look old enough to drive, let alone walk around a war zone in a Kevlar vest with an M-16.”

  “I knew you thought he was hot,” Lilly teases as she reaches in the backseat for the camera. “I saw you checking him out.”

  “Me? You were the one looking at the poor guy like you wanted to tie him to your bedpost and make him your private sex slave.”

  “I thought about,” she says and laughs and I decide not to comment on her gay love triangle or Drake Driskall.

  “He really is pretty hot,” I say, “and funny as hell.”

  “And so charismatic,” she looks at me, “and all this time you’ve been running around here calling him Deputy Dumbass. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I am very ashamed of myself and from here on out, I’ll be calling him Deputy Hotass!” I exclaim and we both crack up.

  “I really do like him and he seems so lonely up here without any friends or family-Hey!” she exclaims, “I’m going to invite him to the next get-together we have at your place.”

  “Sounds good to me. Now let’s get down to business,” I say and start digging around in my console for the list of addresses that we put together at Chloe’s. “Fire up that GPS and let’s get a plan together because I wanna bust Richard Stacks’ balls and make him eat ’em with a spoon.”

  “Whoa now, sister. Keep in mind that we promised to do this on her terms, not ours,” Lilly says as she punches the addresses into the GPS.

  “I just wanna beat his face in,” I say and fantasize for a minute about torturing him to death.

  “You already beat his face in and you’re lucky he didn’t press charges,” Lilly says, still looking down at the GPS. “Alrighty, the closest one is on Elmhurst Street, so take a left at the light.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The first address is a bust, along with the next three, but the fifth house turns out to be a peach. As soon as we turn into the subdivision, I see that glistening white Lexus shining like a polished diamond in the moonlight. I slow down as Lilly fiddles with the high-dollar camera and I ask her if she knows what she’s doing and she says she does but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t. At any rate, she leans over and snaps a picture and the flash is so bright that it blinds us both and I almost run up into a landscaping ensemble that looks like it cost more than my car.

  “Good word, Lilly!” I say. “We’re gonna look like Tiger Woods out here running over fire hydrants and shrubbery! Turn that flash off!”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Is that even his car?”

  “Well, it has ‘Stacks 1’ on the tag so I think it’s safe to say that it is.”

  “Who lives there?’

  “I don’t know,” she replies. “Go check the mailbox.”

  “That’s a federal crime!” I pause for a second. “You go check the mailbox.”

  “Pull the car back around there and I will.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Hell yeah!” she exclaims and gives me a serious look. “Think about Chloe. How pitiful she was today. Think about what she’s lost.”

  “I don’t want to vomit right now,” I say and bust a u-turn on the quiet street.

  “Stop right here!”

  I turn off my headlights and Lilly hops out, hijacks the contents of the mailbox, and is back in the car before I can say shit.

  “Catalog, junk mail, graduation invitation, oh yeah! Credit card statement!” she looks over at me. “Bingo!”

  “Who
still gets their credit card bills in the mail? Don’t these folks know that there are small time criminals like us out and about in their ’hoods? Raiding mailboxes,” I say and crack up at my own joke.

  Lilly examines the billing statement and doesn’t even give me a courtesy laugh so I decide to follow the GPS directions to last two houses just to see what they look like.

  “So it’s broken down into his and hers charges and it appears that Mr. Tate Dannan does a lot of international travel and Mrs. Dana Dannan has an affinity for spas and liquor stores.”

  “Nice,” I say, “so what now?”

  “Well, it appears he was dropping loads of cash in Europe during the first two weeks of this billing cycle and then the last two weeks, he must’ve been around here because it looks like local charges,” she flips the paper over, “regular stuff like the Dodge Store and the Tobacco Shop,” she pauses. “Oh hold on a second! Here it is!” She waves the billing statement in the air. “Last purchase on this statement is a plane ticket!” She squints at the paper, “Twenty-eight hundred dollars. Damn!”

  “So I’m gonna venture a guess and say that-”

  “He could very well be back in Europe or some other faraway place,” Lilly finishes my sentence. “It’s a long shot, Ace, but it’s all we’ve got right now. Turn around.”

  “We going back to the house?” I ask, feeling a rush of adrenaline worthy of a hunter eyeballing a sixteen point deer.

  “Hell yeah, but let’s park somewhere else.”

  “Oh my goodness, this reminds me of when you thought that beaver-toothed boy was cheating on you, but the poor bastard was really just playing cards with his friends at that awful hunting cabin that we almost died trying to find.”

  “Why you gotta bring that up?”

  “Well, it’s the last time we did some down-and-dirty-out-in-the-bushes kind of stalking,” I say, turning into an upscale apartment complex two blocks from our target.

  “Hey, we should go get Buster Loo and pretend we’re out walking the dog.”

  “If we had a dog,” I say, sarcastically, “why would we pretend to be walking a dog?”

  “You know what I mean, smartass!”