Diary of a Mad Fat Girl

by Stephanie McAfee

  “Sure,” I say, smiling at my sly conversational maneuver, “just let me change shorts.”

  “Okay,” Lilly says. “Hey! I’ll call and check on Chloe.”

  “Good idea,” I say opening the back door, “I haven’t heard from her in a day or two.”

  When I walk back out on the porch, Lilly is perched on the edge of the lounger with a gloomy look on her face.

  “What?” I ask. “What is it?”

  “Her number’s been changed,” she pauses, “to an unlisted number.” She tilts her head sideways and gives me a hard look, “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

  “She called me on, let me think, what day was it?” I get my phone and go to recent calls, “Wednesday. She called Wednesday and asked if we’d found out anything about Richard.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “Hell, I told her no. Didn’t we agree not to tell her anything until we could sit down and talk to her face to face?”

  “Yeah,” Lilly sighs and shakes her head. “She’s staying. She is staying with him. She is cutting us off and she is staying with that bastard.”

  “Are you sure you dialed the right number?” I ask.

  “It’s on my speed dial, Ace!” Lilly exclaims. “Try it from your phone if you don’t believe me.”

  I scroll down to Chloe’s name, punch the green button, and get the same results.

  “Forget China Kitchen,” I say, feeling my face getting red. “Let’s get on with the stalking. I want enough dirt on Richard Stacks to bury him ten times over. And I wanna put everything we get on him in a big fat binder and take it to Chloe so she can finally see for herself that Richard Stacks really is the piece of shit human being that we always told her he was.”

  “Let’s do it!” Lilly says. “Oh, and I took that email she sent us Monday, you know the one with the list of potential mistresses she cross-referenced with the little black book? That was pretty ballsy of her, by the way, and I have to say I’m pretty proud of her for that,” I nod in agreement and she continues, “anyway, I googled every tramp on there and I’ve got info,” she looks at me and raises her eyebrows, “good info, on all of them except for one. LeJay Cummer. There was absolutely nothing on her anywhere. It was weird.”

  “It’s probably a fake name. Like a stripper or a prostitute or some other random brand of human trash. Hey,” I give her a suspicious look, “when did you get so computer savvy?”

  “Well it wasn’t very difficult, I mean, most of them are strippers or call girls so they were pretty easy to pin point and I don’t have a job anymore and haven’t had anywhere,” she pauses and sighs, “I haven’t had anywhere to go lately, so I had to do something.”

  “Alrighty then,” I say, letting the reference pass, “let’s take my car. We better leave that Hey-Look-at-Me-Here-I-Come-Down-the-Road-in-my-Pussy-Wagon thing you drive parked here.”

  “Ha ha, Ace, very funny,” she says flatly. “Now take me to Red Rooster.”

  22

  While awaiting the arrival of brown bags of drive-in goodness, I peruse the list of Richard Stacks the Fourth’s potential side dishes and I can’t stop thinking about his weird looking penis and wondering how all of his whores react to it when they see it for the first time. Or anytime.

  I run a finger down the list and count seventeen women in all. According to Lilly’s pink ink notes, seven of the women work the poles at various clubs in Memphis and four are call girls from the same area. Two are marked down as employees of a titty bar about fifteen miles from here known far and wide for its trashy, low class women. One is Mrs. Dana Dannan of leather and lace fame. Two are locals and then there is LeJay Cummer.

  “You know none of those women are going to talk,” I mumble.

  “Yeah, I know,” Lilly agrees. “Our only hope there is catching him red-handed.”

  I look down at the last name on the list and get a sneaking suspicion that LeJay Cummer is indeed a fake name. Like Allota Vagina or Dixie Normus.

  “So we have two women here that we can track,” I say, tapping the paper. “Who do we start with? The hair cutting lady or the real estate agent?”

  “Why do you think he spends so much time on the phone with a real estate agent?”

  “I have no idea,” I say. “You think he’s doing legitimate business with her or you think maybe he’s sporting that dog collar around her open houses to impress potential clients.”

  “And that penis,” Lilly whispers, “what was that?”

  We crack up as the food arrives and I tip the carhop two bucks.

  “C’mon,” Lilly says. “Let’s eat on the way to Stacks and Stacks.”

  “Stacks and Stacks? Why are we going there?” I mumble with a steaming tater tot between my teeth.

  “Because I need to put this on Dick Richard’s car,” she holds up a small, dark object about the size of a half-a-dollar.

  “Dick Richard,“ I muse, “that’s a good one.” I eyeball the device. “What is that thing?”

  “GPS tracking dot,” she says proudly, “magnetized and designed especially for tracking automobiles in real time.”

  “Where the hell did you get that? And do you even know what ‘real time‘ means?”

  “Got it from Deputy Hotass,” she smiles and picks the lettuce off her burger, “and ‘real time’ means that the instant the car moves, we can track it on the computer. No delay.”

  “Well aren’t you in tight cahoots with the local law enforcement,” I say sarcastically.

  “I’m in tight cahoots with Dax Dorsett,” she says with a sly smile and I can tell by the look on her face that she has done the deed.

  “When did this happen?” I ask, kind of surprised but kind of not.

  “I ran into him at Pier 57 last night,” she says, smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary. “He was getting take out and I was getting take out so I suggested he take his take out to my house.” She leans her head back and smiles, “We ate, had some drinks, and then it was on. Oh my goodness, was it ever on.”

  “Drinks?” I yell. “With a cop?”

  “He was off duty, you dumbass!” she snorts. “Anyway, I told him our situation and he had a few ideas.” She pauses, “Actually, he’s the one who dug up that info on all those skanky hoes.” She nods toward the list on the dash. “He’s real smart with computers and electronics and junk like that.”

  “Did you discuss our stalking plans with an officer of the law before or after you had sex with him?”

  “Uh. In between.” She starts sniggering. “Oh God, Ace, I think I’m in love.”

  “That good, huh?” I ask, trying to conceal my astonishment at this revelation. “Made you fall in love? Just like that?”

  “It wasn’t just the sex, although I have to say it was above and beyond anything I have ever experienced. In my life,” she looks at me, “I mean, in my whole entire life. And I like him and I like hanging out with him. He’s funny and sweet and he’s so smart. And let me tell you girl, brother looks good in his street clothes.” she turns to me. “He seriously knows how to dress.”

  “And undress apparently,” I add, giggling to myself. I look at her and she is staring out the window with her elbow on the console and her cheeseburger is dripping ketchup onto the gear shift. “Hey, lover girl, get your damn cheeseburger under control!”

  “Oh my word!” She snaps out of her daze and starts wiping down the console. “I am so sorry.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” I say with a no small trace of skepticism. “Last night you slept with a law enforcement officer and today you are going in broad daylight to stick a GPS dot on Richard Stacks’ car in his office parking lot?”

  “Abso-freakin’-lootley,” she says, “just pull into that little strip mall with Merle Norman in it and I’m gonna waltz over there and stick it under his bumper.”

  “Whatever you say,” I pause. “Sleeping with a police man has certainly made you unafraid to break the law.”

  “Sh
ut up, Ace! You’re just jealous!” she snaps as I turn in to the parking lot. “Now pull into the last space in front of the cell phone store and I’m gonna go around behind this building,” she says, pointing, “because his car is backed in over there by those trees over, so all I have to do is sneak up into that thicket and pop! It’s on there.”

  “Okay, that’s not near as dangerous as you made it sound,” I say, looking over at her strappy silver wedge sandals. “You wearing those?”

  “Of course I am. You know I walk better in heels than I do in tennis shoes,” she says, “and I cased the place earlier so I kinda knew it wouldn’t be that hard to do.

  “Small Time Criminal,” I say nodding in approval. “Fah sho.”

  “Fah sho,” she says and gets out of the car.

  I watch as she trots past the end of the building, then dips into the thicket separating the rear parking lot of the accounting firm from the back side of the strip mall.

  Two seconds after she disappears into the brush, Richard Stacks the Fourth walks out the back door of his office and makes a bee line for his car. I think for a second about jumping out and chasing Lilly into the shrubbery, but he would be able to see me every step of the way. I pick up my cell phone to call her, but hesitate because she never puts her phone on silent and wouldn’t hear it if she did.

  Just as he reaches the front of his car, Lilly pops back out of the bushes and gives me a big thumbs up. I start waving frantically with one hand and pointing with the other. She whirls around and sees him and jumps back into the trees just as he glances down to where she was standing. Only after the white Lexus is well out of sight does she creep out of the brush.

  She smiles triumphantly and starts taking long, confident strides back toward the car when, all of a sudden, she stops short, looks to her left, and freezes. I follow her line of vision and my eyes come to rest on a petite, silver haired lady holding a giant lady bug purse.

  I know that little old lady. Everyone in Bugtussle knows that little old lady.

  It’s Gloria Peacock.

  23

  Gloria Peacock is a spunky little senior citizen rumored to be one of the richest women in the South. Word is she knows everything about everybody in town and has known everything about everybody in town for the past fifty years. Maybe longer.

  I look at Lilly then at Gloria Peacock and take a deep breath.

  They both just stand there like cowboys at a shoot-out about to draw.

  Lilly looks at her then back at me then back at her and Gloria Peacock looks at her then at me then back at Lilly and I’m looking back and forth between them wondering how long Mrs. Gloria Peacock has been standing there with her big ol’ lady bug purse.

  Nobody moves.

  All of a sudden, Lilly gets this look on her face like she just remembered where she was and starts walking toward Gloria Peacock, who steps into the shade as she approaches.

  They have a brief interchange that ends with Lilly and Gloria Peacock both tossing their heads back and laughing like they just heard the best joke ever. Then Mrs. Peacock waves one of her frail, diamond laden hands at me and smiles the biggest, most genuine smile I have ever seen.

  Lilly comes and gets in the car.

  “What was that?” I ask. “What was so funny?”

  “Well, Mrs. Gloria Peacock saw the whole thing.” Lilly glances back at the elderly lady who has just gone inside Merle Norman. “She was very brief and told me, in a nutshell, that she knows everything that’s been going on for the past week and would really like to sit down and speak with us.”

  “Sit down and speak with us? So are we, like, in trouble with her?”

  “Oh, no,” Lilly laughs, “not by a long shot!” She looks at me, “She says she has just what we need to get what we want.”

  “How does she know what we need and what we want?”

  “I asked her the same thing and do you know what she said?”

  “Why, hell no. How would I know that?”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Sweetheart, I’m Gloria Peacock and when I tell you that I have what you need, you don’t ask questions, honey, you just show up.’”

  “Whoa,” I whisper. “That’s pretty serious.”

  “No doubt,” Lilly says and then squeals, “and she’s expecting us at her house tomorrow afternoon at 2 p.m.”

  “Oh! You are lying!” I say, getting really excited. “You are freakin’ lying to me! We, me and you, have a date with Gloria Peacock at The Waverly Estate? No shit? Are you serious?”

  “I am dead serious and I cannot wait,” Lilly screeches.

  “Me either! What are we going to wear?”

  “Sundresses,” Lilly says definitively, “sundresses and heels.”

  “I am not wearing heels,” I retort, “but I will wear some nice sandals.”

  “Then you should wear a strapless dress,” she says and swings her hair around like she’s posing for a photo shoot. “I’ll wear heels.”

  “That sounds good.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe this means that this whole damned mess is going to work out somehow and everything is going to be okay.” I nod my head. “I think it’s a good sign.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Lilly agrees, “when the richest woman in six states joins your team, it’s hard to imagine you’re gonna lose!” She looks at me and smiles, “Now let’s go stalk some whores!”

  “Hell yeah!”

  She grabs her little net book out of her gigantic hobo bag and flips it open.

  “Okay,” she mumbles as she pecks at the keyboard, “it appears that Dick Richard is heading toward Tupelo.”

  “Well, let’s go,” I say and we’re off.

  We spend the afternoon following Richard Stacks the Fourth all over Tupelo and, all in all, it was a pretty dull run. After stopping by three different businesses and two banks, he went to the mall where he emerged with bags from Ann Taylor Loft and Barnes & Noble.

  “Books and clothes,” I say flatly, “wonder who those are for?”

  “The new John Grisham book came out this week,” Lilly says, clearly as bummed as me, “and you know Chloe has the entire collection in hard back.”

  “Great,” I say and we follow him to a liquor store and then to a flower shop from which he emerges with an arm load of yellow roses.

  “Do you think he could possibly be going to meet some whore tonight?” Lilly asks, but I can tell by her tone she knows that’s not the case.

  “Anne Taylor clothes, books, yellow roses, and a liquor store bag that most certainly contains a bottle of that really expensive wine she likes,” I mumble and shake my head, “you know he’s going home.”

  We watch in total disappointment as the black dot on the net book screen inches up Highway 45, veers off to the left, and then stops. The address pops up as 309 Parker Drive. Home of Richard and Chloe Stacks.

  “Shit,” Lilly says and closes the computer. “What do you wanna do now?”

  “Let’s go see a movie,” I say. “What time is it?”

  “Three o’clock,” Lilly answers, “just in time for the early show.”

  24

  When we leave the movies, the black dot hasn’t moved.

  “What the hell is she doing?” I ask Lilly. “Why does she stay with him? I mean, what’s it gonna take? What is it going to take to get her away from that shit bag?”

  “She’s gonna have to make up her mind herself, Ace,” Lilly says, “simple as that.”

  “That’s why we have got to have more than just that one picture,” I say and tap on the steering wheel to emphasize my point, “to help her make up her mind.”

  “Honestly, Ace,” Lilly says quietly, “I don’t know if a hundred pictures just like that would make any difference to her because, in her mind, she’s doing the right thing by staying true to her vows.”

  “Wasn’t that the story she gave us last time? The last ten times?”

  “Yep,” Lilly answers, “but last time she didn’t lose a child.�
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  “What the hell else would you need after that? Jeez,” I can feel my face getting red, “I mean, are we wasting our time out here running around like idiots trying to catch Dick Richard in the act? I mean, he beat her so bad she had a miscarriage. Seriously, what do you need after that kind of devastation? Yet she is still, still after eleven years of getting the hell beat out of her, still with him,” I look at Lilly. “Are we wasting our time? Should we just drop it and try to forget about it?”

  “What kind of friends would we be if we did that?” Lilly replies. “We’re just doing all we can with what we have to work with and that’s all we can do right now.”

  “I can’t believe she changed her number and hasn’t even bothered to call either one of us,” I muse, “especially after her being so determined to bust his balls and get rid of him. What’s with that?”

  “I wish I knew,” Lilly says. “I wish I could ask her that myself.”

  We ride in silence for a few miles.

  “You going to Ethan Allen’s tonight?” Lilly asks with a mischievous look in her eye.

  “Nah,” I say, “I think I’m gonna skip the whole big Welcome-home-again-Mason -even-though-you-only-live-five-hours-away party.”

  “Ace!”

  “Hell, everyone acts like he’s a freakin’ celebrity and I just don’t feel like being around it tonight.” I look at her. “Sorry. You goin’?”

  “Yeah, for a while,” she says with a devious grin, “till Dax gets off at 11.”

  “Oh, really,” I say, “seeing the Deputy again tonight?”

  “Yep,” she grins, “and I cannot wait.”

  I wonder if her homo-love triangle pals approve of her seeing a young stud ten years her junior, but I decide not to ask. I turn into my driveway and she starts stuffing all of her junk, Red Rooster trash and all, into her luggage-sized purse.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “Hey, let’s go in your car. They might not let us in the gate in the dirty ol’ Maxima.”

  She laughs and says, “No problem! Pussy Wagon it is! I’ll be here around 1:30 and, in case you didn’t know, I’m excited!”