Slim Chance

by Jeff Erno

  “Moms don’t count.” Devon laughed and reached over to grab Oliver’s arm. “Just kidding, man.”

  He smiled obligingly. “Well, other than my mom, I mean. But you’re right, she never would admit I was fat. Even after I started losing weight, she worried I’d starve myself.”

  “Dude, you look great now. And speaking of great, I’m having a picnic-slash-beach party over at my condo this weekend. Why don’t you come?”

  “Really? I might.”

  “What do you mean, you might?” Devon leaned in, mere inches from his face. “Say you’ll come, please.”

  Oliver smiled again, then bit his bottom lip. He was supposed to be going with Benjy to Missouri for Sam’s wedding, but after what had happened, Benjy probably wouldn’t even want him to go. “All right.”

  “Awesome!” Devon slapped Oliver on the shoulder. “It’ll be pretty much all people like us, so I’m sure you’ll have plenty more dudes hitting on you.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Well, just stick close to me. I promise, I won’t let anyone touch you.”

  Under the table Oliver felt Devon’s other hand slip onto his thigh, sliding inward between his legs.

  Oliver gulped and nodded. That’s what I’m really afraid of.

  SHIRLEEN SQUEALED gleefully, rushing around the counter into the waiting area where Oliver stood. Her enthusiasm and bearlike hug elicited a smile from Oliver as he responded by wrapping his arms around the bubbly, gregarious receptionist.

  “Honey, I barely recognize you.” She held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “This isn’t the same man who started coming here less than a year ago.”

  Not bothering with protocol, she ushered him into the examination area, calling out cheerfully for Dr. Brad. “Look who’s here! Brad, you’ve got to see this!”

  The doctor stepped into the hallway and stopped, smiling and shaking his head slowly. “Unbelievable. Oliver… I have no words.” He too stepped up to Oliver and embraced him with a manly bro hug, slapping him proudly and firmly on the back repeatedly.

  In spite of himself, Oliver grinned. The acclamation felt good—gratifying, if nothing else. And it seemed so sincere. The doctor wasted no time escorting Oliver to the scale, and this time Shirleen bore witness, standing on the other side of Oliver, watching him step onto the scale.

  “One eighty-four!” She clapped her hands and patted Oliver’s shoulder. “Oh, dear, another success story.” Placing one hand on her heart, with the other she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Oliver’s own emotions bubbled within him, though somewhat eclipsed by the inexplicable surrealism that consumed him. In fewer than fourteen months, he’d changed himself, found a new person inside him. For months, he’d dieted, walked in circles in his garage, resisted thousands of relentless temptations before he even mustered the courage to step foot in a gym. But once he did, everything about him changed. For the nine months that ensued, he’d risen every morning before dawn and forced himself through a grueling workout. No matter the weather, no matter how he felt, no matter the day of the week, the time of the year—he never missed a workout. And before his very eyes his body reshaped itself. The fat melted away and was replaced by lean, solid muscle.

  “I have so much loose skin, though.” Oliver looked from the doctor to the receptionist, holding up his left arm. He pulled down on the saggy skin beneath his bicep, stretching it a good three inches. “And my stomach is gross. I can’t even take my shirt off. It just hangs there, so much excess, I have to tuck it into my waistband. And you don’t even want to see my legs.”

  The doctor smiled. “Oh, Oliver, minor details! I know it’s frustrating. You’ve worked hard, and you deserve to show off the fruits of your labor, but trust me, we can easily fix the loose skin.”

  Shirleen rubbed his back before dismissing herself, then headed back down the hall to her workstation at the desk while the doctor accompanied Oliver into the exam room. “Well, let’s see specifically. Hop up on the table and take off your shirt.”

  Oliver recalled how hesitantly he’d disrobed in front of the drop-dead gorgeous doctor a few months ago. The man was now no less attractive, but Oliver didn’t have a hundred fifty pounds of excess baggage on his frame anymore. He peeled off his dress shirt and slipped out of the arms of his one-piece compression garment, sliding it down to his waist.

  As Oliver took his seat on the bench, the doctor ran his fingers over Oliver’s pectorals, tugging against the skin, then slid lower on his torso, examining the abdominals. “Yeah, I think you’re ready to consult a surgeon. Oliver, I’m impressed. You’ve built up a very solid core of muscle. Your abdominals are firm beneath this excess skin.”

  “Isn’t there anything else I can do in the meantime… until the surgery?”

  “Sorry.” He smiled sympathetically. “Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as a skin-tightening exercise. But it seems you’re already doing everything you can. The compression garment is a good, temporary solution. Does it extend onto your thighs?” He reached down between Oliver’s legs, feeling the spandex through the fabric of his pants.

  “Yeah. Down to my knees, actually.”

  Brad took a step back and slid onto the stool behind him. With one hand on Oliver’s knee, he looked into his face. “I can’t speak for the surgeon, but I can tell you in most cases, they perform the excess skin removal in two stages.”

  “Two operations?” Oliver didn’t want more than one surgery. He just wanted to get it over with.

  “Upper and lower. They’re painful, and you’ll be laid up a few weeks for each one.”

  Oliver sighed. “I don’t see how….”

  “What about family? Do you have anyone you can stay with? I doubt it will be as long of a recuperation period as we might normally predict. You’re very determined, very motivated. I mean, look at you. But still….”

  “I honestly don’t know if I can even afford it right now.”

  The doctor nodded. “It’s going to take some planning. And, you know, there’s nobody rushing you. Some people wait months, even years, after losing a lot of weight before they have the skin removal. Some elect never to remove it.”

  “I want it removed.” Oliver scowled. “I didn’t work this hard to get to a point where I’m still… uh… ashamed to take off my shirt. Look at this chest. Could you imagine me on a beach?”

  Brad smiled. “Actually, yes. I can relate to every word. Remember, I’ve been through all this myself. And I’ll even refer you to the same surgeon who did my skin removal. But I want to caution you about something, Oliver.”

  Oliver stared at him intently, expectantly.

  “If you’re not comfortable in your own skin before the surgery, you won’t be afterward.”

  What was he talking about? Of course Oliver wasn’t comfortable looking like this. His skin didn’t even seem human. It grossed him out the way it hung down, sagged. He could stretch it and pull it away from his body, and its hideousness revolted him.

  “Not even a year and a half ago, you were still a fat boy. You’d been obese most of your life, and in your mind—in a part of your psyche—you will always be imperfect. You’ll always be less than others. Always be one milk shake away from backsliding and becoming an orca once again.”

  Did the doctor think about himself this way? His words rang true, though. Oliver felt exactly as Brad was describing. He’d never be hot like Ethan and Devon. He’d never quite fit in, with or without the fat, and probably with or without the loose skin.

  “I can give you the referral today to a surgeon, but I’d urge you to consider at least one or two sessions with a counselor.”

  Oliver wanted to roll his eyes, shake his head—protest. He wasn’t mentally ill. He just had some extra skin he needed removed. “But it’s my choice? It’s not mandatory for the surgery, is it?”

  “No, of course it’s not mandatory, but I strongly recommend you at least explore these feelings. It’s import
ant you’re prepared. And even the surgeon will concur. Plus, you’re just now at your weight-loss goal.”

  “Almost.”

  “I’d say four pounds is close enough. Oliver, you also need to continue your work with the nutritionist. You want to be able to healthily maintain.”

  He took a deep breath, releasing it with an audible sigh. “Will I ever just be normal? Will I ever get to a point where I’m not….”

  “Obsessed? Again, this is why you need to talk to someone.”

  As he left the doctor’s office, Oliver’s emotions swirled within him, a bittersweet mix of gratification and discouragement. He’d arrived so excited, so eager to step on the scale and share the result of his progress, but now he felt he still had so far to go. And he now felt alone, no one to help him through what might prove to be the most challenging part of the journey. Amanda had her own life changes to tackle. And Benjy… there was no Benjy, not anymore. He’d severed Oliver from his life. Now they no longer even worked together.

  The dull ache in his chest returned. What was the point bemoaning his losses? He slid behind the wheel of his SUV, the seat now at least a foot closer to the steering wheel than it used to be. He looked up at his reflection in the rearview mirror, now seeing only one chin and a narrow, high-cheekboned face that seemed more angular than round.

  “Oliver,” he said to himself. “You’re a new person. You need a new life.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  OLIVER NEARLY dropped his phone, staring for a few seconds in disbelief. Benjy hadn’t spoken to him since the day Oliver had left his apartment. Although he’d seen Benjy’s car in the employee parking lot, he’d yet to run into him on the job. Benjy now worked on a separate floor, and so far they hadn’t so much as crossed each other’s paths in the employee breakroom. To Oliver it was obvious Benjy had made a concerted effort to avoid him.

  His hand trembled just a bit as he pressed the screen of his phone to open the email. Then he sighed disappointedly as he read the words.

  Oliver, I’m sending $242.18 to you via PayPal. This is a refund for the airline ticket you purchased to Missouri. In light of all that’s happened, I’m sure you did not still plan to attend this weekend. The airline was unable to refund your credit card at this late date, so instead they issued me credit on a future flight. I’ll just pay you back your money now, and in exchange, I’ll hold on to the credit and use it myself. Thank you for agreeing to go with me and even paying for your own ticket. I shouldn’t have allowed you to do that in the first place. Thanks again, Benjy.

  Resisting the urge to reply with snark, he simply backed out of the email to return to his in-box where, as promised, another email had appeared from PayPal. Benjamin Erickson Sent You $242.18. He didn’t want Benjy’s money. Feelings of sadness and anger battled inside him. Accepting the money just seemed so final. It strangely confirmed the reality he’d been trying to deny this past week. To make matters worse, he’d not only lost Benjy as a boyfriend, but also as a coworker and friend. Benjy had pointedly decided to completely cut Oliver out of his life.

  And on a certain level, that pissed Oliver off. Granted, he had no right to dictate to Benjy what he should feel, and in all honesty, Benjy had probably done way more for Oliver than he’d ever returned, yet it still felt like a slap in the face. He closed out of the email program angrily and went to his text messaging app.

  Hey, what’s up? How about dinner tonight?

  Without allowing himself time to rethink his impulsiveness, he clicked Send. A few seconds later, he had his reply from Ethan.

  Sure, man, as long as it includes dessert.

  A tingly sensation traveled from his chest, across his shoulders, as a surge of excited arousal ignited below his waist.

  Can’t wait. Meet at the café at 7.

  Cool. Counting the minutes.

  SLIDING INTO the passenger seat of Ethan’s sports car, Oliver felt his heart race, which seemed only appropriate as Ethan peeled out of the parking lot. Not familiar with his “date’s” personal taste, he asked Ethan to choose a restaurant.

  “I know just the place. Ever go to the Radcliffe?”

  “I thought that was a golf course or something.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Country club. My parents have a membership.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, but Oliver wasn’t entirely sure he was looking at him. With his dark, Tom Cruise sunglasses, his gaze remained concealed. “So, what happened the other day with you and Devon? Did you do anything?”

  Oliver smoothed out his pant legs, wondering if the spandex compression suit underneath his clothes was as obvious as it felt. “We just talked for a while at the café. Another guy was with him, Ryan.”

  Ethan sighed in an exaggerated manner. “Figures. They’re exes, ya know.”

  “Oh. No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, the list of guys who aren’t Devon’s exes is much shorter than those who are. He’s a bit—how shall I say? Trashy.”

  “He invited me to his condo this weekend.”

  “The beach-bash thing? Yeah, it should be a blast. You’re going, right?”

  He cleared his throat, holding on to the door handle as Ethan carelessly whipped around a curve.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ethan screamed. “Would you move!” Annoyed by the vehicle in front of him, he slammed his palm into the steering wheel car horn. Apparently he wasn’t one of those drivers who paid attention to speed limits. Or dangerous curves.

  “I think so. I told him I’d go, and I don’t want to go back on my word.”

  “Good. Trust me, you’ll fit right in.”

  He wasn’t so sure. What he’d seen so far didn’t help him feel much like one of the gang. Ryan had been nice enough, and Devon was beginning to warm up to him. He doubted he’d ever mend fences with AJ or his boyfriend, Roger. “What do you do, by the way? I mean, we hardly know anything about each other. I know you’re a musician….”

  Ethan shrugged. “That’s just kind of my latest thing. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do when I grow up.” He laughed. “Although I’m twenty-seven. I have a bachelor’s, but it’s in English. Not sure what to do with that. Started on postgraduate work, then dropped out. My folks are telling me I should go back, but you’re only young once, ya know. I don’t want to waste all my twenties in college.”

  “Oh. So you don’t have a day job?”

  “Why bother?” He grinned. “My grandfather set me up with a trust fund. I could go my whole life without working, if I wanted.”

  Wow, Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever had a friend who was independently wealthy. It explained a lot, though. No wonder he was able to spend so much time hanging out at the gym and café, and going to clubs. But what about the rest of them? “Does Devon work?”

  “Supposedly his father will eventually hand over the reins of his business, but I don’t see it happening anytime soon. He lives in a condo just around the corner from mine. I think he’s technically a vice president or board member or some shit of his dad’s company. They sell computer software.”

  “Really?” Oliver’s ears perked up a bit. “I’m a programmer.”

  “Talk to him about it. Maybe he could get you a position.”

  “Right now I work for an insurance company. The pay’s okay, but….”

  Ethan feigned a yawn, then laughed. He pulled off the main road and headed down the driveway of the country club. As Oliver sat beside him, he recalled their exchange earlier when they’d texted. He took in the golden, coppery color of Ethan’s skin, the rippling muscles in his arms and chest, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit insecure. Had he been standing, his knees might have buckled. As hard as he’d worked to lose weight and put on some muscle the past year, his body still didn’t compare to Ethan’s.

  All the gym bunnies looked good, though, including Devon. He too had ripped abs, powerful legs, and broad, masculine shoulders. Oliver had always imagined worshiping guys like Devon and Ethan. For most of his teen years, he had vie
wed this type of guy as a god. Now here he sat in the passenger seat of such a man, and if he didn’t screw things up, he could later find himself in Ethan’s bed.

  But was that what he really wanted? He wasn’t sure how Ethan would react to seeing him naked. Oliver was now more fit than ever before in his life. Was there any way for them to be intimate with each other without Oliver having to dispense with the compression suit?

  “Dude, you’re doing it again. You’re in outer space.” Ethan, who’d pulled up to the front of the building and stopped in the circular drive, slapped Oliver on the shoulder. “We’re here, man.”

  “Oh, right.” He looked at Ethan, puzzled, wondering why he hadn’t parked in the lot, when suddenly his door opened. A middle-aged man, wearing what looked like a butler’s uniform, stood on the other side of the car door, holding it open. Another such employee had appeared on Ethan’s side of the car. Ethan hopped out nonchalantly and removed his sunglasses.

  “Good evening, Mr. Carville,” the valet said with a nod. “Dinner for two this evening?”

  He smiled and clasped the older gentleman’s shoulder. “Yes, Arthur. Dinner with my friend Oliver. Just the two of us.” He looked over the car at Oliver, who now stood beside the vehicle, and winked. Ethan handed his car keys to the maître d’, who escorted Ethan around the car to join Oliver. The valet, the man who’d opened the door for Oliver, took the keys, and Ethan accompanied Oliver inside.

  Oliver wondered if perhaps he wasn’t underdressed for a swanky place like the Radcliffe, but even Ethan had worn informal attire. Though Oliver now didn’t doubt his friend owned only name brands Oliver had never heard of, they both wore short-sleeved dress shirts and khaki-style pants. And as Oliver fell in behind Ethan as the maître d’ led them to their table, Oliver looked down at Ethan’s perfectly rounded ass.