An Abundant Woman

by Elizabeth Neff Walker

  My body looked healthy and rounded. My cheeks were full, my face on the square side, but with dimples to soften its planes. I looked strong, with sturdy shoulders and staunch hips. Just looking at my breasts I could remember the pleasure they gave when Jack touched them, and how pleased he was at their size. My thighs seemed powerful, my legs robust.

  Everything about my body looked alive and real in a way with which I wasn't completely familiar. For years I hadn't owned my whole body, and here it was, full of potential, the object of a loving man's desire. This was my body, my flesh, the outward symbol of an inward me, no more or less expressive of my essence than anybody else's body.

  If I had to struggle every day to remind myself that being fat didn't denote some terrible character flaw, I would do it. This was just a body, the repository for my mind and soul and hopes and longings, pretty much genetically coded to be a certain size. How unforgiving of me to have consigned my poor flesh to the category of being unworthy.

  Well, it was about time I changed, I decided as I pulled my nightshirt over my head. Because if I didn't, there was no way on earth I was going to accept the possibility that Jack loved me, and that we had a future together.

  * * * *

  Decisions, decisions. Most of them seemed to hinge on whether I was willing to play the game by the rules my adversaries had chosen. I had always congratulated myself on being above the petty, backstabbing type of academic exercise that dominated politics in university settings. Which, of course, explained why I remained firmly entrenched in a position at my London hospital that hadn't changed in more than half a dozen years.

  But when your personal happiness is at stake, holding the moral high ground may not seem a sufficiently strong position. Besides, as I'd decided the previous night regarding weight issues, the moral high ground wasn't always so high after all. It turned out to be personal prejudice as often as it did concern for the truth. And in the case of Doug Lattimore and Lavinia Hager, maybe a little beam of truth wouldn't do any harm. I just had to work up the courage to be under attack if I was going to attempt being the attacker.

  Since Lavinia refused to find a spot on her calendar for me, I accepted Sarah Jamison's offer of assistance. Sarah was particularly concerned with the Effective Care in Pregnancy and Childbirth data that I'd been collecting, and she hated the idea that Doug would arrive and the whole project would evaporate. So it was on an academic as well as personal level that she was willing to put herself in a somewhat precarious position—by bringing me with her on an appointment with Lavinia.

  I didn't tell Sarah ahead of time that I'd decided to play hard ball. Probably I should have, if I were still striving for the high ground, but having her an uninformed bystander would prove so much more effective that I couldn't resist the temptation. Besides, Sarah was no more immune to juicy gossip than anyone else in the department. She'd love hearing what I had to say.

  Lavinia's expression became hostile as I followed Sarah into the office. “I don't recall being informed that Dr. Potter would be with you, Sarah."

  Bless her, Sarah was not intimidated by her department chairwoman. “But we were planning to discuss the ECPC data, Lavinia. Amanda is the person who knows the most about it, and her report so far has some provocative findings.”

  She passed across two highlighted sheets of paper as she took her seat opposite Dr. Hager. “We're going to look a little lax if these figures aren't pursued and explained, and Amanda isn't sure Dr. Lattimore will be interested in doing that when he comes here."

  Lavinia bent her frostiest gaze upon me. “The purpose of Dr. Lattimore's visit is to work on this project. Perhaps you've become too close to the subject to have an unbiased view of it, Dr. Potter."

  “Oh, no,” I assured her. “Doug doesn't have the least interest in ECPC. In fact, in the past he's spoken out against its findings."

  “It was Dr. Lattimore who suggested the project, and who is on a committee of the RCOG which studied it."

  “Yes, I believe he was the only one who voted against adopting it,” I mused. “But he has more or less supported my work on it, since the adoption was inevitable."

  Sarah urged her point again. “The University is not going to come off looking good if the ECPC project is dead in the water from here on out, Lavinia. We need someone like Amanda who will work with us and help us improve our compliance."

  “Well, Doug might be willing to skew the results,” I suggested. “After all, it's not like a clinical trial. I've known him to be influenced by people around him to make things look better than they were."

  Both women stared at me. Lavinia's voice was harsh when she said, “Your suggestion that Dr. Lattimore would tamper with results is grossly out of line, Dr. Potter. I'm sure your accusations have no basis in fact."

  I allowed my eyes to widen. “No basis in fact? Forgive me, but I've worked with Dr. Lattimore far longer and far more closely, at least academically, than you have, Dr. Hager. I could point to half a dozen studies that bear his imprint which skate a little wide of the truth. Nothing outrageous, of course. He could convince you himself that the results wouldn't impact on patient care in any negative way."

  God, I'd wanted to say that out loud for years. Because it was precisely what Doug had said to me when I read in disbelief his conclusions about departmental problem spots. Any statistics which showed pregnant women felt they got better care from the midwives than the obstetricians on our staff disappeared without a trace. Any complaints against the males in the department also managed to get lost somehow, while those against the women popped swiftly to the surface. Complaints against doctors are a regular feature of medical life; how they're treated is the important element.

  Sarah coughed to cover the snort of laughter that had escaped her. Lavinia scowled and said, “You're mistaken, Dr. Potter. Your jealousy of Dr. Lattimore is all too obvious. Be aware that I'll make him cognizant of this conversation."

  “Please do,” I urged her with obvious heartiness. “You might tell him, too, that when I spoke to my husband the other day Nigel informed me for the first time that Doug had been hinting to him for years that he and I were having an affair. I wonder why he would have done that? Nigel, being a proper English gentleman, had never raised the issue."

  “That cannot possibly be true,” Lavinia stated with an unbecoming flush.

  “Well, it's not true that Doug and I have had an affair. But Nigel would have no reason to lie about Doug's hint. After all, I haven't kept all of Doug's affairs a secret from Nigel over the years. Maybe that's why Doug thought he could make Nigel believe it.” I turned to Sarah with a shake of my head. “Men! Sometimes you wonder if they're born with borderline personalities."

  “This is absurd,” Lavinia insisted, though I could see she was thoroughly shaken. “Dr. Lattimore is a married man."

  “True. I'm very fond of Mrs. Lattimore. In fact, the only reason I never reported Doug's affairs with patients to the professional ethics committee was because I was afraid it would ultimately hurt her.” Again I turned to Sarah to comment, “Not that it would have made much impression, my complaint. The men on the committee would simply have shelved the whole matter, and threatened to make things difficult for me if I didn't shut up. So I never said anything, and look where it's gotten me. You might consider that a lesson."

  Sarah's shoulders were shaking. “I will."

  “I don't believe a word of this,” Lavinia said as she rose. “Dr. Lattimore is a courtly, charming man with absolute integrity. I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to take action against you, Dr. Potter, for spreading such inflammatory rumors about him."

  I had risen, too, and now stood my ground, facing her with the last remnants of my anger. “Perhaps I should have my husband call you, Lavinia, if you're interested in the truth of the matter. Do you think he'd lie to you, too? Not Nigel. He's listened to the whole saga over the last fifteen years."

  “Just your side of it,” she said.

  “No, there have
been corroborating witnesses—other members of the department who've chimed in from time to time. Nigel knows the truth.” I sighed, sadness winning out over anger now. “I've been unable to put a stop to it. In order to keep my job I've turned a blind eye. After all, Doug was smart enough to choose only sophisticated women. He knew how to get the other men on his side, to exchange little favors for their support. And I've just accepted it as how the game is played."

  “That's not how the game is played here,” Lavinia said.

  Her eyes searched mine, wanting to learn if I knew she was one of the sophisticated women. Did she want to hear the truth? Did I need to tell her? She had made my life miserable for weeks. Her prejudice against fat people made life miserable for a lot of people. But that was another matter. I met her gaze squarely, innocently, and she looked away in relief.

  “I'd like to stay and finish the ECPC project,” I said.

  “I'll get back to you about that,” she said.

  Sarah and I exchanged a glance and quickly left the office.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “That wasn't so hard, was it?” Jack asked when I'd told him about the encounter. We were seated in the living area of his unit after dinner, both with work in front of us but as yet not ready to settle down to it.

  “I've never wished to sink to that level of manipulation,” I retorted with my haughtiest sniff. “Nothing I said wasn't true, but it was like tattling. There should be a better way of resolving things than hanging someone's dirty linen out."

  “Doug Lattimore doesn't deserve your loyalty, and the reason it's dirty linen is because he made it dirty linen, not because you used it to get yourself a hearing. Besides, you didn't use what you knew about him and Lavinia, which must have been tempting. It was very smart of you."

  “Oh, good, I'm learning how to play office politics,” I grumbled. “It doesn't mean she's going to let me stay."

  “But if she lets you stay, she's not going to have the same bitterness toward you that she would have if you'd embarrassed her about her affair."

  “I suppose not.” I released a long, gusty sigh. “You know, Jack, if I'd devised the medical hierarchy, things wouldn't work the way they do."

  “But since you didn't, you're going to have to work the system in your favor. Pretending you're above all that isn't going to do you any good."

  “Who's pretending? I am above it."

  He rumpled my hair. “I know you are, sweetheart. But doesn't it feel good to fight for what you want, for what you know you deserve?"

  “Not as good as it would have felt if I'd just been given what I was supposed to have. But, thank heaven, that's over."

  “Nope. Not yet."

  I looked at him, disbelieving. “What more can I do? I don't have a legal leg to stand on."

  Jack nodded his head in agreement. “But you have a guilt-ridden husband who's not anxious for you to reappear in London any time soon and who could easily be put to advantage."

  “I will not use Nigel in that fashion,” I protested.

  “Why not? He's managed to use you for years. You've got to get over this idea that you owe everyone a loyalty they haven't earned, Mandy."

  “Nigel is my husband. I do owe him a certain amount of loyalty.” When Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow, I retreated, saying, “I didn't say I owed him total loyalty. What could he do to be useful?"

  “Have a little talk with Doug, in person, preferably. If Lavinia doesn't withdraw the offer to Doug, Doug might decide he isn't well enough to come, after all. I'm betting Nigel could convince him of that. If your husband has managed all these years to have things precisely the way he wanted them, I haven't the smallest doubt he's very skilled at this kind of game."

  The concept wasn't entirely new to me. There had been many times when I'd felt myself manipulated by Nigel, but so subtly, so smoothly, that it had been hard for me to put my finger on what was truly happening.

  My own attempts to have my way had been awkward and obvious in comparison. Even when I achieved my goal, I had found myself feeling like the loser. Because of my glaring insistence, I always managed to seem so selfish. On the other hand, Nigel could get what he wanted with a startling adeptness, and I would feel frustrated by my inability to recognize and express exactly how he'd managed it.

  Jack beckoned me closer to him. If I thought this was in preparation for a little snuggling, I was mistaken. Though he put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me against him, that was as far as his touching went.

  “When Karen and I were married, I was still in medical school. I came from an unsophisticated, almost reclusive family. I knew nothing about society or elegant manners. Karen, on the other hand, was raised in a very social, wealthy, old Madison family. Even at our wedding I felt like a displaced person."

  “Poor Jack,” I said sympathetically.

  “Right from the start, Karen had that advantage over me. She could hint that I was doing something wrong, or that things were done a certain way, and I would accept her assessment, because what did I know? In some elusive way it gave her a free hand with our social life, with our dealings with our families, with our house and even our own children."

  “But you were becoming a neurosurgeon, top of the heap. Didn't that make any difference?"

  His fingers stroked the flesh of my upper arm, but I could tell this was merely an unconscious gesture while he considered how best to put what he had to say. “Some. But during training it also meant my interests narrowed down to just what I was doing and learning. You know how exhausting a residency is, and how long, for a neurosurgeon. I still looked to her for guidance on social issues, thinking she was the authority, because she acted as though she were."

  “But I thought you didn't really care about those things?"

  As though I were a particularly bright pupil, he hugged me and said, “Exactly! I didn't, but Karen did, and by that time the kids did, and my lack of interest in social niceties constantly made me question whether I was going to do something to upset their apple cart. Which I didn't want to do. They'd been patient with me during all those years when I couldn't spend as much time with them as I'd wanted to. It would have been rotten to repay them by screwing up their lives."

  “I can see that. In fact, I tried to point that out to you the other night, Jack. Your kids are going to be embarrassed if you bring a fat woman into your life."

  Jack grimaced. “That's not a social faux pas, Mandy; that's a personal snobbery. You're missing the parallel here with your own life."

  “My weight."

  “Right. Nigel always had an advantage because of your discomfort around your weight, Mandy."

  “But I accept my weight."

  “Pretty much in the same way I accept my lack of social polish,” he agreed. “It's fine for you, but you expect other people to take exception to it. And you think they have a right to take exception."

  I thought about that for a while, wanting to dispute it, but knowing it was the truth. “All right, I do. It's realistic, though, because people take the right. I can't fight the whole world, Jack."

  “You don't have to fight the whole world, just the people who use your weight to manipulate you."

  “Nigel says very little about my weight."

  “But you think you know how he feels about it, don't you?"

  I could picture Nigel, sitting opposite me at the dinner table. “Sure I do. He thinks I could control it if I wanted to, that it's a matter of will power."

  “Which made you vulnerable to his using your weight against you.” Jack tilted his head so that he could see me better. “How long do you think you'd have accepted Nigel's lack of sexual interest if you'd weighed what you thought you should?"

  “Not for a month,” I admitted, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

  He was observing me closely, a determined set to his mouth. “Exactly. And how long are you going to let your vulnerability about your weight keep you from recognizing that I could care about you? That I do
n't need you making excuses for me, like that I'm still too depressed to make a commitment or that my kids won't want me living with a plump woman? When are you going to handle all that anger and sorrow and fear, Mandy?"

  His questions were like lightning bolts. They struck me with alarming force, illuminating corners of my mind where I'd felt safe to hide. Hadn't I just determined to be honest with myself about my body size? Facing the realization that I was screwing up again because of my weight, giving Jack a supposed advantage over me, was frightening and upsetting.

  But mostly I felt angry and my anger spilled over onto Jack. I pushed away from him, as though he'd been responsible, and stood up to stalk across his small living room. I wanted to throw something; I wanted to make a lot of noise. If I'd been at home, on Netherhall Gardens, I'd have smacked copper pots together, or hammered some unnecessary nails into the arbor outside the back door.

  “I have to get out of here,” I said, my voice unsteady.

  “I'll take you anywhere you want to go,” Jack said.

  “I want to be alone."

  Jack tossed me his car keys. “There's a tennis racket in the trunk, and two cans of balls. Sometimes just smashing them against a wall helps. Try the stadium."

  “I'll do whatever I want,” I growled at him.

  “Of course you will,” he said soothingly, and winked. “Come back to me, Mandy. I need you."

  “Well, I don't need anyone,” I said stubbornly. “But I'll bring your car keys back."

  * * * *

  It took me more than an hour to work the spleen out of myself. He was quite right about the effect of smashing the tennis balls as hard as I could against a surface that veered them back at me just as urgently. In the end I lost half the balls, but I figured I could replace them more easily than find them in the fading evening light.

  I tried to give Jack his keys back in the hallway, but he was having none of it. “In, woman,” he insisted, tugging me by my hand. “We have a little more to discuss."

  When he had closed the door behind me, and taken me in his arms, I said, “Such as what?"