by Becky Siame
“Really?” I gawk. My worries about making a good impression fly out the window. A book deal? From blog to book? I start shaking with excitement. I set down my cappuccino to keep from spilling it.
“Oh, yes, really,” Maggie nods. “Of course, that all depends on the feedback we get from your articles, but I suspect they’re going to increase our readership.”
Maggie speaks more but I hardly hear her. Me, writer of a weekly news column.
Me, feature writer for major monthly magazine.
Me, author of a book.
Me, making money.
Me, voice of the overweight woman.
“So, tell me your thoughts,” says Maggie, bringing me back to reality. Need some time to think about it?”
I smile. “No. I’ve made up my mind.”
•
“A book deal, Dad! Can you believe it?” I am dancing around my hotel room at the Crown Plaza, talking on the phone.
“I knew you’d go far with your writing,” Dad says. “I told you so.”
I laugh. “That’s the best ‘I told you so’ I’ve ever heard.”
“Make sure you get an attorney to look over your contract to make sure everything is on the up and up,” Dad admonishes. “Don’t sign until you’ve read the fine print.”
“Oh Dad, ever the pragmatist,” I say. “I don’t think Fab You will try anything shady. They flew me here, took me out to eat at what has got to be the most expensive restaurant in Auckland, and then put me up in the Crown Plaza. But I will see if Jae knows anyone who can look it over for me.”
“That’s my girl,” he says. “Have you shared the good news with Jae?”
“Not yet,” I say. “I want to call Mama Rose first and let her know.”
“I’m sure Sands will be excited to hear about it.”
I stare out my window at the gorgeous view of the harbour, wishing Jae was here. “Sands doesn’t know I’m here. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to chat with her and Riyaan and Cat in a while.”
“There’s no such thing as chance,” Dad says. I know what his next words will be.
“Make opportunities instead of waiting for them,” I finish his sentence. It is one of his most oft-repeated nuggets of advice.
“That’s right,” Dad agrees. “I’ll let you go now. Hope you have a safe flight and I’ll see you Monday.”
“Right. Love you, Dad,” I say.
•
“Good Morning,” I say into my phone. I’m at the airport, awaiting my flight back to Nelson.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Jae replies.
“I’m about to get on the plane, so we should land on time.”
“Good,” he says. “I have a surprise for you. I won’t be taking you home right away.”
“Really? Why not? What’s up?” I probe.
“Well,” he begins, “I booked a suite at the Rutherford Hotel for us.” And then he is silent, waiting for my reaction.
I gasp. He booked a suite. That means our relationship is about to go to the next level. “That sounds wonderfully romantic,” I reply shyly. I think about how I wished he was with me last night at the Crown Plaza. Wishes do come true.
“But first,” I can tell he’s smiling by his tone, “There’s a big charity ball that I’m taking you to tonight.”
“What?” I say, dumbfounded. “What charity ball? I don’t have anything to wear…”
“I’ve got it all taken care of,” he says. “Don’t worry.”
“You’ve never mentioned charities before,” I accuse. “Is this something new?”
“No, no, it’s a business thing, an annual ball” he says dismissively.
My heart sinks. The last “business thing” involving Jae and I was my less-than-stellar introduction to his old business associates at the grand opening of go 4 It. The overheard insulting comments come flooding back: Obviously not from our set. That’s disgusting. Is he really that desperate? He should get back together with Amanda if that’s the best he can find. What does he see in her? My hopes of a romantic night with Jae dissolve into melancholy at the thought of spending the evening with people who think the worst of me.
“We’re going to have a great time, Bella,” Jae says. “Are you up for it? Not too tired from your trip?”
I grimace and bite the bullet. “Sure, I’m up for it.”
“Fantastic,” Jae sounds excited. “I’ll see you in a couple hours. Bye-bye.”
“Bye,” I say, hitting the end call key. “And all good things must come to an end,” I say to myself. One minute, I’m on a high from the new writing job and possible book contract. The next, I plunge into gloom at the thought of seeing Simon the Orange Suit and the Rejectors. Though the title makes them sound like a has-been 80s band, I can’t laugh. I sigh, pick up my carry-on and head for the gate. Well, I muse, I’m a part of Jae’s life. It’s time his crowd accepts it or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Our perception of reality isn’t always correct.”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch23
There is nothing better than stepping off a plane and seeing your boyfriend waiting for you with flowers. “How sweet! Thank you,” I say and give him a kiss as he hands me a posy of pink roses.
“How was your flight?” Jae asks, grabbing my carry-on and guiding me to the door with his hand on the small of my back.
“Good. Did you miss me?”
“Of course I did,” Jae bends down and gives me a loud smack on the cheek as proof. “Are you ready for a busy day?”
“A busy day? Jae, what are you up to? I thought we have a ball to attend tonight,” I ask.
“We do,” Jae winks, “but in the absence of a fairy godmother, I thought you, as the fairytale princess, might like a bit of pampering to get ready for the ball.”
Jae refuses to reveal anything more. When we step out into the sunshine from the airport terminal, a long black stretch limousine awaits us at the curb. I laugh. “Wow, someone is sure pulling out all the stops today.”
He smiles as the chauffeur opens the door. “And why wouldn’t I?” he asks innocently, hand over his chest. “I am the luckiest man on earth to have such an amazing, successful woman for a girlfriend. Of course I would want to demonstrate just how much I appreciate her.” He leans forward and whispers into my ear. “Besides, I have big plans for later tonight, so I thought I’d better up my game to get you in the mood.”
“Oh you do, do you?” I laugh more as I slide in, thrilled that the vehicle doesn’t lean to one side. Thank God for small mercies. “Trust me,” I add, “it wouldn’t take much sucking up to get me there.”
He chuckles, but his eyes flash with an intensity that tells me he didn’t miss the true meaning in my double entendre.
We snuggle together on the back seat of the limousine as it drives through the streets of Nelson, gazing at each other. Anyone would think we had been separated from each other for weeks. “Come on, give me a hint where we’re going,” I plead.
“All right,” Jae relents. “We need to get you a ball gown,” he confesses as the limo pulls up to the curb. I look out and dread engulfs me: we’ve stopped in front of the AmandaE store on Trafalgar Street.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
Jae takes my hand. “We are shopping for a ball gown.”
“But- “
He holds up a hand. “I’ve pulled a few strings and they’ve agreed to help change your mind about AmandaE.”
I shake my head, not getting out of the car even though the chauffeur stands there with the door open for me. “But I haven’t even heard back from their president and it’s been three weeks since I wrote her a letter. How concerned can they be about little old me when they don’t bother to reply?”
Jae cups my face and kisses me ever-so-softly. “Do you trust me?”
I look into his eyes. They are full of love with a twinkle of humour. “Yes, I trust you.”
&nb
sp; His face breaks into a grin. “Then let’s get you a gown.”
I feel miserable as we walk into the store, hand in hand. Well, Jae strides in; I follow with heavy footsteps, like a lamb to the slaughter. We are immediately approached by that manager; a salesgirl hangs back at a respectful distance. “Mr Elliot,” the manager purrs with a practiced smile, “and Ms White.” Her smile freezes. I get the impression that humble pie is not something she often eats. “We’re so glad you came today.”
Jae nods. “Are you ready for us?”
The manager gestures to her left. “Right this way. Cheryl and I will be assisting you.” She leads the way and we follow.
Threading through racks of clothing, we come to the formal gown section of the store. It’s a kaleidoscope of colour and swishy fabrics, a riot of lace and chiffon and satin and taffeta and silk. I’ve never tried on formals before, excluding my wedding gown, and even that was rather plain. But these gowns are gorgeous. There are slinky column gowns fit for movie stars on the red carpet; poufy ball gowns to make any woman a princess for a night; and cocktail gowns best suited for clubbing.
“What would you like to try on first?” Jae asks me.
I panic. I doubt any of the gowns here will accommodate my size sixteen butt. “I’m not sure,” I hesitate.
“Perhaps they can suggest something?” Jae prompts the manager.
“Yes, Mr Elliot,” she gushes, stepping forward. “Is there a certain colour or style which you prefer?” she asks me.
I’m overwhelmed and only see a blur of colour. “If this is a black tie affair, maybe I should stick with black?”
The manager nods. “We have several black gowns. Which size do you need?”
The moment has come where I want to melt into the floor. Great. I get to announce to Jae what my huge size is. “Sixteen,” I reply.
The manager looks me up and down like she thinks I’m lying before turning and picking through the gowns. She grabs four. “This way, please,” she says, leading me to the dressing room.
“I want to see them, too,” Jae says, taking a seat just outside the dressing rooms.
I give him a wan smile. “If I fit into them,” I warn him.
The manager hangs up the dresses on the hooks in one of the rooms. “If you need another size, just let me know,” she says and leaves me alone. I shut the door and examine the dresses doubtfully. They all say size twelve, which is the biggest size they carry. I know I won’t be able to zip them up.
With a sigh, I undress and slip on the first one, a short chiffon one with spaghetti straps which comes to my knees. I’m surprised I even got it over my hips and I start to zip it up. It stops halfway. With a sigh, I look in the mirror. It’s cute, very cute. I turn slowly around, examining myself in the mirror. I gasp. “It fits!” I exclaim. The zipper doesn’t stop halfway - it zips the whole way. The back is just very low.
“Let’s see,” I hear Jae call.
I step out of the dressing room, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Jae’s eyes pop out of his head. “Hello, gorgeous,” he whistles in appreciation.
“I can’t believe it fits!”
“Of course it fits,” Jae replies softly. “Look at yourself in the mirror. Really look: you’re not a big woman anymore, Bella.”
I turn around and around, admiring myself in the triple mirrors outside the dressing room. He’s right: I am far from the woman I was.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes, but I want to try on some more,” I say, elated.
“You don’t have to wear black,” Jae says. He turns to the manager. “What colours are popular this season?” She replies and Jae nods. “My girlfriend would like to try on a few in those colours. And bring some shoes and jewelry to match.” The way he refers to me as his girlfriend with a slight possessive emphasis on the word sends a shiver of delight up my spine. He’s not ashamed of me.
“Yes, Mr Elliot. What size shoe?” she asks. She returns to the rack of gowns while the other salesgirl rushes to fetch shoes and jewelry.
I spend the next hour trying on gowns and feeling like Cinderella getting ready for her ball. The manager and salesgirl fuss over me like I’m important, suggesting colours and styles and jewelry. And every gown fits.
“I can’t believe I can wear a size twelve. Size twelve,” I squeak.
Jae laughs. “I can’t believe I get to be seen with such a hot lady.”
Finally I narrow down my choices between two gowns. One is a sleeveless deep purple satin column dress with a plunging neckline and rhinestone belt. The other is a light yellow one-shoulder gown with three-quarter length sleeve. The bodice is made from silk shantung while the skirt features several layers of filmy, floating chiffon. I like the yellow one best. It better hides the ‘chicken wings’ dangling from my arms, but it’s also the priciest gown I’ve tried on. Years of deprivation makes me reluctant to choose it or to take advantage of Jae’s generosity.
“I can’t decide,” I wail. “They’re both too gorgeous.”
Jae reaches for the yellow one on its hanger. “I think you look radiant in this one…” he leans closer to whisper seductively in my ear, “makes me want to skip the ball and go straight to dessert.” He smiles that smile which makes my knees turn to water, my heart thump loudly, and my mouth dry in anticipation.
“Yellow it is,” I agree.
Jae hands it to the manager. “We’ll take this one and the shoes and jewelry you recommended.”
“Yes, Mr Elliot. Thank you,” the manager says.
“And now,” Jae says, “you’ll need to pick out a couple of new outfits to wear over the weekend since I couldn’t burgle your house to pack some clothes for you.”
“But I have my clothes from yesterday and today,” I insist. “Jae,” I lower my voice, “after what I’ve said about this store, I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be shopping here. Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do; it’s just that…”
“It’s just that you need a good experience to replace your memories of the bad,” Jae finishes.
“Well,” I reply hesitantly, “they’ve been extremely attentive and polite, but that’s not the point…”
“Good,” Jae interrupts me and waggles his eyebrows. “Then they are doing their job. Now let’s find you some clothes because we have other appointments to keep.”
I sigh. He doesn’t get it. It isn’t how they treat me now that matters - now that they can potentially make commission on an over one thousand dollar sale. It’s how they treated me back then and how they treat other big women like me who have the misfortune to walk through those doors.
Suddenly, it occurs to me what he just said. “Other appointments? Jae…”
“Nope, no time to talk,” he interrupts. “I never knew a woman who didn’t want to shop, so if you don’t pick out something, I will, and it’s all going to be from the intimate apparel section.”
“Jae!” I exclaim.
“Well, it’s true,” he shrugs but can’t hide a mischievous grin. So I spend the next forty-five minutes choosing two everyday outfits along with new shoes and, when Jae isn’t looking, some sexy lingerie that’s so lacy and see-through that it rather defeats the purpose of being labeled “apparel”.
When I’m done picking out my new clothes, Jae hands the pile to the manager. “Have everything delivered to the Rutherford.” And without paying for anything, he marches me out the door and back into the waiting limo. “Next stop, beauty salon.”
“It’s too much,” I protest. “How did you get that store to change their tune? And how come you didn’t pay…”
Jae places a finger over my lips. “I said I pulled some strings. Can you be satisfied with that explanation for now?”
“I suppose I’ll have to be,” I answer.
I am certainly satisfied for the next hour and a half. Jae takes me to the most exclusive salon in Nelson, where I am pampered with a pedicure and leg massage, manicure, and facial. After tha
t, they do my hair and makeup for the ball.
Jae returns to whisk me away to the Rutherford. “You look fabulous,” he whispers as the lift ascends to the tenth floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrors and I can’t help smiling at my image in them. I really do look fabulous.
If I thought my room at the Crown Plaza in Auckland was posh, our penthouse suite at the Rutherford blows it away. It possesses all the elements one would expect in an apartment designed for the patronage of the rich and famous. Two hundred square meters of consummate luxury consisting of an opulent bar, a huge lounge and dining area, full working kitchen, two elegantly-situated bedrooms, each with their own king size waterbeds, marble en-suite bathrooms with extra deep double spa baths, twin showers that are rooms unto themselves, and twin basins. Each room even has its own walk-in wardrobe.
However, nothing compares to the breathtaking view of Nelson Bay through the large French doors which lead onto a private balcony. “Jae, this is amazing,” I sigh. And wildly romantic and sensual. It’s as if I walked into a dream.
He takes me in his arms and gives me a long, lingering kiss. “It’s going to be an amazing night,” he breathes. “But first, how does a massage sound?”
“Mmm, I’d like that,” I whisper, thinking our night might start early, and then suddenly worry about my hair. I don’t want it messed up after all the effort which went into it-
“Good,” Jae kisses me again. “Because I’ve booked you a massage.” And on cue, there’s a knock at the door. A masseur arrives with a portable massage table. Wrapped in a sheet, I am rubbed and kneaded into bliss, with great care taken to not muss my hair, while Jae sorts out some business on his mobile in the next room.
By now it’s early evening. Jae hops in the shower, and then it’s my turn in the bathroom to touch up my makeup and put on my gown. I hear the hotel room door open and muted voices. What else is he up to? I wonder. Not wanting to spoil the moment for him, I linger in the bathroom a while even after I’m ready. But the hushed talking continues and I can only stay in the bathroom for so long. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I put on a smile and open the door.