by Becky Siame
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch25
Thank you for letting us interview you,” Clarisse Devril of the Gab Gazette shakes my hand as I take a seat at our table by the window.
“Thank you for wanting to interview me,” I chuckle. “I’m rather excited by the thought of people waiting in the check-out line at the grocery store reading about me.” A waiter approaches and we order our drinks.
“Yes, our Back Page Heroes feature usually gets a high response rates from readers, which is why we want to feature you. We think you’ll generate quite a response. Do you mind if I record you?” Clarisse asks taking a mini digital voice recorder out of her satchel and placing it on the table.
“Not at all,” I reply. I feel tickled on the inside at the thought of me generating a positive response from the Gab’s readers and maybe increasing their sales for the week. Me, increasing sales?
We chat for a few minutes, and then after placing our meal orders, Clarisse jumps in with the questions. At first they are the same questions everyone else asks me: why did I start writing and drawing, what other sorts of discrimination did I experience as an obese woman, did I date much? I describe the disastrous date with Wesley, which led to me going into the AmandaE store in the first place to avoid him.
Our food arrives and I sip my first spoonful of chicken broth when Clarisse asks another question.
“So tell me, Bella, your newspaper column and magazine articles are about being comfortable with your own body and accepting yourself even when you’re imperfect. Now that you’ve achieved the perfect body, do you feel you can be authentic with your readers?”
I almost choke on my soup. “Perfect body? Thanks for thinking so, but I don’t view my body as perfect yet. Therefore, I am being authentic as I relate my own woes about weight loss and make light of the things that can happen when you’re overweight.”
“So you don’t accept yourself as you are?” Clarisse challenges.
I’m surprised by her sudden change of tone. “No, I do accept myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to improve my looks more and take care of myself. I still work out and am following the special diet, which I have to be on after having the lap band procedure done. Which was for health reasons,” I add.
Clarisse nods. “So when do you feel enough is enough in regards to weight loss and improving one’s looks?”
I shrug. “That’s up to the individual. Some women are happy being a size sixteen. Others aren’t satisfied unless they are in a single digit size. It’s all about perception and considering one’s age and height and bone structure. What makes me happy isn’t the same as what makes you happy necessarily. We’re two different people with different racial backgrounds and upbringings. That colours our views of perfection. Even if we lived one hundred years ago, our views of perfection would be different than what they are now probably.”
“What is your perception of perfection?” Clarisse asks, toying with her food.
There’s something in her voice, which makes me uneasy. I glance at the recorder, not wanting to answer. I must choose my words carefully so she can’t twist them. “Well,” I hesitate, “I’d say perfection is a happy heart; someone who is content on the inside and at peace not only with her body but other accomplishments.” There! No way she can twist that.
A smile tugs at Clarisse’s lips. “Would you say that you’ve attained perfection?”
I chuckle. “Not yet.”
“Why not?” she pushes. “You have a career which is taking off; you’re gaining recognition and financial independence; you have a great body. Why aren’t you at peace?
“Well…” I bite my lip and grab my glass of water for a drink to cover my nervousness.
Clarisse plows ahead. “Do you think plastic surgery will help you attain perfection?”
I freeze, my glass midway between the table and my mouth. “Plastic surgery?” I squeak.
She nods. “You are planning to get plastic surgery, aren’t you? Didn’t you see a plastic surgeon this week?”
“How do you know that?” I stammer. I received my surgery confirmation date in the mail this morning and it brought me great joy: it is on the day of Tiresa and Mika’s wedding. Oh darn, can’t attend now, I had thought gleefully. But I feel no glee now.
She ignores my question. “Are you going to tell your readers that you’re getting surgery? How does that square with telling them to be happy with their bodies if you aren’t happy with yours?”
I set down my glass, astonished she knows I visited Dr Carver’s office.
“Don’t you feel you’re being hypocritical by saying one thing to your readers and doing another?”
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“When is “enough” enough for you, Bella? First you had the lap band procedure and now you want plastic surgery. What kind of surgery is it? Augmentation? Liposuction?”
“The lap band was for health reasons,” I argue weakly. “I saw Dr Carver for a consultation about getting excess skin removed so it doesn’t turn to gangrene.”
“So your regular physician determined that you are in danger of contracting gangrene?”
“Well, no…”
Clarisse ignores my answer. “According to your blog, you already lost a significant amount of weight at the time you elected to have the lap band procedure done. Was there really a health risk which prompted you to have the surgery and if so, why didn’t you have it done in the first place before you started exercising and dieting?”
I squirm in my chair. “I, well, I reached a plateau and, uh, um, I thought it best to help my body, and…”
“Doesn’t everyone who goes on a diet reach a plateau? But not everyone resorts to surgery to get past it. Did you research other ways to kick-start the fat-burning process again, or was the lap band procedure done for aesthetics reasons rather than for health?”
When is she going to stop asking questions? “I thought it best that…”
“Again, I ask you when is “enough” enough? Do you intend to have more plastic surgery after this?”
This is not good. “I don’t know...”
Clarisse puts down her fork and folds her hands under her chin. “How does your boyfriend feel about your crusade against the AmandaE franchise? According to its latest business report, sales haven’t gone down, so is it really just a ploy to draw attention to the franchise, since even gossip can be good for his business?”
If I was surprised before, I’m floored by Clarisse’s swift change of topic. How does she know who my boyfriend is? “As I’ve stated in the past, I’m not leading a crusade against AmandaE; I’m just trying to draw attention to discrimination against overweight people and I happened to experience discrimination at one of their stores. And what that has to do with my boyfriend’s adventure tourism business is beyond me. I don’t see the connection.”
Clarisse smirks. “Your boyfriend is John Alexander Elliot, Vice President of the AmandaE Corporation, is he not?”
I shake my head. “No. My boyfriend is Jae Elliot, President of Go 4 It, a company down in Nelson Lakes National Park.”
“Jae? As in jay-ay-ee, John Alexander Elliot?” Clarisse spells it out.
My stomach clenches. “He does some work with the AmandaE Corporation,” I volunteer, but I know Clarisse is telling the truth. Jae isn’t an oddly-spelled name; it’s his initials. But he never told me that.
“So is this just a marketing ploy? Did you ever hear back from AmandaE after you wrote your letter of complaint to them?””No, it isn’t a marketing ploy and no, I never heard back from them.” And now I know why. Why didn’t you tell me, Jae? “I wouldn’t work to give free advertisement to a store which discriminates against the obese.”
Clarisse waves a hand at me. “But you’re not obese anymore. Do you shop there?”
I can’t look her in the face. All I can think about is getting out of there - fast.
“I spoke with the
manager of the AmandaE store where the incident occurred and she says Mr Elliot and you shopped at the store not long ago and acquired quite a few items. Is that true?”
With a calmness, which belies my shaking insides, I take my napkin out of my lap and lay it on the table. “I think this interview is over,” I say, my voice trembling.
“Ms White, can you explain how you can shop at a store which is owned by your boyfriend without you even knowing he owns it?” Clarisse asks, holding the recorder out to me as I stand and grab my purse. “Ms White, why won’t you answer my question?” she calls after me.
I rush out the door. She can pay for the lunch. I’ll be damned if I will pay for humiliation, I think as I almost run down the sidewalk to my car. I bump into people without apology, but I don’t care if they think I’m rude. Where did I park? I wonder, digging my keys out of my purse and scanning the line of cars for mine. I just want to get as far away as possible from here, from her. How did she know about Dr Carver and Jae? What else does she know about me? What intimate details of my life is she going to print? Where is my car?
I spot it and sprint towards it - and promptly break the heel off my shoe in a crack in the sidewalk. I swear out loud as I struggle to wrench the heel from the crack but it remains stuck. Swearing again, I leave it and hobble to the sanctuary of my car - and then drop my keys. The ring shatters, scattering half a lifetime of keys across the sidewalk, street, and down a sewer grate.
“Please don’t let my car key be one of those in the sewer, please don’t let it be in the sewer,” I repeat over and over under my breath as I frantically gather the keys into a pile and throw them into my purse. With dismay, I see none of them are my car key. I get down on my knees, tucking my dress under my knees so I don’t flash the people walking down the street, and peer through the grate. I can just make out my car key, among several others in the murky shadows. “Oh, no,” I groan.
At least I didn’t drop my cell phone. I call a car dealer, who takes an hour to rescue me with a replacement key, which costs seventy-five dollars because of the remote controls on the key fob and immobiliser anti-theft chip. At least I have the money in my bank account to cover the ghastly expense. I am on the verge of angry tears as I drive home, but once I get there, the tears stop and I can’t cry. I dial Jae and reach his voice mail. “I need you to call me as soon as you get this,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I don’t mean to sound angry, but I am.
I have an hour of uninterrupted speculating before Jae returns my call, an hour of mulling over what I am going to say to him for keeping secrets from me. What else hasn’t he told me that Clarisse didn’t get a chance to spring on me? His real name, his real other business, his co-owning the cabin with his ex-wife? At this rate, it will probably turn out that he owns his own island and runs an orphanage there for all his illegitimate children.
When the phone rungs, my heart gives a leap. It’s the time of reckoning. “Hey, beautiful. Sorry I missed your call. We’re crazy busy down here,” Jae says, breathless but cheerful. He’s at Go 4 It.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re Vice President of AmandaE?” I blurt without greeting or preamble. “Do you know how I found out? A reporter. She also told me your real name. I think she’s doing an exposé on me. She knows things that she shouldn’t know and she told me all about you. So what’s up with that? I tell you my real name but you don’t tell me yours?”
Heavy silence on the other end of the line. “Bella, you sound upset.”
“You’re damn right I’m upset! You’re Vice President of AmandaE?” And suddenly it clicks. AmandaE means Amanda Elliot. “Is that why you or Amanda never responded to my letter to the company? Hoping it will blow over and keep me in the dark? Why would you want to keep me in the dark?”
“Bella,” Jae says slowly, “I can’t talk right now. We’re really super busy. Let me call you tonight - no, I’ll drive back to Nelson tonight and we can talk then…”
“Right,” I sneer. “Give yourself some time to think of an excuse, is that it? Jae, I can’t believe you did this to me.”
“Did this to you? No matter what you may think right now…”
“Let me tell you what I think right now,” I growl. “I think that someone I trusted completely has made a fool of me and I don’t understand why. Why would you keep your real name secret? Why avoid telling me about your real connection to AmandaE? Why, Jae? You’re always spouting off how you like me because I’m not like your snobby fashion world cohorts - are you embarrassed that you’re still a fashion snob? Is that such a bad thing to want to hide, or are you being a hypocrite because you say you don’t like the fashion world and yet you’re making money hand over fist in it?”
“Please, Bella, calm down. I will see you tonight and explain everything. I’m sorry if you feel like I made a fool out of you. I never meant to hurt you, and…”
“But you did. You certainly did,” I finish for him. “I can’t believe I sat across a table from a reporter who told me things about my life that…” I make a sound of disgust. “Do you know what it’s like to have details of your personal life made known that are nobody’s business? And now God knows what the Gab Gazette is going to say about me. If you had been honest with me, she couldn’t have trapped me with half the questions she asked.”
“As a matter of fact, I do know what it’s like to have my personal life paraded to the public,” Jae says in a tone I’ve never heard him use before.
“Oh, that’s right,” I spit, “you’re used to being on the society pages for attending charity balls.” The thought of wearing that damn AmandaE gown to the ball makes me clench my fist so tightly that my nails dig painfully into my palm.
“No,” he corrects me, “I’m talking my personal life being made into a cartoon without my permission.”
I unclench my fist. So he saw the tsunami caricature. “Did you bother to read the column which goes along with it? It’s about acceptance,” I huff.
“And it is a very good column,” Jae acquiesces, “but did you consider asking me if I want that part of our life put on display? Because there is an “our” and an “us” now, not just a you and a me. And if it’s public knowledge that we’re together, then something like a cartoon about what happened in the bedroom between us can have a negative effect on business.”
“Which business?” I laugh. “AmandaE sales haven’t suffered from a fat woman trying to gain some respect for fat people, despite the behaviour of some of its employees. Or are you worried people won’t want to bungee jump because I nearly knocked you off the bed with a tidal wave?”
I can hear him exhale loudly. “Bella, I will come up tonight so we can talk. I have to go now.”
“Don’t bother,” I say. “If business means more to you than I do, then never mind.”
I hang up and swear. “How can he be so cold? Why did he lie to me?” I lift the phone, ready to throw it across the room, but decide against it and instead hit speed dial for Sands. If anyone is a sympathetic ear, it’s my best friend.
“Oh, no,” I groan, remembering the forgotten morning coffee rendezvous with Sands and the gang. I cancel the call and plop down on the sofa. What a rotten day, I muse. I managed to get in a fight with my boyfriend, stand up my friends for a coffee date, and lose my expensive car keys - and the day was only half done.
•
“I think you’re reading too much into what he said,” Mama Rose says with a sigh. She has been on the phone with me for almost an hour.
“It’s not just what he said,” I complain, “it’s what he’s done. Not telling me his real name; not telling me he’s the freaking VP of AmandaE - why? Why would he keep those a secret if he truly loves me? So he must not truly love me. He’s embarrassed of me, that’s what. The less I’m a part of his life, the less he has to feel embarrassed about.”
“Isabella, that is the silliest thing I ever heard you say,” Mama Rose chides. “That man adores you. What is there for him to f
eel embarrassed about? And if he is embarrassed, why keep you around?”
“Gee, thanks, Mama Rose,” I pout.
“Now listen to me,” Mama Rose commands. “Jae came to the hospital every day when you were ill. Is that the action of a man who is embarrassed of you?”
“No, but that was a couple of months ago.”
“Then if he is so wishy-washy, maybe you should dump him. You don’t need someone in your life who isn’t trustworthy. But dump him fast, because the fanau O lau fanau are very attached to him and it will break their hearts to see him go.”
“It will break my heart to see him go, Mama Rose.”
“It doesn’t sound like it right now,” Mama Rose retorts. “Give the man a chance to explain himself before you cut him off.”
I sniffle. “I just feel like I’m not good enough for him. I express myself in my writing and drawing and it upsets him. I’m getting plastic surgery and he doesn’t approve of that. I can do nothing right.”
“You’re what?” Mama Rose exclaims. “Plastic surgery? Why?”
I pause, surprised by her reaction. “Well, the skin on my arms is over-stretched so I’m having it taken off, and then my belly is never going to be as flat as I want it to be, so I’m getting a tummy tuck…”
“ISABELLA!” Mama Rose roars, “Did you ask Mika for more money? ‘O fea aga oute alu sala?”
“Calm down, Mama Rose. I took out a loan which I can pay back once I get the advance from my book.”
“Spending money on credit? That’s not wise. Not to criticise your writing, dear, but what if the book doesn’t sell well? Don’t get yourself into debt.”
“I’m not getting into debt,” I insist. “I’m making money for once in my life, good money. Is it so terrible to spend it on something which is important to me?”
“Do you have a savings or retirement account?” Mama Rose asks, ever practical.
“No, not yet,” I admit.
“Well, if you ask me, it sounds like you need to get your priorities straight,” Mama Rose says.
“My priorities?” I shriek. “What is this, Beat Up on Bella Day? Have I not made weight loss a priority these past few months? Have I not made an astounding effort to get healthy? So why is it when I’m up, everyone wants to squash me down?”