Not this again, Martha was tempted to say, but, like her smile, she kept her comment tucked away. “Yes, I know,” was all she volunteered.
“I’ll be brief, Martha. We are faced with a minor emergency. In a few days, a group of concerned housewives ... oh, excuse me,” Sylvia smiled patronizingly, “concerned consumer activists will be descending upon AmFoods. They’re coming from Minneapolis, in response to the charges made by that sensationalist newspaper a few weeks ago.”
“Sensationalist?’r Martha asked, genuinely curious. “I thought it was the leading paper in the city.”
“Nevertheless,” Ms. Akins replied curtly, “any newspaper that would print such unsubstantiated drivel... well, at any rate, I am sure you realize the importance of this occasion. It is crucial that we show off AmFoods as the efficient, consumer-oriented company that it truly is.” She flashed her Gloria Vanderbilt smile. “And that, Martha, is where you come in.”
“Oh?” This was getting better by the minute.
“We would like to have a young, interested, well-versed employee, one who can get along with all types of people, show these visitors around.” She leaned forward as if she were about to share some great secret. “I’ve been doing some checking up on you, Martha, and it seems that you are extremely well liked.”
“Does it?”
“In short, you have been chosen to spend the day showing them around AmFoods. Oh, don’t worry; you’ll be briefed on all the details. And you won’t spend the whole day with them. They’ll be meeting someone from Research and Development, someone from Marketing, and so forth. But you’ll be responsible for shepherding them around. Sound interesting?”
“Yes,” Martha replied noncommittally. “It sounds like fun.”
“You realize, of course,” Sylvia Akins added cautiously, “that this is not a permanent position that I’m offering. This is simply a unique opportunity that I just knew you wouldn’t want to miss. However, I would like to add that if you do a good job, and if that PR position remains open much longer... well, I can’t make any promises at this point, but things could work out very nicely for you.” Another spurious smile.
“It’s nice to know I’m being considered after all,” Martha commented dryly.
“It’s only fair. Well,” Sylvia said crisply, in a tone that indicated she was about to cross out another item on her “Things to Do” list, “I’ll be getting back to you this afternoon with the exact schedule. Thanks so much for stopping in!”
When Martha returned to her desk, musing over the funny way life has of fitting all the pieces together, a small crowd had gathered.
“Martha!” Kate shrieked. “You’re engaged!”
“It’s so wonderful, Martha.” cried Louise. “We’re all so excited!”
“Congratulations!” Eleanor kissed her on the cheek. “What a lovely birthday present. You must be thrilled!”
Yes, Martha thought gleefully, humming as she held out her engagement ring for all to admire, things are certainly moving right along!
* * * *
“Martha, this is so exciting. I can’t stand it! Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Mrs. Nowicki’s voice shrieked across the wires. Martha found herself longing for the days of the Pony Express. Ponies were so nice and bland.
“I’ve been busy,” Martha replied. “I would have called earlier, but I was at a Thin, Incorporated meeting. I lost another pound.”
“But you could have called this weekend... oh well! The point is, you’re getting married! My little Martha is getting married! Now, baby, you should stay on that diet until the wedding, so you’ll be thin in your white dress. Oh, I can see it now. It’ll be just like Susan’s wedding...”
Martha picked up Snowflake and dropped him into her lap. He looked up at her with his wide blue eyes, and Martha felt that familiar tightening in her stomach,
“Oh, Martha, there’s so much we have to do. Have you chosen a date?”
“I don’t need a date. I have Eddie.” Martha answered distractedly, fondling Snowflake’s ears.
“Martha!” her mother said sharply. “Can’t you be serious about anything?”
“All right, Mother. I’ll be serious. Probably Christmastime.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Nowicki sounded disappointed. “Couldn’t you make it earlier? Winter weddings are so much more difficult. You have to worry about the weather, and flowers are much harder to get, and...”
“Mother, the idea of weddings is to get people married, not to have a wedding.”
“I know, but it can be so beautiful, and so much fun. And we’re so happy for you. You know how we feel about Eddie, and you two together... Martha, what is that sound? Is that a cat?”
“No. It’s a snowflake. I have to go now.”
Martha stretched out on the couch. Snowflake, sitting on her chest, swatted at the fluttering curtain with his tiny paw, and Martha smiled in spite of herself. She scratched his soft neck and was rewarded with a kiss.
He had said, “Maybe he’ll make you think of me, every now and then.” For the millionth time in the past four days, Martha wondered, Did I sell my soul for chicken Kiev and a piece of baklava?
* * * *
“Again?” Eddie’s exasperated voice came through the bathroom door of his Greenwich Village garret.
“You’re gonna be busy tomorrow night, too? What is this? All of a sudden, I’m engaged to Miss Social Calendar. Monday night is the diet club. Tuesday night is running around the block with this Judy person. Wednesday night is reserved for reading college catalogues. Thursday night is running again. Friday night is clothes-shopping. It’s like following the Rolling Stones tour!”
Martha sighed and wrapped herself in one of Eddie’s huge, brown, masculine towels. It’s because he loves me, she told herself. It’s because he wants to see me as much as possible. I should be flattered, not irritated.
“Why is it you never seem to schedule in any time for me?”
She ignored the painfully familiar accusations that filtered through the door, through the mist that had turned the tiny room into a delicious steam room. Sometimes it was easy to shut out reality, and Martha hummed softly.
She turned suddenly to reach for a tissue, and her towel dropped to the floor. She was stunned by what she saw: through the London fog that cast an aura of mystery over the porcelain fixtures and the drooping towels that were draped over them, Martha saw a thin woman watching her. The woman was slightly bent over, poised gracefully over a small brown terrycloth bump. Her skin was pink, glowing, even, her shoulders and thighs looked as if they had been dusted with rouge. Her face had a look of serenity on it that was highlighted by damp ringlets that framed her forehead and cheeks.
My God, that’s me! Martha thought, astonished. I am that thin, lovely young woman! That’s my reflection in the mirror!
She stood up straight and scrutinized her image. She had noticed, of course, that her bulges and unwanted curves had begun to disappear, and she had already discarded certain items of clothing that no longer fit. She had stood before mirrors before, secretly searching for the changes in the privacy of her bedroom, watching smaller-sized jeans and skirts magically fit in the dressing rooms of Macy’s and Gimbel’s, rejoicing at the once snug waistbands from the back of her closet that suddenly looked ridiculous because of the way they hung pathetically around her melting middle.
But this was the first time she had been caught off guard, the first time she had unexpectedly been confronted by this stranger, her new self. It was a bit scary, but she knew that she could learn to live with it.
She stretched and turned before the misty mirror, pausing periodically to wipe off some of the moisture to obtain a clearer view. She studied every limb, every angle, every line of her body. Even her face looked different, and she stared at herself, blinking hard to erase the image that was etched in her mind in order to view herself objectively. Always her conclusion was the same: lovely, simply lovely.
When she had finally convinced hers
elf that the reflection was indeed accurate, and not some fantasy dreamed up in a moment of longing and frustration, Martha wrapped herself up in Eddie’s corduroy bathrobe. She opened the bathroom clothed in a feeling of satisfaction.
“Well, finally!” Eddie grumbled. “Come here,” he then said, his voice softening as he hugged Martha gently. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like such an ogre. It’s just that I feel like I never get to see you anymore.”
“It happens to be a very busy time in my life, Eddie,” Martha explained, playing with the soft dark hairs that curled around his collar. “I’m just starting to get a lot of things going now. It will be even worse in the fall, you know, when I start school. Between evening courses and my new job...”
“Aw, shit,” Eddie exploded, pulling away suddenly. “Martha, why don’t you ever ask me what I think of all your cockamamie ideas? Why didn’t you ask me how I felt about your going back to school?”
“It’s not really any of your business,” Martha replied calmly.
“Not my business? First of all, who do you think is gonna pay for it?”
“World Air and Martha Nowicki. They’ll pay most of the tuition, and I’ll pay for the rest of it—books and student fees and things like that.”
“Oh. Well, what about the time requirements? You’ll never be around when I want to see you.”
“Eddie, you’re never around when I want to see you! You’re always flying off to... Cincinnati, or some Godforsaken place like that!”
“Cincinnati happens to be a beautiful city.”
“Then why the hell don’t you move there, alone!” Martha cried. Then she gasped, “Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean that.”
Eddie stood very still and said evenly, “That’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, Eddie. Why do we always end up fighting?”
“I don’t know, Martha. Maybe you can tell me.”
“It seems like we have different purposes,” Martha said lamely. “Sometimes I get the feeling you want me to be something I’m not.”
“That’s not true, Martha. I love you the way you are.” He came over and hugged her again. “Listen. How about if you skip your running tonight, and you and I stay here and...”
“I can’t, Eddie. I’m meeting Judy on the corner uptown, and there’s no way I can get in touch with her now. It’s too late.”
“You could just let her wait for a while, until she figures out that you’re not coming.”
Martha shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t do that to Judy. Besides, I really want to go. If I miss running tonight, I’ll be a wreck at the race. It’s important to be consistent in something like this. Besides, The Big Three is only a few days away.”
Eddie sighed. “Sometimes your priorities surprise me, Martha.”
“I’m sorry that you’re taking everything personally. I really am.” She broke away from his embrace and began searching for her belongings, which were scattered around the apartment. “You have to start being more accepting of the things that are important to me. There was a time when you were the only thing in my life,” she went on, busy with the task of gathering up her things and tucking them into a green canvas satchel. “But that simply isn’t true anymore.” She disappeared behind the bathroom door again, this time to slide into her new raspberry red running shorts and a sunshine yellow T-shirt.
* * * *
If there were such a thing as a patron saint of runners, he or she would surely have ordered a day as sunny and clear as the Saturday on which The Big Three race was scheduled. There was just enough coolness in the air to prevent the runners from getting too hot and the spectators from getting too discouraged. The trees and flowers in Central Park did their best to add the sweet fragrance of early summer, and those New Yorkers who can appreciate a good race, but prefer to abstain from dripping sweat and pulled tendons themselves, flocked to the sidelines to supply encouragement and paper cups filled with water.
“I think I’m nervous,” Martha confided to Coach Judy as the two of them surveyed the crowd. “I’ve never run in front of an audience before.”
“Nonsense,” Judy scoffed cheerfully. “When you’re a winner—as you are—it’s your civic duty to share your achievements with the teeming masses. You owe it to your fans.”
“My fans? May I ask to whom you are referring?”
“Irma Gold, for one. She promised she’d be here.”
“Really? That’s very nice of her.” Martha did a few toe-touching stretches. “It’s more than I can say for my beloved,” she puffed.
“What? You mean Eddie isn’t coming to watch your victory?”
“Nope. He considers my running a subversive, antisocial act. Eddie feels that I spend too much time running around the block and too little time running after him.”
“Men,” Judy sighed. “You can’t live with ‘em... Hey, look! Everyone’s lining up. It’s time for the race to start!”
“Ooooh. I think I changed my mind. I just want to go back to Kansas.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. After all those mornings you dragged me out of bed at some ungodly hour when the only people on the streets of New York were disco babies and winos... I’m expecting great things from you. Now, go get ‘em, champ!”
Martha grimaced, then trotted off to the starting line. If the butterflies in my stomach could only fly, she thought, I’d beat the world record for both people and insects. She turned back to wave at Judy, who was jumping up and down enthusiastically. What the hell, thought Martha, even if I’m no record setter, at least I’ll manage to go the distance. My own personal victory.
It was at that point that she thought of Larry and his ridiculous accusations. Between Eddie and Larry.... but then the starting signal sounded, and she automatically broke into a slow, even run. At first, Martha was extremely aware of the other runners around her, and the sound of their panting and their footsteps created a great distraction. But as she rhythmically placed one foot in front of the other and fell into her familiar pace, she became more absorbed in herself. She pretended she was running by the river, that the fuzzy sea of faces that whizzed by her was really just the trees and benches of Carl Schurz Park.
One, two, one, two. She bounced along, silently playing songs in her head that fit into her steady beat. Some runners tore out ahead of her in sudden bursts of speed, others were already out of sight. Still, she plodded along, happy to be keeping up, to be part of the energetic throng that was being cheered on by an enthusiastic crowd.
As breathing became more difficult and her body began to resist what she was doing to it, Martha looked over at the spectators. She was able to focus on the individual faces, but only for a fraction of a second. A purple scarf here, designer frames there, Larry Fisher in front....
Larry! What was he doing here? Oh dear, thought Martha, I hope anxiety works like adrenaline. I could use a caffeine-style charge right about now, and it’s certainly better than being dragged down by conflict. But, good heavens: what is he doing here?
Larry’s familiar face disappeared as she traveled around a bend, and she promptly forgot about him. One, two, one, two. What a change from her days of hating gym and thinking of herself as a complete physical failure. If only Miss Carolyn “Cleats” Bernhart, her junior high school gym teacher, rumored to have been valedictorian at the Simon Legree School of Charm, could see her now!
As she wheezed up a hill, Martha’s eye was once again caught by a familiar face in the crowd. It was Larry, who had moved to keep her in view, watching her from the sidelines. She couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking as he beheld the spectacle of her sweating, now sluggish body as it struggled to go on, he who had once scorned her as a competitive, recognition-hungry fanatic. Surely he could see that there was no chance of her winning; although there were indeed some runners who were behind her, the majority had long before sprinted past her. Then she remembered Larry’s accusation about her calculated desire to be awarded a T-shirt. She ha
d scoffed then, but she could now see what he had been saying. The value of recognition from the outside, as opposed to appreciation of oneself from the inside... well, this was hardly the time or the place for such philosophical debates. The finish line was looming up ahead, and Martha knew she would need all her concentration, as well as every ounce of strength, to reach it.
As she headed for the white line, accompanied by loud cheers and sprays of cold water, she saw that Larry was standing right in front of it, his arms folded judgmentally across his chest. He was watching her, daring her to prove him wrong. The noise grew louder and louder, until it filled her head so that she could no longer think. She tried to concentrate on forcing her legs to keep on going, but even when she looked away, she could still see Larry’s eyes watching her, daring her.
When the white line was less than ten feet away from her blue-sneakered feet, Martha suddenly stopped. The crowd roared, and twisted faces screamed at her, “Go on! You can do it! You’re almost there!” The other runners who dragged themselves over the finish line were greeted with cheers and applause, and were immediately handed a neatly folded T-shirt. But Martha remained glued to the pavement.
When she finally looked over at Larry, she saw that he was smiling. Were those really tears in his eyes, or was that merely a deceiving reflection of the sun? She didn’t have a chance to find out, because she then stepped off the running course, into the crowd of spectators. Shirley and Kate were immediately upon her, hugging her and crying, “You made it! Congratulations! You made it!”
As the last few stragglers made it over the finish line, Martha saw Judy in the crowd. She caught her eye and yelled, “I won! I won!” Judy nodded and made the victory sign with her fingers, a huge grin across her face.
“Let’s all go celebrate,” suggested Kate, as she and Shirley slipped their T-shirts over their heads.
“Okay,” Martha agreed, still gasping for breath. As she started to leave the park with her three friends, she looked back to the finish line, anxious for one last communication, even a non-verbal one, with Larry. He was gone.
Once There Was a Fat Girl Page 19