Waisted

by Randy Susan Meyers

  Jeremiah attempted to regain his authority by repeating the threat in his own words. “Back up. Everyone. Give them room to work. Alice is in danger.”

  Daphne continued pressing the cloth covering Alice’s head until the vehicle reached the driveway. Only then did she let the older EMT pull it away. Hania was in the front with the driver. Daphne had forced her way to be allowed to ride with Alice through sheer will, digging her fingers into the EMT’s arm as she hissed, “Life or death, I swear to God.”

  By now, sweat and pressure had smeared the cosmetic bruises into a swirl of ugly colors, no more able to fool a child, much less an EMT. Alice opened her eyes and smiled at Daphne.

  “All right, ladies. What the hell is going on?” the EMT asked as they drove away in the screaming ambulance.

  “You have no idea of the overwhelming danger we faced.”

  “Of what?”

  “Being exercised to death, fed illegal substances, and enduring great humiliation,” Daphne recited.

  “Who forced you to take pills?” He reached for a blood pressure cuff. “Why were you there? Did they hold you illegally?”

  “Fine lines run between illegal, coerced, fooled, and brainwashed.”

  The man held the cuff limp in his hand. “Hey, I’m familiar with car wrecks and drunks. Gunshot wounds. This is out of my league. I’m happy to transport you to the hospital, but maybe it’s the police station you need?”

  Alice rose to a sitting position on the stretcher. “What I need is a shower. Can you help me with that?”

  The man looked confused. Daphne stepped in before the EMT’s bewilderment gave way to anger and he called the police. Going home was all she wanted. Nothing could stand in the way of calling her husband.

  “Let me explain,” she said in the husky voice she affected when a man required handling. “They described it as a weight loss retreat. You know. With proper nutrition and classes. Healthy exercise.”

  “A place to reflect on our decisions,” Alice added.

  “Somewhere for us to regain our bodies and hearts.” Daphne realized that in trying to fool this man, they were nevertheless finally speaking certain truths about their situation out loud.

  “Instead, they abused us. Harshly.” Alice began pretty-crying. Mild tears only enhanced the carved beauty of her thinned face, noticeable despite the palette of colors running down.

  “How?”

  Control-of-the-narrative time. “It’s painful to talk about.” Daphne read the man’s badge. “You rescued us, Bill. They fed us dex-a-something pills.”

  Bill nodded. Encouraged, Daphne went on. “They increased the dosage daily. Working us ten hours a day. Held us as virtual prisoners. Sure, we could have walked out. But we had no coats. Or boots. Or any way to contact our loved ones. They stole our phones. Everything.”

  Alice pulled the blankets that Bill had provided closer around her shoulders. “They have our IDs. They played psych games. They fed us speed by day, chased by sleeping meds at night. Without prescriptions.”

  “We didn’t visit that doctor or ask for them. God knows what they forced on us.” Daphne placed a hand on her chest, an anxiety attack growing now that the initial drama had passed. “We’re under the influence of drugs now. We do need medical attention.”

  • • •

  They arrived at the hospital shockingly fast, given how far they’d believed themselves to be from civilization. When they begged to be put in the same room, Bill helped it happen and, more important, kept the emergency room triage nurse from locking them in the psych ward.

  The first thing they did was remove their hideous jumpsuits in exchange for scrubs (given to them by Bill, now their accomplice and buddy). Alice washed up as best she could by using the stack of washcloths. When the others started to throw their jumpsuits in the trash, Alice reminded them that they’d need evidence—though she rinsed hers with the bar soap.

  Next, Daphne borrowed Bill’s phone, craving Sam’s voice.

  TIP: Breathe away cravings.

  This may seem obvious. After all, you must breathe no matter what, right? But few of us breathe deeply or consciously. Think about it: When was the last time you took a long, slow, deep breath, and leisurely let it out again? Deep breaths of that kind take you out of your immersion in momentary stress, oxygenate your brain and tissues, and help to reduce stress hormones.

  —Huffington Post

  WEIGHT LOST THEN: None.

  CRAVING SAM NOW: Overwhelming.

  “Daph! Ohmigod. I can’t believe it’s you. They’re finally letting you call out. Jesus, what’s going on there? I miss you so much, sweetheart. How—”

  She interrupted, trying to talk through her tears. “How soon can you drive up? We’re at a hospital. We’re fine,” she hastened to add. “It’s four hours away from Boston.”

  “Tell me which hospital. I’m leaving now.”

  Hearing his voice, this person who loved her, this man whose words she too often pushed away, this man she took for granted—today, this same man broke her apart with love and longing. She swore to keep him first in her heart from this day forward.

  CHAPTER 21

  * * *

  DAPHNE

  “I just can’t stop staring at you, darling!” Sunny tipped her head and shook it as she smiled. “Lovely, lovely, lovely. I could say it a million times.”

  Sunny stared at her with so much unreserved admiration that goose bumps rose on Daphne’s skin. Here she was, just as she’d always dreamed—her mother smiling at her with love and approval—yet all she experienced was an urge to escape.

  “Doesn’t she look wonderful, Gordon?” Sunny ran a hand down Daphne’s arm with the air of ownership usually reserved for her sisters.

  Her father winked at her. “Daphne’s always been beautiful inside and out.”

  Her head might explode from this outpouring of extraordinary wonderful Daphne! “Thanks. How about this dinner, huh? Great job, Bianca.”

  “I miss Thanksgiving at our house.” Audrey’s pout transformed her into a six-year-old. “I like Mom’s stuffing better. What is this? It tastes like robots microwaved bread.”

  “Don’t be rude. Aunt Bianca went to plenty of trouble to take over this year.” Sam’s supposed admonishment sounded mild. His relief in having her home shone so hot that all else receded, fortifying Daphne more than her usual comfort level allowed.

  “No worries. The robots at Whole Foods cooked it all. Not me.” Bianca joined in the Daphne examination team—her medical gaze apparently evaluating everything she saw. “Do you want a bit of tightening for Chanukah? Slackness is the downside of losing a ton of weight too fast.”

  Daphne longed for a plateful of stuffing. Her stuffing. That’s what she wanted. Audrey was speaking the truth: Whole Foods, organic or not, tasted institutional, salty, and oily. Yet there was something to be said for its bad taste. Not eating became easier when faced with oversalted, mass-produced food. As did the well-hidden pills she had stolen before escaping from Waisted.

  After hearing Hania’s story of cadging extra pills from Valentina, Daphne had gone one step better. During gym time, the day of the planned escape, she had faked cramps and, needing protection—thankfully, one thing Valentina didn’t care to check—doubled back to their room, retrieved Hania’s stolen key, entered Valentina’s room, found the pill storage, and grabbed a handful that she stuffed into a plastic baggie hidden in her bra. Twenty pills in all.

  Daphne’s fear of coming home had been as deep as her want, even as she ran into Sam’s arms. Unlimited food terrified her. She hadn’t been able to face down even one bag of stale Reese’s Pieces.

  The past three weeks she hit her cache one tiny sliver of a pill at a time, but no matter how small the crumbly pieces she sliced off, the pile dwindled. Eleven tablets. Her only life source left.

  She chewed her bottom lip—a habit brought on by the pills—hoping Sam would never connect this new quirk with pill popping.

  Daphne re
plied to Bianca’s offer of cosmetic help with the sort of phony, sweet smile the Bernays sisters reserved for one another. “Ah, so sweet of you. This must be the part of the meal where we have the traditional Thanksgiving offer of free cosmetic surgery.” She wondered what it would take to convince Bianca to prescribe her Dexedrine instead.

  “I’m offering tweaks, not the full monty. Actual surgery is too expensive for a giveaway. Anesthesia. Surgical nurses. It adds up, you know.” Bianca turned to her husband, an orthopedic surgeon. “Perhaps you can do some trading? Your spine-fixing skills for plastic surgery. Family favors. Might be a good idea for holiday presents, eh?”

  Sunny spread a microthin layer of cranberry relish on a slice of white meat. “I know you’re joking, but wow, what a gift.”

  “Grandma, that’s nuts!” Audrey speared another slice of turkey. Dark meat. Which she never ate, per her grandmother’s warnings that it contained more calories per ounce than white meat. “You’re talking about surgery. You think my father would trade his skill for a tummy tuck?”

  “Your father works in research, dear. I don’t think it’s comparable. But darling, you know we’re joking, right?”

  Sunny’s disposition so matched her name of late that it frightened Daphne. That her mother was this invested in how many pounds her daughter carried and what size she wore should have come as no surprise, but still, the bold joy Sunny displayed hit Daphne somewhere between sickening and terrifying.

  But how to fight? Reprimand her mother for being too kind?

  And in truth? When she had zipped up the black sheath she was wearing this afternoon, she had shivered with delight. It was a dream dress in a fantasy size. Who cared if the designer used vanity sizing? The tag read 12.

  Stepping on the scale that morning, after hovering between 140 and 142 since returning from Vermont, she saw that she had broken into the one thirties: 139, the ruler of her world delivered. She had nearly fallen to her knees and kissed the metal.

  Still, her supply of pills diminished each day.

  “Aren’t you going to eat anything but turkey, Mom?” Gabe dug a fork into the steaming pile of mashed potatoes. Daphne imagined the buttery smoothness gliding over her tongue.

  Perhaps she could contact Valentina. Blackmail her. “I’m fine, honey.” She cut a tiny portion and chewed. “Yummy.”

  “Eating is less fun with you starving.” Audrey scooped another helping of the maligned stuffing. Sunny gaped.

  “I’m hardly starving, baby! I’m still a house compared with your aunts. An entire housing development compared with you.”

  True or false? Any sense of the reality of her appearance had disappeared along with the lost weight. She caught a glance in the mirror and barely knew who she saw. Making herself up each morning, when she no longer forced herself to wear ten pounds of eye makeup to distract from her body, led to a new fear: Was she fooling herself? Maybe she still needed every ounce of those cosmetics to be palatable to the eye.

  She tried to believe. Where Daphne had once rimmed her eyes in black and purple, topped with an unmovable veneer of rich topaz shadow, followed by applying three coats of mascara, she now drew a thin black line and scarcely brushed her lashes with one quick layer.

  If she broke into her sister’s closet upstairs and tried on one of Bianca’s dresses, how far would it gape in the back? Three inches? Twelve?

  She didn’t recognize her arms. Skin hung in an empty sack. She worked out every morning and night, but still the flesh wobbled. Sam reassured her it would tighten a bit with time. When she considered surgery aloud, Sam shouted, showing anger for the first time since her return.

  “I’m happy to have you home,” he’d said. “You. But this woman who’s broken into our home? Her I am not so thrilled with.”

  Nor was Daphne. Her temper had shortened, as had her attention. Ivy rolled her eyes at Daphne’s fullness of self-love when she caught her peeking in the mirror one time too many.

  Daphne gulped more ice water. Her mouth dried out constantly.

  To satisfy Gabe and Audrey, she grabbed a roll from the basket. Brioche, baked and sent over by Marisa and Lili, who were spending the holiday with Lili’s family.

  To satisfy Sam, she buttered it and took a bite.

  To satisfy her mother, she winked and set the rest aside.

  “Just enough to enjoy, yes?” Daphne pushed the bread plate farther away. “And you think I never listened.”

  “Honestly? I thought you never heard a word I said. So I repeated myself too often.”

  “We all thought you never listened, Mom.” Audrey grabbed the roll left on Daphne’s plate and put it on her own. “Here, let me help you out.”

  “Why are you being so rude to your mother?” Sunny sounded genuinely confused. And her mother defending her? Every family convention seemed shredded to confetti.

  After managing to escape from the lunatics running the mansion, why couldn’t Daphne hold it together for one Thanksgiving dinner? She missed Marisa and Lili, who recently brought the conversation back to themselves no matter the occasion, thrilled as they were with their new lives as the glam cover girls of LGBT Boston.

  She smiled, remembering their serious eyes as they related the honor. At first, being woozy from her trip back from Vermont, she thought they were being sarcastic. Who in their right minds would imagine her modest sister and earnest sister-in-law describing how proud they were of having their hotness honored on the cover of Vetoed magazine?

  Again. Confetti. Since coming home, only her father had provided real and practical help. Gordon called his lawyer the moment he saw that Daphne was safe. Within a day, Daphne, Alice, and Hania had their wallets, phones, and all other possessions in their hands. That same day, per the lawyer, Jeremiah shut down the program, and all the women returned home.

  “Mom, I appreciate Audrey’s honesty and help. This is a difficult time. Managing new habits is hard until they sink in. I’m just laying down the tracks.”

  “Can we talk about something other than Mom’s body and Mom’s eating habits?” Gabe asked. “In case anyone cares, I’m thinking of premed.”

  Daphne lifted her glass of water. “To dreams coming true.”

  “My dream or Dad’s?” Gabe raised his eyebrows as they clinked glasses.

  “The choice must always be yours,” Sam said. “No decisions need to be made today. I want you to make sure the person being pleased is you.”

  “Sometimes goals are closer than you think.” Daphne touched the wide red belt around her waist.

  A red belt.

  A black sheath.

  Wearing a dress without covering it with a matching piece from the Tentmaker.

  Daphne still seethed each time she remembered the punishing treatment meted out at the mansion. The idea of that movie being seen by people she knew, people she didn’t know, made her nauseous. But, nevertheless, secrets had been revealed. Staying thin required five things. That was all.

  1. Desire.

  Check.

  2. The money to afford decent food.

  Check.

  3. Time to cook.

  If she had time to cook fattening food, cooking thin and healthy meals was possible.

  4. Willpower.

  Daphne had discovered a well of that. Oh, sure, the pills helped. But she’d figure out how to do without them soon. The pills were only stepping-stones to new habits.

  5. Replacements for what food gave you.

  This dress taught her something she had never believed before: thinness could be savored with more satisfaction than brownies.

  Sunny again beamed across the table. How soft her mother’s face became when bathed with admiration and love.

  • • •

  A delicious frisson shuddered through Daphne as the green satin nightgown slithered over her hips.

  Tonight, seductress would be her role. Sam had urged her into romance so many times. But this bedtime, he’d be the one pursued.

  She smiled at hersel
f in the mirror. This full-length mirror, an art deco antique, a wedding present from Sam’s wildest aunt, this glass she’d avoided for too many years, finally pleased her.

  She’d bought the gown online at Bergdorf’s, her imagination transported by the photo of it. She dared order a medium, trying it on with trepidation when it arrived.

  That it fit, how it fit, electrified her. Seafoam fabric matched her eyes. A lacy sweetheart bodice held up her breasts to show a V of generous cleavage. Three-quarter sleeves bypassed her upper arms, the body of the gown flowed out and over her hips. Cut on some miracle bias, the satin turned her into a 1930s film goddess.

  Daphne fanned out her mane of red curls. Admired her pale skin and eyes bare of anything but the lightest dusting of gold shadow, the slightest rimming of bronze.

  Staring at this new woman became her foreplay.

  Sam opened the master bath and grinned. “You’re spectacular.” He swept her into his arms and ran both hands down her back until they rested below her waist. Then he bent her back and gave her a Hollywood kiss.

  When they came up for air, she twirled for him. “You like?”

  His smile lowered. “Always and never anything but.”

  “Oh, Sam. I can’t deny it. I love seeing myself this way.”

  “Anytime you feel happy, you sparkle.” He brought her into his arms and grazed her shoulder with his lips.

  “But I do look wonderful, right? Better?” She pulled away from his embrace.

  “I told you how beautiful you look.”

  “But I want more. I want you to think I look remarkably better. Miraculously improved. That it was all worth it.”

  “You did this for you, not me. I was never unhappy with anything but your sadness.” He pressed his lips together—Sam’s sign for holding back.

  “What?” she asked. “What are you not saying?”

  “I don’t want you to be disappointed. And rest everything on this.” He gestured over her body. “You know how . . . severely they treated you. This might be hard to keep up. Let it settle to normalcy. And yes, you are lovely. But honey, you’re always lovely to me.”