“We both made it,” Audrey said. “We sent it to them and to everyone in the family while you were at that place.”
Daphne stared at her sister and Lili in the still shot, exchanging rings, wreathed in smiles. At that moment, instead of enjoying the sight of her ridiculously happy sister and new sister-in-law, Daphne had been worrying about her upper arms, blocking joy with her jealousy of any woman who didn’t need to wear a jacket over her dress.
The screen turned golden. “Marissa & Lili’s Wedding” appeared in a modern font.
“One of Lili’s sisters played the piano for the soundtrack. We didn’t want to give a present with stolen music,” Gabe said. “We know how strict you and Dad are about those things.”
The DeCordova Museum materialized, bathed in soft yellowed light.
“You’re looking at an establishing shot. To anchor the viewer.”
Daphne smiled at the seriousness of Gabe’s tone.
A montage of both families swept by. A series of shots. Her mother and father smiling, with Gordon’s arm draped casually around Sunny’s shoulders. Pride on his face. Lili’s sisters tossing rose petals.
Gabe and Rosie laughing, heads thrown back, pleasure on their faces—perhaps at the sheer wonder of themselves, young and vital and beautiful.
“I took that.” Audrey grinned when she appeared on-screen. “You were right. That dress rocked.”
Bianca hugging Lili’s mother. The camera panning in on Bianca’s hands, sunscreen-pale as always, on Audrey’s glittered shoulders.
Shots of shined-up shoes made statements of joy. Her son possessed artistry.
Daphne pressed her nails into her palm. Waiting.
Her mother, head thrown back, laughing at something said by Lili’s brother.
Finally, the camera landed on her and Sam.
Daphne turning to smile at them, the camera catching magically flattering angles. Sam gazing at her. Her joy regarding her children showed.
How lovely she looked with her hair cascading. Oddly, the mauve suit contrasted well with her hair. Perhaps she’d been unkind to the saleswoman at Saks.
The video continued for twelve minutes, a memory of a wedding that held special significance for having two dazzling brides—one white, one black—the family pictures notable for the changes from the early depictions to last toasts. In the beginning, there was Lili’s family on one side, Marissa’s on the other. Like an image from West Side Story. By the end, they made a mosaic.
They included no shots of her that were less than as flattering as possible.
She thought of how much work her son and daughter must have put into that and then thought with shame about how little she appreciated her life.
CHAPTER 26
* * *
ALICE
Alice parked on Daphne’s street. Houses from the sublime to the ordinary lined the Chestnut Hill neighborhood—what you paid for the same residence inside the city limits of Boston doubled here, where location provided entry to top-rated schools.
Gray clapboard shingles and a wraparound porch made up the public face of Daphne’s house. Remnants of gone-by flower gardens sprawled everywhere.
Alice entered a hallway jumble of coats, boots, and abandoned backpacks—the overflow of life that only the casual or secure allowed to be on view. Family photos and framed children’s pictures hung in the entrance. In the dining room, intricate white sculptures lined white shelves.
The kitchen, visible through an open door, revealed white wood cabinets against blue tiles, a crisper room than Alice had envisioned for where Daphne cooked.
Coffee cups and platters of crudités sat untouched on the dining room table. The display turned her stomach. Since Waisted, Alice’s aversion to raw vegetables marched up the ladder of antipathy to the rung of abhorrence. She begged her mother for soup recipes.
“I was going to put out sliced hard-boiled eggs, but . . .” Daphne laughed as she entered the room with a plate stacked with what looked to be crackers. Alice prayed yes and no, striating her wishes in a crazy quilt of hope.
“What are those?” Hania appeared caught in the same conundrum as Alice.
“Baked gouda crisps. Not low-fat. Or low-cal. But low-carb. And tasty without the impossible-to-stop-eating-ness of crackers.”
“Hard to make?” Hania asked.
Alice reached for one. “How many calories?”
“Not that I’d bake them,” Hania said. “Cooking only makes me eat more. But my mother would make them for me.” She grabbed three, her fingernails a ghastly and yet engaging emerald.
“I might try making them. If they’re like ten calories each.” Alice figured one would be safe if followed by three broccoli florets.
“They’re from Whole Foods. Not good enough to want a ton, not bad enough to feel like a punishment.” Daphne grabbed a handful.
“Apt description of how effing wretched our aspirations have become.” Alice considered the display.
“Meet my kids,” Daphne said, cocking her head toward her children.
“Yikes. Sorry for swearing.” More relativity struck Alice: having a five-year-old, Daphne’s children might as well be full-fledged adults. Embarrassed by her language and candor, she switched topics. “How in the world did you two make a draft of the movie so fast?”
In different ways, Audrey and Gabe both resembled Daphne. Audrey had the same flawless skin and overly broad shoulders, and tilted her head wearing the same curious expression. Gabe’s eyes were Daphne’s bluish-green, though his dark lashes matched his father’s almost black hair—as did his serious mien.
“We’re on school break and figured this as our Chanukah gift.” Gabe glanced at Daphne. “Apologies that you’re missing having your present be a surprise, Mom.”
“What a present.” Hania hugged them both.
“You better wait until you see it before thanking us.” Gabe tipped his head, seeming a bit self-conscious. Perhaps it was the roomful of women or Hania’s beauty. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them higher up on his nose with the air of someone who did this hourly, and then turned to his sister. “Let’s set up. You guys can come in when you’re ready.”
When they left, Alice nodded in approval. “Great kids. And a fantastic house. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have it all. Wait a minute—I met your husband. You do have it all.” She smiled as though kidding.
“I know,” Daphne said. “Recently all I’ve been doing is working at kick-starting myself into gratitude and studying why I act like such a whiny victim.”
Hania reached over and took Daphne’s hand. “Look at your kids. You must be a wonderful mom.”
“I don’t want pity. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me.” Daphne picked up the trays.
“Sorry,” Alice said. “Sometimes jealousy flies out from my mouth.”
“Each of us has something the other wants. That’s always the way. I’ll take your mother, for instance.”
“She’s not for sale. But my mother would love to meet you.” That was true. Bebe loved nothing more than meeting anyone in Alice’s life.
In the family room, a three-sided arrangement of overstuffed couches faced a giant television screen. With the curtains pulled shut, dimness prevailed. Soft blue fabric and shades of ivory provided calm. Bookcases invited browsing by appearing jumbled and well used. Family photos were interspersed among the volumes, along with a collection of antique pens and ink bottles.
“Put your feet up.” Daphne pointed to a large coffee table showing scuff marks. “This is a room designed for comfort.”
“Which, believe me, is the opposite of the living room,” Audrey said.
“Sorry, but your dad and I like having one room where we can bring guests without blindfolding them.”
“No worries,” Alice said. “No masks needed in there or here.”
Pride and money were stealth in Daphne’s home, but they showed nevertheless. Jealousy threatened to steal Alice’s appreciatio
n. Whereas Alice’s house demanded attention and straight spines, Daphne’s embraced her.
Gabe cleared his throat, perhaps anxious to show their work. “We used everything we got from Hania.”
“Wait till Mike sees it.” Her broad smile showed how completely calm she was. Not a trace of nervousness.
Hania had been the keeper of the stolen material—a cache she increased with data from Mike.
“He knew why you wanted it, right?” Alice worried about liability. And how soon Clancy would kill her.
Hania shrugged. “I told him we wanted to see everything. But either way, I don’t care. I might like him, but I love you guys.” Hania propped up her feet, showing off high-heeled boots.
“And he’s on our side. Otherwise, I’d dump him.”
Alice wondered what that level of ease could be like, until remembering where she met Hania, for goodness’ sake. Ghosts inside clawed them all—they merely wrapped them in different cloth.
“Sam doesn’t think Acrobat will go after us. He thinks they’ll simply pray that it will sink as a project made by crazy, angry women.” Daphne stuffed a pillow behind her. “How about Clancy?”
“He doesn’t know.” Alice stretched out her long legs, admiring her strong thighs wrapped in a pair of damn jeans. The view calmed her. “About the video.”
“What will happen when he finds out?” Hania asked.
“I guess he’ll find a way to punish me.”
“Punish you? How?” Daphne looked so unfamiliar with the concept that Alice wanted to call a divorce lawyer, now, before Clancy saw the video. She wanted to be as surprised by cruelty as Daphne.
“Ready?” Gabe tapped a few keys on the computer. A foggy image floated on the screen, clearing as a voice-over began.
“These seven women never knew how far they’d go, how damaged they’d been by family, by friends, by magazines, television, and every other form of media. Not until they came up against a film crew in a mansion in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont.”
The image sharpened until Alice saw that it was an image . . . of her from behind . . . with Coleen riding her back. The racialized misogyny hit like a gunshot.
“This picture was taken the first day, when they met the crew—who’d lied to get these women to the mansion and then tortured them to get their message on camera.”
The shots went into a montage of views from the gym, where the women struggled with a variety of old equipment.
“This is all stolen video footage, taken by the three women who escaped the Waisted mansion, fearful for their lives. Their trainer almost forcibly fed them pills, a few of which they smuggled out for a chemical assay. They turned out to be Dexedrine. Amphetamines.”
The narration stopped. Muddy original taped sounds began with Jeremiah’s voice.
“Face it, ladies: you look like shit. And you’re here for that very reason. No amount of willpower has worked for you, right? Seeing how disgusting you are hasn’t had an impact.”
Jeremiah approached Susannah, grabbed one of her hips, and waggled the fat back and forth.
“How do you get through even one day carrying that around?”
The camera zoomed in on Susannah’s stricken face, eyes blinking as though willing away tears.
“She gave us permission to include this footage,” Hania reassured and reminded them.
They’d worked overtime during the past two weeks, dividing tasks and feeding information straight to Gabe and Audrey. Daphne and Alice contacted the Waisted cast, swore them to secrecy about their plans, and then shared everything. Hania acted as the go-between with Mike and Gabe and helped with technical jobs. Alice wrote narrative voice-overs. Hania and Audrey interviewed the women.
“Who’s narrating now?” One of the voices tickled her memory, but Alice couldn’t pin it down.
Gabe paused the video. “My aunt Marissa and aunt Lili. They sound solemn, right?”
That was the familiarity. Alice had met Marissa at the hospital. She had driven up with Sam.
Alice studied Susannah’s image. “Did anyone say no to showing their faces?”
“Everyone said yes,” Daphne said.
“Everyone?”
“Yes, everyone. Listen to what they say,” Daphne said.
“We fit an unbelievable amount into twenty-seven minutes,” Gabe said.
“Twenty-seven minutes?” Alice repeated.
Hit hard and fast. Clancy always said longer didn’t mean better. Sometimes you don’t need a feature film, just a video punch.
“We should trim it.”
“We should get it out right away. It’s not like we expect to win prizes,” Hania said. “No offense, Gabe, Audrey. So far this is incredible. But we need it out before Acrobat gets organized. Mike thinks that any day they’re gonna go lawsuit. Not because they’re genuinely considering a battle, but because they want to tie our hands.”
“If you want, we can have this ready to release tomorrow,” Gabe said.
“We can do it tonight if we keep going.” Audrey reached over to the laptop.
The three women stiffened as the video continued, seeming as nervous about how fat they appeared as they were at the prospect of being sued. Alice imagined Clancy’s reaction to having his coterie of filmmakers watching twenty-seven minutes of them embarrassing Acrobat and, he believed, Prior Productions. And him.
“Why didn’t you leave immediately?”
This voice was new. Alice thought it must be Lili, who sounded like silk and iron. Seung answered.
“The first thing they did, after that horrible first humiliation in the grand entrance, was remove everything we had. They took our clothes and then gave us these hideous clinging jumpsuits designed to make us feel foolish and ugly.”
The shot went to all seven women lined up in the gym before a pound was lost, flab and fat stretching the semi-sheer fabric to its limit across hips in some, stomachs in others.
Her own image sickened Alice. She tried to pull up love for fat Alice, with her vast rolls of belly fat. The chins. The woman Clancy had pulled away from in bed, but now desired as he had during their initial heat.
What did it mean that Alice had wanted her husband with such a burning intensity before and now scarcely cared about the bedroom? Why was life seven thousand layers of fog and conundrums to figure out before clarity came? Each time Libby said how beautiful Alice looked—“like a queen!”—she died a little inside, wondering what she had taught her little girl in the past months.
“Then it got cruel,” Seung continued. “They broke us down.”
The movie shifted back to the gym. The screen showed the women being forced to strip and then stepping up to be weighed. Video magic had been applied to display the horror while masking identities.
A disembodied and obviously disguised voice spoke as the camera lingered on the disguised women’s most sensitive spots. Susannah’s massive thighs. Jennifer’s pendulous stomach.
“The naked weigh-in showed us how far they’d let us pile up the humiliation,” the robotic voice intoned.
“Surprise! That’s an altered Mike.” Hania swept out her arms in a gesture of “Ta-da!”
“Isn’t he scared they’ll fire him?” Alice asked.
“He’s so done with them that he doesn’t care. And he says they’re not gonna advertise any of this. Not with the tactics they used.”
“Things were set up for no other reason than to see what these women would do in their lust to meet the wants of the world.”
“Wow. I can’t believe we have this,” Alice said.
Hania kicked off her shoes and pulled her knees up to her chin.
Mike’s narration continued: “Every night Jeremiah would have a beer and shake his head. ‘These stupid women,’ he’d say. ‘Is there nothing they won’t do to lose weight? I’m afraid to know how far we can push them. What the hell won’t they do?’ ”
“What did you think? You were working there,” Marissa’s voice asked, though Alice figured
it had been Hania asking the questions. The magic of cutting rooms.
“I thought I’d never get clean again. Jeremiah always thought he was the cleverest guy in the room.”
Scenes of the women eating flashed. Now thinner, haggard. Shredding lettuce to tiny bits. Drinking water with shaky hands as Valentina handed out pills. Coleen stood over her group with a stopwatch, not letting them eat more than five minutes.
At one point Coleen poured hot sauce over every morsel of breakfast.
“What would have happened if one of the women said, ‘I want to leave’?” Lili asked.
“That did happen. With Lauretta. The softest-spoken of all, but she came crying to him. First, she tried Coleen, who laughed at her. And then Jeremiah did his thing.”
Lauretta appeared in front of a gym mirror, being forced to stare at herself in a bra and underwear. Nobody but Jeremiah, Lauretta, and, presumably, Mike, were in the room.
“Do you see this, Lauretta?”
The giant man held out one of her arms. He grabbed hold of her underarm skin and flapped it. “You look like an ancient crone.”
Next, Jeremiah took hold of a hunk of her still-swollen stomach. “Is this blob what you want to take home?” he sneered. “This piece of failure hanging for the world to see? You think you can hide it? How? With a gigantic, cutesy sweater? A huge sweatshirt you have to buy God knows where?”
Then he stood behind her and lifted her chin. “Such a pretty face, right? Who the hell do you think is going to date your face? Were you happy back there in the world? Were you?”
Lauretta sobbed, flinching, trying to get away from Jeremiah’s meaty paws.
“You’ll never be happy while you’re a fat pig. Not one day. The only thing people see is an ugly, overweight woman.”
He released her and drew back.
“We’re your only hope. But if you wanna go, go.”
CHAPTER 27
* * *
ALICE
Alice let her coat swing unbuttoned. A December thaw had crept in that morning.
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