“I’ve got to make some calls, and then I’ve got to meet the publicist,” says Simon, as they follow the bellboy up in the elevator. “How about we meet a bit later on?”
“Let’s speak,” says Ben, looking at his watch. “I’m not sure I’m up for a night out tonight, I can feel a serious bout of jet lag coming on.”
“Okay,” agrees Simon, who’s not feeling so hot himself. “If you bail out on me tonight then tomorrow, after we’ve done the interview, we have to do some heavy drinking.”
“You’re on,” says Ben with a grin.
“Good.”
Ben is tired, but he’s also excited, and he hasn’t got any calls to make, any people to meet, and after half an hour of flicking through hundreds of television stations, he decides to go for a walk.
He has no idea where he’s going, but he doesn’t care. Just the fact that he’s able to walk around in nothing more than a pair of jeans and a T-shirt is enough, the fact that within minutes of leaving the hotel he passes three of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen is enough, the fact that he’s actually here, in Los Angeles, is enough.
Ben doesn’t know about jaywalking. He doesn’t know that in California, should you be stupid enough to cross at the lights before the sign changes to a green pedestrian, you can be fined. So here he is, standing at the street corner with a crowd of people, wondering why no one’s crossing the empty road. He strides across as a black convertible Porsche screeches past him, missing him by centimeters, and as the car roars off the driver, an impossibly handsome blond man, screams, “Asshole!” Ben stands for a few seconds, shaking, as a young man with long hair and baggy clothes walks up to him.
“Don’t cross until it says so, man,” he drawls, walking off.
“Oh,” says Ben, recovering his composure. “Thanks.”
I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know whether to be horrified or whether to be fascinated, whether to laugh with relief because it wasn’t my imagination that something was very wrong, I wasn’t mad, or whether to throw up.
Everything seems to be standing still. The only thing I’m aware of at this very moment in time is the pile of photographs and magazines in front of me. I feel as if I’m in a daze, but somehow I can’t stop myself from looking, it’s as if I need to see this because if I don’t look at everything it may not be real.
I reach across and pull over one of the many magazines from the pile. “Big and Bouncy!” it proclaims on the cover, a lurid headline over a picture of a woman who’s not so much a woman, more a mountain of flesh. She’s completely naked, grinning into the camera and spreading her legs, presumably to help the viewer see what they would otherwise miss due to the rolls of skin, the acres of fat that would otherwise completely obliterate her genitalia.
Jesus Christ. Who buys these things? What are they doing here? In Brad’s apartment.
I turn the first page and read the note from the editor, addressed to those men who like larger ladies. I turn every page, and you know what I can’t believe? I can’t believe that someone like Brad could get turned on by these enormous women, so what the hell are they doing in his apartment?
The horrified part of me doesn’t want to look, wants to run crying into her mother’s skirt and hope the big, bad, nasty world will go away, but that other part of me, the fascinated part, can’t stop turning the pages because these women are me. They’re what I used to be, except I never knew what I looked like then because I never dared look in the mirror properly. I used to pretend that if I couldn’t see the fat then no one else could either.
Except looking closely I can see that these women aren’t really me. They have pouting, glossy smiles, they lick their lips seductively as they look into the camera, they seem proud of their size, their bulk, their excess weight, but they shouldn’t be proud. Or should they?
Am I going mad? Is it possible that men would have found me attractive then, despite being hugely overweight? I love the attention I get now that I’m slim and blond, but has my life changed all that much? Yes, I feel better, more confident, but I’m still the same person inside, and if I’m being really honest with myself I wouldn’t say I’m that much happier now, and all the insecurities I had when I was fat are still there, they haven’t gone away, even though that sounds ridiculous.
The weird thing is that people judge me by my looks as much as they did before, only now they just come up with a completely different conclusion, and yes, I have a boyfriend, but my life certainly isn’t the fairy tale I thought it would be. Most of the time, even though I’m in Los Angeles, with Brad, most of the time, I suddenly realize, I’m desperately lonely. Far, far lonelier than I ever was back home in Kilburn.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I really haven’t felt myself since arriving in Los Angeles. I feel almost as if I’m playing a role, that I’ve become so immersed in being Brad’s girlfriend I’ve forgotten who I really am. In fact, it’s not even since I arrived in LA. If I’m totally honest about it, I haven’t felt myself since I lost weight and I never understood before how much I used the excess weight to protect myself.
I finish reading the magazines and then I pick up the stack of photographs, and slowly, methodically, I go through them. Each of them features a huge woman, and, just as I think I’ve had enough shocks to last a lifetime, I see the one thing that suddenly explains everything, and I can’t help it. Clichéd as it sounds, I cover my mouth with my hand and gasp.
Because there, in all her naked glory, is Jenny. Jenny, lying on Brad’s bed, smiling seductively into the camera. On the bed where Brad and I make love so often. Lying there as if it’s hers. No wonder. No wonder she hates me. And everything becomes horribly clear.
And as everything starts falling into place, I’m left with one overwhelming thought. What the hell is Brad doing with me? Why did he tell me he loved me? Why does he want me to stay? Why me?
I sort of feel as if the connections are there, in my mind, they’re just not quite fitting together. But I don’t have to think about this for very long, because suddenly the bedroom door opens, and Brad’s standing in the doorway.
I know it’s him, I don’t even bother looking up, I don’t need to, and I wait for him to say something but he doesn’t, all I can hear is the sound of his heavy breathing. He’s out of breath, he’s been running, he’s rushed to get here, and eventually, after this long silence, I do turn to look at him except I don’t look him in the eyes, I just look at the trickles of sweat which are just beginning to slide down his forehead.
“They’re not mine,” is the first thing he says. I don’t say anything, I just start shaking. It’s almost like a freeze-frame in a film, nobody moves, and finally I find my voice.
“I suppose you’re looking after them for a friend.”
“It’s a long story,” he says. “But they’re not mine.”
“Brad,” I say quietly. “I’m not stupid.”
Brad runs his fingers through his hair and sits down on the bed, head in his hands, and all I can think is that he looks guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
“Perhaps you ought to tell me what this is all about,” I say, only my voice doesn’t sound like mine, it’s far too collected, far too calm, and this situation doesn’t feel like my own, it feels like an out-of-body experience, like something I’m watching in a cinema.
Brad’s silent for a long time, and I don’t bother pushing him. I just sit and wait, still flicking through the magazines, as if I’m in a dream.
“I don’t know what to say,” he says.
“Okay.” My voice is as cold as ice. “I’ll help you. Am I right in assuming these pictures are yours?”
Brad nods.
“So presumably you have them because you find these women attractive.”
Brad shrugs.
“Do you?”
He shrugs again.
“Do you?”
“I guess.”
“So now would you like to explain this?” I pull out the pi
cture of Jenny and put it in front of Brad, who groans and drops his head in his hands, like I did before, like that child, like everything will disappear if he closes his eyes, that if he can’t see me or the incriminating evidence, perhaps I won’t be able to see him either. I know how he feels.
“At least I understand why she hates me,” I continue. “No wonder she bloody well felt threatened, she couldn’t pose for your sick porn collection while I was here, could she.”
“It’s not like that,” says a voice from the doorway. Jesus Christ. It’s not my day. There, in the doorway, is Jenny. Brad groans again and covers his eyes.
“Oh really,” I say. “Seeing as Brad seems to have lost the power of speech, perhaps you’d better tell me what it is like.”
“I’m sorry, Brad,” says Jenny, walking over to stand next to him and putting her hand on his shoulder. “I came over because I knew something was wrong when you ran out of the office. Are you okay?”
“Is he okay?” This is unbelievable. “Excuse me? Hello? Never mind about him, for Christ’s sake. I want you to tell me what these are.”
Jenny gives a cursory glance at the pictures. “Okay,” she says to me, not even having the decency to show the slightest hint of embarrassment. “You really want to know what’s going on?”
“Yes.” Although suddenly I’m not so sure.
Jenny looks at Brad. “I’m going to tell her,” she says, but Brad doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even bother looking up, he just carries on sitting there with his head in his hands.
“Brad and I were at high school together—”
“You what?” I say. “I don’t believe this.”
“Well believe it,” says Jenny. “We weren’t together,” she pauses. “Then.” She shrugs. “I looked pretty much the same as I do now. I was the overweight kid that everyone laughed at. Sure, I had my friends, the social misfits, the geeks, the nerds that no one else wanted to know.” Her voice softens as she looks at Brad.
“Brad was the high school hero. He was the golden boy, the star of the football team. He went out with the head cheerleader, and I fell in love with him the moment I saw him.
“He never noticed me, of course, not in that way, but I remember how he was always nice, he never made cruel comments about my size, or laughed and shouted Big Bird when I walked into the room. He used to tell the others to shut up, not to go on about my size, he’d tell them to leave me alone, which only made me love him more.
“It wasn’t until we left school that I understood why he stuck up for me. He’d long gone by then, left for college, while I stayed and took a secretarial job. There was a woman I worked with, Judy, whom I became very close to. She used to say I was just like her when she was a girl, and Judy certainly looked like me, we were the same size.
“We were at work one day when I mentioned what school I’d been to. ‘You must know my son,’ she said, and she pulled a picture of Brad out of her wallet. I remember staring at his photo in disbelief, and, although I admitted I knew him, I never told her how I felt about him.
“Even when I left that job I kept in touch with Judy, and she’d always tell me how he was getting on. I never really had boyfriends, I never felt that anyone would be interested in me, but I never let go of the dream that Brad and I would somehow, someday, be together.”
I’ve stopped looking at the pictures. I can’t take my eyes off Jenny, and I know I should hate her, she’s ruined my life, but I can’t hate her because sitting here listening to her voice I’m hearing the story of my life.
“Judy used to tell me about his girlfriends,” she continues. “But they never seemed to last, and then a few years ago she told me he was in LA, he’d started this gym, and he was looking for an assistant. I thought about it and thought about it, and I knew I had to come out here, I had to be with him.
“Even if nothing ever happened, I knew the only way I’d be happy was if I was near Brad, so I left my hometown and caught a Greyhound bus to Los Angeles.
“I didn’t think Brad would even remember who I was, but I went to the gym, and his mouth dropped open when he saw me”—a small smile plays on her face at the memory—“and I started working for him that day.
“Two months later we had an office party, and Brad drove me home. He came in, and that was that. We fell in love.”
Jenny pauses, and I stop her from continuing, I don’t think I want to hear any more, I don’t want to hear about them being in love. I just want to hear the answers to the questions that haven’t been answered, but it’s finally beginning to sink in, this whole sordid thing, and my voice comes out in a whisper. “So why am I here?”
Jenny’s voice hardens again. “You think it’s easy to look the way I do in a town like this?” she says. “You think I don’t know what people think of me, what people would think of Brad if they knew he and I were together?” You know, strange as it seems, I start to feel sorry for her. I start to understand, because, even though I haven’t been here long, already I know how superficial Los Angeles is, how people will only accept you if you’re beautiful. And slim.
“So that’s why you’re here,” Jenny sighs. “Because Brad needed a trophy girlfriend. He needed someone who’s blond and skinny.” The disdain in her voice hits me like a slap in the face. “He needed someone like you to prove that he’d made it.”
“But why do you put up with this?” I’m still whispering, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I can’t believe what I’ve just heard, or maybe because I can’t believe the pain this is causing. Not just for me, but for Brad. And Jenny.
“Because I love him,” says Jenny simply, as a tear starts rolling down her cheek. “I love him, and I know what this town is like, and I understand why he needs someone like you. I have to understand. I have no choice.”
“I’m sorry.” Brad’s words come out in a whisper and he looks up, up into Jenny’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Jenny.” He looks at me. “And I’m sorry, JJ. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant for you to find out.”
“What?” I really don’t believe this. “You thought you could spend the rest of your life with both of us?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I can’t believe I’m here,” I say, the words out before I can even think about them. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” I look up at the ceiling. “Why me?” I ask softly. “Why did this have to happen to me?” I look at Brad. “This is true isn’t it?” I say, because for a moment there I thought that maybe Jenny had made it all up, maybe she found a way of hurting me beyond belief, of winning the war. But I don’t really have to wait for an answer from Brad. I can see in his eyes that it’s true, and I can see from the way Jenny takes his hand and he doesn’t pull away that it’s true.
I stand up and walk to the wardrobe, ignoring them both, and, as I start pulling my clothes off the hangers and flinging them on the bed, I’m vaguely aware that Brad and Jenny leave the room. Brad and Jenny. Even the words, their names, make me feel sick.
But other than the sickness, there really isn’t any other feeling. No rage, no grief, not even much pain. Numbness. I just feel numb. I pull out my suitcase and start piling in clothes, throwing things on top of one another, not bothering to fold, or smooth, or press. Suddenly I have this overwhelming urge to get out of here. Fast.
Brad comes back into the bedroom. “Jenny’s gone,” he says softly.
“I’ll be gone too,” I say curtly. “As soon as I’ve packed I’ll be out of here.”
“You don’t have to go,” he says.
What? Did I just hear what I think I heard? “Are you completely out of your mind?”
“I mean, I do have a spare room. You can stay there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.” And even though I’m planning to phone Lauren as soon as possible, I don’t intend to share that with him. “Look,” I say to Brad. “I’d like to be on my own if
that’s okay.”
“Okay,” he says. “Will I see you again?”
“I very much doubt it.” And as I look at him I realize that actually this is the first time I’m really seeing him. Despite the pain, the deception, the lies, he is still the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. But looks mean nothing. So he’s good-looking. So what? And I suddenly see that that’s all Brad ever was to me. A handsome man. I fell for his looks, not for who he is.
And, most importantly, I fell for him because he wanted me. He was the first man to show any interest in me, and I was flattered, and I think, oh God why didn’t I realize this before, I think I felt I had to love him back.
Brad leaves and I pick up the phone to ring the airline.
“I’d like to change my flight to London,” I tell the reservation girl on the other end of the phone.
“Certainly, ma’am. Just tell me which flight it is and when you were thinking of flying.”
“LAX to London Heathrow. As soon as possible. Can you get me on the flight tonight?” I give her the flight number and hold my breath.
“I think that flight is full, ma’am. Can you hold the line while I just check my computer?”
I hold, and my foot taps the floor impatiently as I wait for what feels like hours for the woman to come back on the line. “I’m sorry, the flight is full, but we do have a seat on the flight tomorrow.”
“Thank God.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You do realize that will be full fare.”
“What?” She’s got it wrong, she must have got it wrong. “But I changed my flight a few weeks ago for $100 and I understood that that was the cost.”
“I’m afraid that the inventory is now full, we are unable to do that anymore.”
“So how much is full fare?”
“That will be $954 plus tax.”
I can’t have heard right. I clutch the phone and whisper, “What?”