I hear the click of an answering device. No, not a real person, after all. A machine. I walk back to the painting, unable to face the hope in Bobby Warren’s suddenly alert eyes.
“Hi. You’ve reached Julie. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back soon as I can.” The soft voice leaves no doubt as to its authenticity.
“What is it?” Bobby gets up from his chair. He and Lucas form a wall between the desk and me. “Did you get anything?”
I hand Lucas the phone. “I think you’d better listen to this, and then we’re going to have to call the police.”
NINETEEN
Tania Marie
Word of the day:Formidable:Alarming, frightening, fearsome
If she hadn’t gone to the Weight Watchers meeting, she would have eaten every chocolate chip in Santa Barbara that Friday night. She didn’t want to go, either, first, because she knew she’d taken another trip up old Pork Chop Hill. Second, because someone might recognize her, might take her photograph, might make her feel even fatter than she already was.
One thing she loved about this place was its lack of music. At Killer Body right now, “Personality” would have played countless times. Right about now, Faith Hill was probably belting out some sexy, lick-your-body song, and if she looked like Faith, she would, too.
As she waited in line to step onto the formidable scale, Tania Marie considered removing her straw hat; even straw, probably even her damned tattoo, weighed something. Everything weighed something. Besides, this was a support group. They shouldn’t give a rat’s ass who she was, and Mr. Warren shouldn’t give a flip, either. Who the hell cared how she lost weight? At least this program had worked better than the others, Killer Body included.
Finally she reached the scale. No pride here; kick off the shoes, take off the gold watch from Virginia. Dump it on the fake wood-grain table and smile at this slender woman before her.
“Hi, hon. How’d you do this week?”
Annie, her absolutely favorite group leader, a petite brunette, spoke in an exaggerated Brooklyn accent that made Tania Marie miss her dad. Annie was deceptively disarming, with her short, springy curls and a trim little form that no one could miss in her fitted, ankle-length dress about the same color as her indigo eyes.
“I didn’t do shit.” No need to worry about the kind of lecture she got from Princess Gabby. Annie understood.
“That’s okay, hon. I bet it’s not as bad as you think.”
Tania Marie stepped up onto the black step of judgment, then squeezed her eyes shut so that she wouldn’t see what Annie’s table monitor registered in its damning digits.
“You’re only up point-nine,” Annie whispered.
“Holy shit, a whole pound.”
“Not quite, hon. Don’t give the power to the pound you gained. Give the power to the twelve you lost.”
Twelve.Had she really lost twelve pounds, just by subjecting herself to these awful weigh-ins and trying to lay off the Milanos and the snacks Virginia sent? She wanted to grasp Annie by both hands, thank her repeatedly, but instead, she stepped down, into her shoes.
“Thanks,” she said. “I have to go.”
“You sure?” The friendly smile took on another dimension.
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s crazy, hon, but the people who stay for the meetings tend to lose more. We’ve done studies nationwide. It’s not just the plan, but the reinforcement.”
Tania Marie decided to stay for the meeting. “By the way,” she asked, once she had crammed the straw hat back on her head and was ready to leave. “What do you think of Killer Body?”
Annie scrunched up her face—thinking, judging, judging, thinking. “Guess you could call it the perfect program,” she said with exaggerated sarcasm. “With Killer Body, you can buy a life membership. With us, you have to earn one.”
And now she was home, in the sprawling Santa Barbara apartment that seemed to lose rather than contain her, that seemed too bright in the morning and too dark at night. Like now. This kitchen, specifically.
She had to do something in this monochromatic mess, had to look into the fridge and at Virginia’s labeled packages, for something, anything good. Just not that damned gorgonzola and raspberry salad dressing, though.
Tania Marie pulled open the stainless-steel door, trying to ignore the fridge and its labeled contents. Noisettes of lamb, whatever the hell that was, with mashed Yukon golds and roasted garlic. Vegetable strudel. Salmon inbeurre blanc.No.
She slammed the door shut, forced herself to think about what Annie had said at the meeting. “Sometimes in our lives, treading water is really doing well. Just hanging in there can be awesome.”
