Evelyn's Debut Into Society

Evelyn’s Debut Into Society


Evelyn spent the afternoon in the tub: filing her nails, plucking her eyebrows, shaving her legs, and deep-conditioning her hair. Finally it was time to get dressed. She paused somewhere between her bra and her panties to survey her body critically – a few stretch marks here and there, particularly around the swell of her breasts and hips; that dreadful appendectomy scar; and a moon-shaped scar on her knee from falling into the creek on a sixth grade field trip. Overall, the view pleased her. No one would ever guess she had ever been fat.

Evelyn glanced once again at the red taffeta gown lying on the bed. She had purchased the gown six months ago less on a whim than a lustful urge. At the time, she had barely been able to wriggle into the size 15 version of the dress and the clerk had looked first dumbfounded then skeptical when Evelyn insisted on buying the 9. “I will be a size 9. I will be a size 9.” She had chanted mantra-like on the drive home.

In retrospect, Evelyn had to admit the decision had been risky. She’d done Nutrisystem, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig; lived on all fruit, no red meat, low fat, low carbohydrates, popcorn; and counted calories at one time or another. Nothing had worked. She’d been a size 15 before, but she’d never gotten down to her goal weight, her goal dress size. There was no guarantee Dr. Martz’s system would get her there either. In his words, she hadn’t been “ready to let go of the fat.” It was her crutch.

Ha! She’d been ready and willing, if not able, to dump the fat as early as sixteen when Darryl Brummer had drawn a caricature of her in a bathing suit during civics class. She just hadn’t been able to control that “I’m fat and ugly and depressed so why not eat everything in the pantry” impulse.

Evelyn fingered the taffeta gown fondly and held it up against herself in front of the mirror. Dr. Martz had said, “visualize, plan for your future thin.” Evelyn had purchased the gown, her dream gown, and pictured herself in it on a date with a man who had never known her larger self.

She slipped the dress over her head, reveling in the crinkling sounds it made – its alternately soft and stiff texture. Zipping up the dress, she turned slowly. Carefully, she checked every angle, each detail before finally exhaling an audible sigh and smiling at herself in the mirror. Evelyn swung her hips saucily and flung her hair back, trying several glamorous poses. If only she had looked like this years ago. But it wasn’t the proper time for regrets. Until now she had been a butterfly trapped in a beastly cocoon. Now her life could begin.

Forty-five minutes later, when her date was 10 minutes late, Evelyn began to have flashbacks of the old days. She was being stood up. How could that happen to her new and improved self? What would she say when she saw Steve at work? Evelyn began to repeat her old mantra, “I will wear a size 9,” but it didn’t work as well now that she wore one. She tried taking some deep, cleansing breaths instead. At 7:15 Steve finally showed up, slightly greasy around the edges and complaining of a flat tire. She thought she’d never seen such a gorgeous man.

“My God,” he said, wiping some of the grease off an elbow, “you’re even more beautiful away from a computer terminal. And here I had worried it was only the CRT glow.” He grinned devilishly.

The new Evelyn commanded all of his attention, as the old one never could. On the way to the restaurant, he opened all of the doors for her, held her hand to and from the car. Walking into the restaurant, Evelyn could feel heads turn. She felt like Cinderella at the Ball. And she didn’t think it was just her imagination that most of the masculine eyes in the room were on her – if only for a second. At last at their table, Steve held the chair for her. His manners were impeccable.

Steve ordered a gin and tonic from the cocktail waitress and asked Evelyn what she would like to have.

“Just an iced tea, thanks,” she answered, a trifle regretfully. Alcohol was so fattening.

“What no alcohol?” Steve smiled. “So how am I going to get you drunk and seduce you?”

Evelyn giggled and waved her hand at him in response to the joke, but inwardly she thought – as if you’d need to use alcohol.

The waiter came. Evelyn asked Steve to order for her. She’d seen it done in movies and it seemed so debonair. Besides, the menu was in French and she couldn’t read a word.

Then Steve said, “You know, I don’t know a thing about you except that you’re Mr. Zayak’s secretary. Do you have any hobbies?”

Hobbies? Who had any time for hobbies? She’d been so busy chiseling away at herself, perfecting herself. Herself . . . “Well, I try to keep in shape.” She answered tentatively.

“Yes?” Steve leaned towards her eagerly. “What do you do? Swim? Tennis? Racquetball?”

Evelyn shook her head at each suggestion.

“Surely you don’t do aerobics? I don’t know how women can stand that. I’m sure it would bore me.”

“No.” Evelyn answered. “Not aerobics.”

“Then what?” Steve asked, nonchalantly buttering a piece of bread.

“Well . . “ Evelyn said. “I’ve been on quite a few diets.” Lots of people go on diets, she thought. It didn’t immediately brand her as a former fatty.

“Diets? You? Diets? Say, you’re not one of those anorexics or bulimics are you? I’m not going to have to monitor your eating habits from now on, am I?” Steve smiled gently and offered a slice of bread to her.

From now on. He liked her. Evelyn felt so warm and touched by his concern, she thought it would be all right to confide her former problems to him. After all, they were former problems and she was now the new and improved Evelyn.

She laughed and pushed the bread back towards Steve. “No, nothing like that. You haven’t been there very long and I guess no one at work has told you – I used to be fat.”

“No. I can’t say that they have.” Steve took a bite out of the bread slice. “You’re probably over exaggerating a touch of baby fat left over from high school. I’ll bet you were still adorable.”

Inwardly Evelyn groaned. Obviously Steve had never had a weight problem in his life. How typical of a skinny person to distinguish between types of fat and make a lighter issue of so-called baby fat. Evelyn didn’t want to discuss that right now; she wasn’t sure she could ever approach it diplomatically. “No, it wasn’t ‘baby fat.’ It was very adult, very ugly fat. The old Evelyn was twice the size I am now. I literally lost half of myself in weight.”

“Really?” Steve said, leaning back in his seat slightly. “It’s difficult to imagine.”

“Well it’s true. I tried all of the diets, all of the diet systems. You can’t imagine living on an all fruit diet in January. But they’re all gimmicks. The bottom line is that you can’t depend on a mommy and daddy to parent you the rest of your life. You’ve got to be responsible for yourself. Even now I’ve got to be constantly watching, constantly keeping track. In fact, that’s why I ordered ice tea. Alcohol is extremely fattening.”

“Oh? . .. . Sorry . . .” Steve began buttering a second slice of bread.

“And bread? It’s bad enough by itself – about 210 calories. But you add butter and it’s a whopping 312 calories or more depending on how much you use.”

“So much for that.” Steve said, sliding his slice of bread away from himself.

“No, no.” Evelyn laughed. “That’s not what I meant. You’re skinny. You can afford more than a few buttered breads. In fact, you’ve probably always been skinny and that’s why you just can’t imagine what it’s like to be fat.”

“Well, you’ve got me. I have to admit I’ve never really thought about it.”

“An over . . . . a fat person can’t eat that slice of bread or worse yet a cookie or a piece of cake or pie without thinking that everyone in the room is thinking, ‘You shouldn’t be eating that. No wonder you’re so fat.’ Some skinny people, the supposedly-well-meaning or the oh-so-superior, actually come over to your table and tell you, ‘You shouldn’t be eating that.’” Evelyn banged her fist on the table. “That made me so mad.”

“Look.” Steve said, covering Evelyn’s fist with his hand gently. “Even if you were once overweight, you’re certainly not now. In fact, you’re positively skinny and you’re one of the prettiest women I’ve ever dated. I’m sorry about the troubles you’ve had, but why fret about them now?”

Before Evelyn could answer, the waiter arrived with their food, two orders of poached salmon.

“Oh dear,” Evelyn said, “Salmon and . . .”

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. You don’t like salmon, do you? Or – let me guess – you’re allergic.”

“No, no. I should be so lucky. I love salmon. . . . and asparagus and hollandaise sauce. They just have so many calories.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve said. “You said the old Evelyn had a weight problem. From the looks of the new Evelyn, she can afford to take a little dip into the pool without being afraid of drowning.”

But that was exactly what Evelyn felt she would do. One bite of that salmon and she would drown in a never-ending splurge of binge eating. She settled for scraping off the hollandaise.

Steve watched her scrape away the sauce, but said nothing.

The rest of the meal was quiet but for the discordant song of clanging utensils. Steve no longer asked what she did away from the office. Evelyn picked at her dinner, obviously enjoying the food, but nitpicky about how much she should eat. When Steve added salt to his asparagus, she advised him about the evils of salt and water retention.

After she had finished her dinner, Evelyn excused herself to go to the ladies room. She felt depressed and discouraged. It had started out promising enough, but her date was a flop. She was a flop, a fiasco. Steve had said next to nothing during dinner. He must be disgusted with her because she had been fat. It just wasn’t fair! She’d lost the weight; must it continue to frame people’s opinions of her? Evelyn was nearly in tears when she entered the women’s lounge. Unfortunately, the room was not empty, as she had hoped. Evelyn sat two or three chairs away from the room’s other occupant and began surveying her own make-up. It really didn’t need much repair. Evelyn just needed to stall for time; she wasn’t ready to go back to that table. Why was your body so important? She had a rather pretty face. Didn’t men think of anything besides sex? What about a woman’s mind? Sinking deeper and deeper into a gloomy state, Evelyn barely heard the other woman’s voice say, “That’s a lovely dress.”

“Thank you.” Evelyn answered automatically. She looked at the woman who had voiced the compliment, really seeing her for the first time. The woman’s face was strikingly beautiful. She had magnificent large green eyes, brilliant auburn red hair, and few, if any freckles spotting her cheeks or nose. She was dressed tastefully in a green cotton blouse and skirt, with Danskin tights and a plaid mohair blend cocoon jacket of complimentary greens and burgundys. The outfit had been skillfully chosen; she looked like a model from one of those “dress down your weight” ads. As Evelyn had been, the woman was easily twice the weight she should be.

“I’ve always wished I could wear a dress like that.” The woman remarked wistfully. “But even if I could, it certainly wouldn’t look like that.” Her chin drooped onto her chest.

“Oh, but you can. If I can, you can.” Evelyn said.

“Well thanks for the vote of confidence.” The woman said, picking up her purse and rising to go. “But you’re skinny and I’m fat and no . . . . I can’t.”

“Wait! Listen. . . . my name’s Evelyn. Please don’t go. I mean . . unless you really need to get back to your table right now?”

The woman sighed. “No. I don’t have to hurry right back. I’m being stood up and I just couldn’t sit at that table alone any longer.”

“But you weren’t ready to go home yet?” Evelyn said softly.

The woman nodded. “You do understand.” She sat back down. “My name’s Anne.”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve been stood up – more than once. And I haven’t always looked like this. I used to weigh twice as much as this.”

“But . . . you can’t tell . . . not at all. You look great. Fantastic. What was it? Some sort of plastic surgery, I’ll bet.”

“Lemme tell you, that was probably what I would’ve tried next.” Evelyn sighed. “I’d tried everything else.”

“Ohhh. I don’t think I could ever go that far. Sometimes I think I was meant to be fat – just like some people are meant to be tall, or black, or white . . . or skinny. Besides some men do find women my size attractive. I just haven’t met one yet.” She dug at one of her cuticles with her thumbnail.

“Well, I’ve never met one either.” Evelyn shook her head. “Besides wouldn’t you rather have your pick of the litter rather than just wait for someone who’ll find you attractive? And all that rot about being meant to be fat – do you really think that God is somewhere up there with a scorecard keeping track of how many tall/short, black/white, or fat/skinny people there are? She waved her hands like scales weighing each comparison. “I’ll tell you what God is doing. God helps those who help themselves. God gave us the power to be who we want and beyond that he doesn’t get involved. If you want to be skinny, you’ve got to work at it yourself.”

Anne, her arms folded tightly against her body, quietly said, “I guess you’re right. So, what worked for you?”

“I went to a doctor and he put me on a medical diet combined with a creative visualization program.” As she pulled Dr. Martz’s card out of her wallet, Evelyn noticed her watch. She’d been gone from the table more than 15 minutes.

“Omigosh! I’ve got to get back. Steve’s gonna think I’ve jumped ship. I can’t promise that it won’t be hard work Anne, but it’s really worth it. And it’ll all be easier when you can picture yourself actually wearing this dress or one like it.” Evelyn wrote her phone number on the back of Dr. Martz’s card and gave it to Anne. “If you need to talk to someone, give me a call. The buddy system works real well too.”

Back at her table, the dinner dishes had been removed. Steve had ordered a cup of coffee and was reading the back of a coffee creamer package.

“Sorry I took so long.” Evelyn said, as she sat down.

“Oh, that’s okay.” Steve answered. “ They do call it a Women’s Lounge. I’ve always wondered what women actually do in there. I’ve heard rumors about day-beds and wet-bars?”

“Gender secret, Steve. My lips are sealed.” Evelyn smiled. “ So, what are you doing? Counting preservatives?”

Steve looked sheepishly at her as he tossed the package on the table. “It’s a habit I’ve never been able to break. Whenever I’m eating alone I always start reading any written material in sight.”

“I’ve done that. Eating alone can be hard.”

“Yeah, especially in a restaurant. I get bored and I don’t know where to focus my attention. Then usually I realize that I’ve been staring at someone or a whole table of someones.”

“Or someone’s been staring at you . . . “ Evelyn added.

“Well, yeah. So I usually just find something to read.”

The waiter arrived then with the dessert cart – chocolate mousse, New York cheesecake, mocha mousse pie, ice cream covered with Bailey’s Irish Cream liqueur, pecan pie . . .

“Look at that cheesecake. Doesn’t it look good?” Evelyn said. “But . . . I better not.”

“Why not?” Steve said. “You’ve been good all dinner. Splurge a little.”

Yeah right, Evelyn thought, hasn’t he said that once before this evening? A great influence he is. What else does he do – offer to buy alcoholics a drink? Then again, he was right. She had shown remarkable control throughout dinner. Perhaps she could afford to treat herself a little.

“I don’t know,” she said and began to mentally count the calories – only about 90 for breakfast and about 200 for lunch, the salmon was about 230. She took her calculator out of her purse.

“Wait a minute,” Steve said. “It’s my treat, remember? You’re on a date and we’re not going dutch.”

“No, no.” Evelyn laughed. “I’m counting up calories, not the bill. Although you can borrow it if you want to check the addition on the final bill.” She winked at the waiter.
“Let me see, I start with 290 then add 230 for the salmon and 100 for the asparagus and hollandaise sauce.”

“But you barely ate any of the hollandaise sauce.” Steve protested.

“I ate enough. But you know, I think it will be all right. I’ll have the New York cheesecake, please.” She put the calculator back into her purse.

“And you, sir?” The waiter asked.

“Just refill my coffee, please.”

Silence began to settle in at the table again. Evelyn decided to take the initiative this time.

“So what do you do away from the office, Steve?”

“Oh, I keep busy, I guess. I play a lot of racquetball and tennis. During the winter, I rent a condo up a Tahoe and ski just about every other weekend and last summer I passed my scuba diving certification test.”

“I don’t think I could ever go scuba diving. I’ve never been a very good swimmer.” Truthfully, Evelyn had never liked being seen in a swimsuit. Her teenage summers had been passed more at darkened movie theaters than sunny beaches or pools.

“It’s really very safe, actually.” Steve said. “Besides we use the buddy system in case there is any trouble.”

“Your cheesecake, mademoiselle.”

The cheesecake in front of her was a slightly brownish, cream color and was just as thick and velvety as it had been on the dessert cart. The graham cracker crust crumbled slightly as she brushed it with her fork.

“That’s funny.” Evelyn frowned.

“What? Is there something wrong with the cheesecake?” Steve dumped a package of creamer into his coffee.

“No, no. It’s wonderful. I was just thinking about the buddy system. I was just talking about it with someone else.” She took a bite of cheesecake. It was creamy and rich with a sour-sweetish taste. Evelyn smoothed it sensuously over her tongue, coating her taste buds. The buddy system . . . the buddy system. Where had she just heard that? She was pretty sure she had said the words to . . . . to Anne? Evelyn realized that her eyes had been shut as they flew abruptly open. Anne. Anne, who had weighed easily over 200 pounds. Anne, who looked so much like Evelyn once had. The residue of cheesecake felt heavy in her mouth.

Anne, who had hidden in the bathroom because everyone was watching her be stood up. Evelyn had suffered through nights like that. And she’d gone home, propped her head on her hands, and eaten cheesecake. Her consolation prize in the privacy of her own home.

She coughed suddenly, unable to prevent a sudden gagging in her throat.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. He leaned forward in concern.

“Yes . . . . I . . . “ She rose to her feet and pushed the cheesecake away from her to the side of the table. “You can tell the waiter that I can’t eat anymore.”

Steve’s lips tightened into a thin line.

“It’s too rich for me nowadays, I guess.” Evelyn attempted a small, sheepish grin. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the Ladies Room.”

“Sure.” Steve’s manners kicked in again and he rose to his feet as she hurried away.

In the restroom, Evelyn realized that her breath had accelerated to near-hyperventilation. She tried to take a deep, cleansing breath, but the cheesecake still permeated her breath and she began to gag again. Evelyn wished that she had written Anne’s phone number down. She realized there was little else to do but step into a stall and let her body follow its instincts.

When Evelyn finally stepped out from the stall and went to a sink to freshen up, a woman dressed in the restaurant’s uniform asked her if she was all right. “Was there something wrong with your meal, m’am?”

“No, everything was fine, wonderful. I think it’s just a touch of the flu.” Evelyn lied.

“Well the gentleman asked me to check on you. He was a little concerned. I’ll go and tell him you’re all right.”

“Yes, please. Tell him I’ll be out in just a moment. I want to freshen my make-up.”

Evelyn walked slowly, timidly back to the table. She hoped no one had noticed her mad dash to the restroom. And what must Steve think?

“I understand that you’re not feeling well.” He said, rising as she approached the table. “I’d better get you home. Let’s go I’ve paid the bill already.”

“But . . . “ Evelyn wanted to say it was still early, that she’d been having a good time, that she didn’t want the evening to end on a bad note, that she wanted to see more of him . . . “Well, maybe you’re right. I suppose I’d better go home.”

On the drive home, Steve played the radio – an oldies station with old, romantic music. She subtly leaned as much of her body in his direction as she could in bucket seats.

Back at her house, Steve walked her to her door and waited while she unlocked it.

“Would you like to come in?” Please say yes, please say yes, her mind tried to will him.

“No, I’d better not. You’re not feeling well . . . “

“But . . . “ She tried to interrupt.

“And I’ve really got an early day tomorrow.”

“Well thanks for a lovely evening Steve. I really had a good time.” Evelyn stepped inside the doorway.

“Thank you too.” Steve said and he walked back to his car.

Evelyn shut the door slowly, watching Steve as long as she could. Once it was shut, she sighed and flopped down on the sofa. If only she had never mentioned that she was fat. If only she had just said no to the cheesecake. If only . . . well the evening could have been much better. But all in all, she thought he’d call again. He seemed to like her. Of course he would call. How could he resist the new and improved Evelyn?