Read Online Conversations With the Fat Girl by Liza Palmer - Free Book Online Page A

real boyfriend.
     
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    53
     
    As I stand with the toilet brush in one hand and Domenic's lyrics
    echoing in my head, the phone rings. ?Hello??I'm breathless as I answer.
    I can't believe the lyrics I just heard. ?Hey, girl. Where have you
    been??It's Olivia. I can hear clinks and laughter behind her. ?At
    work,?I say. ?Come meet us for a late dinner.? Olivia takes an audible,
    but genteel sip of her drink. ?Sure.?I look down at myself. I am wearing
    my ?favorite outfit,?still holding the brush. Cleaning up to go for
    drinks seems an impossible feat. ?Okay then, hurry up, and can you bring
    over that list we made when I was out there about a year ago. Remember?
    We wrote locations for my wedding on the back of that napkin from El
    Coyote. I put little hearts and stars around city hail. I want to show
    Adam how it came true.?She puts her hand over the receiver while she
    retells the story to Adam as I hold . . . panicking. I haven't seen that
    napkin in months. After we hang up, I pull out the shoe boxes of
    pictures from the day before. Thank God, there is the crumpled napkin
    among our old school photos. Olivia and I went out to dinner at El
    Coyote in Los Angeles the night she told me Adam proposed. That was the
    night she asked me to be her maid of honor. I must have kept the napkin
    as a token of the occasion. I take a shower and put on a pair of black
    pants and pull a white V-neck T-shirt from my hamper. I find myself
    bringing the shirt cautiously up to my nose to gauge the odor. It
    passes. I put it on. I pull on my long black sweater and convince myself
    it will be air-conditioned in the restaurant because I'm already hot
    from wearing too many clothes in the summertime heat. Olivia and Adam
    are at a table for two in the corner of the restaurant. I tell the
    hostess I am meeting friends and walk over
     
    60 54 Liza Palmer
     
    to the intimate table. Olivia is wearing an off-white peasant top with
    linen pants. She has on large gold hoop earrings, and her hair is in its
    usual mussed state of perfection. She has added a jeweled barrette
    (pink), which pulls a tiny portion back from her face. She has gotten
    even smaller since I've last seen her, putting her somewhere near a
    weight even Hollywood would consider thin. 1 smile more widely than I
    have in weeks. Just seeing her calms me and makes me feel at home. I
    feel the hostess's eyes on me as she looks around to see why no one has
    brought a chair for me. Olivia jumps up as I approach. I see Adam
    dabbing his chin and rising behind her. I imagine there is a golden glow
    around him this evening. She calls the hostess back and asks for a
    chair. Adam is wearing a pressed oxford cloth shirt and khaki dress
    pants. He is wearing woven leather loafers. The hostess brings me a tiny
    brittle looking wooden chair and sits it at the table. Olivia hugs me
    and asks if I found parking, did I bring the napkin, and how work was
    all in a span of three seconds. Adam reaches across the table and shakes
    my hand. His hands are baby soft and smallish. The busboy brings
    flatware and a plate for my dinner, moving aside the centerpiece and a
    finished appetizer of some kind of grilled asparagus. I am tempted to
    introduce the busboy as my boy friend just to see how it flies. I decide
    against it. ?How long have you guys been in town?? I ask, settling in
    and shuddering at the deafening creaks emanating from my gingerbread
    prop chair. I am starving and eye the remnants of the asparagus. ?We
    flew in yesterday morning. Olivia and I are staying at the Ritz.? Adam
    is pulling his cell phone from its holster and examining the numbers.
    ?Have you spoken to the event planner??I ask. ?She meeting us there
    tomorrow morning. Will you come?
     
    61 Conversations with the Fat Girl 55
     
    You always know exactly what I'm talking about and I just don't think
    that bitch understands me sometimes. This whole Italian cafélight thing
    has been a disaster. I just can't imagine Olivia trails