The Next Big Thing

  “Hell, yeah, it’s bikinis,” Luisa grumbled. She was still blocking the door, so I pushed past her, clearing a path for the others. One by one, we filed into the dressing room, followed by two cameramen and a sound tech.

  “Look at these!” I cried, picking up one of the pink, two-piece monstrosities, with Fat2Fab written across the butt in black letters. I held it out at arm’s length, as though it were someone else’s dirty laundry.

  Janelle ran her hands through her hair in exasperation. “Oh, well,” she said eventually. “At least they aren’t thongs.”

  “These are pretty flattering, actually,” Alyssa commented. “Very conservative.” She picked up the bikini top and held it by its string. She was right, but it didn’t matter. A bikini was a bikini. Any way you sliced it, they were a big girl’s worst nightmare.

  “I don’t wanna do this,” Regan moaned.

  “I don’t either. But I will, for the good of the team,” Maggie said dryly. “And I’m the oldest one out here. My body sags worse than any of yours.”

  “You mind stepping outside so we can get changed?” Janelle asked the camera crew.

  They obliged. “Leave these on the table,” the sound tech said, gesturing toward our mic packs. “Not using them today. Boom mics,” he murmured, heading outside after the cameramen.

  It should have been a simple thing, changing into the bathing suits and going back outside. But other than Alyssa and Janelle, everybody was too self-conscious to get undressed with other people watching. Even other fat girls.

  So we trudged back outside, using the dressing room one at time. Then, wrapped in large white beach towels, we made our way down to the sand, where the court had been set up. The crowd—which was sizeable to begin with—had now swelled to encompass what looked like thousands.

  “Christ, there’s a lot of people here,” I murmured.

  “Saturday,” Luisa reminded me. “Everybody goes to the beach.”

  “Great, just what we need. An audience.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Janelle said. “Once we start playing, you’ll forget they’re even there.”

  We took our positions on the sand. Our team had first serve, and Janelle managed to hit a clean shot over the net, though our opponents returned it sharply. Janelle dove forward but her hands didn’t even come close to connecting with the ball. “What they just did, that’s called a kill,” she said, sheepishly. “It means there’s no possible way to return it.”

  It was an unfair match from the get-go. The other team was made up of strong, athletic women, some of whom had been playing competitively since they were kids. We lost the first game easily, bagging only seven points against the other team’s fifteen. Worse still, we were exhausted. “

  I always thought volleyball looked easy,” I grunted, wiping sweat off my brow. “Who knew bopping a ball around in the sand was so hard.”

  “Everything’s easy until you’ve actually tried it,” Janelle pointed out.

  “No kidding,” I said. I had to admit that, despite my initial reservations, I was actually having fun. Janelle had been right; as soon as we’d started playing, I’d managed to lose myself in the game, tuning out the noise of the crowd. I even forgot, temporarily at least, that I was a fat girl wearing a bikini on a crowded beach.

  Until we took a break, that is.

  “Go ahead, take twenty. Get something to drink, stretch your legs,” Zaidee said, after we’d blown the second game, losing by four points. She brushed past us to confer with the primary cameraman.

  Luisa and I grabbed our towels and then trotted up toward the boardwalk to browse through the various vendors. We felt awkward in our bathing suits, but this was a rare chance for freedom and we had to grab it. We had just started examining some woven jewelry when it happened.

  “I know who you are,” a voice called from the crowd. A woman was pointing a boney finger at me. She was in her mid-fifties with short blonde hair that was streaked with gray.

  “Katherine,” she said.

  “Kat,” I told her, pulling my towel tightly around my bathing suit. “It’s short for Katrina.”

  “You’re the girl from that Fat show.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah.”

  Luisa began backing off, slipping down to the sand and out of the limelight.

  “My son has been watching you on television,” the woman said, and for a moment I thought she was going to ask me to autograph something for him. I couldn’t have been further off-base.

  “Yes, you’re the one my son has been talking about.” Her expression changed to disdain. “The way you fire off your mouth is a disgrace!” she exploded. “You think the whole world should take pity on you because you have a weight problem? Well, I’m here to tell you there’s not a person alive who feels sorry for you. You’re lazy,” she snarled. “And you know something? Not only are you lazy, but you’re stupid and mean.”

  Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. Lazy. Stupid. Mean? How could she say I was mean? She was the one insulting a total stranger!

  Out of nowhere, a man approached, his face lit up with rage. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being,” he said, frowning. “I saw you complaining about how much you hate exercising. I tell you, exercise is a privilege, not a punishment. God gave you a perfectly fine body and look at what you’ve done to it! My wife lost her leg to cancer nine years ago. Before she got sick she was a triathlete. She’d give anything to have her leg back, so she could compete again. And here you are, all the blessings in the world, and all you do is complain.”

  This had to be some kind of joke. Certainly, the producers had paid these people to come along and stir up drama?

  Before I could respond, Zaidee was at my side, shooing them away. “Get back on the court,” she instructed.

  I was grateful that she’d intervened, but shaken up by the exchange.

  “Break’s over,” Zaidee announced.

  I resumed my position, but it was a lost cause. My game was totally thrown off. First I screwed up serving, then I got in Maggie’s way and wound up knocking her down.

  “Ow!” she screeched, rubbing her backside as she stood up. “Be careful, Kat.”

  “Yeah, last time I checked, volleyball wasn’t a contact sport,” Alyssa said.

  By the end of the third game—which we miraculously won fifteen to thirteen—I was so upset I couldn’t see straight. I didn’t even care about the prize. I couldn’t stop thinking about what those people had said to me on the beach.

  “Congratulations, girls, on a job well done,” Jagger boomed, joining us on the court. He walked around shaking each of our hands and smiling. “Tonight marks an important turning point in the game. Within the next few weeks, several twists will take place, shocking the house to its core.”

  “Wh-? . . . what?” Regan sputtered.

  “All in good time,” Jagger said, smiling. “You’ll find out on the first ever From Fat to Fabulous live show, coming up within the next few weeks.”

  And with that, he was gone. Live show? This was the first I’d heard of it.

  “Hey, cheer up, Kit Kat,” Alyssa said. “We won. Twenty-five G’s! And, even better, Hollywood Heat!” She threw her arms around me in a sisterly hug.

  I shoved her off. “How can I cheer up? They’re turning us into a freak show!”

  “Well, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “Look over there.” I turned to see a small film crew coming over. “MTV,” she hissed. “Here it is—my big break!”

  Zaidee rushed over and spoke briefly with the crew. Then she came trotting across the sand toward me and Alyssa. “Why don’t you gals sit down on the sand for just a minute, and let them get a shot of you sunbathing.”

  A lanky assistant came over and set down several beach towels and accessories. “Just try and act natural,” he instructed before turning to go.

  “No thanks,” I grumbled. The last thing I wanted was for MTV to film me lounging
in a bikini. “That wasn’t a question,” Zaidee snapped.

  “They’re broadcasting live from the beach today and you girls are going on in ten minutes.” She stalked off before I had the chance to object.

  Alyssa sat down on the sand, watching patiently as Zaidee pushed back the sea of onlookers. “It’s cool, Kit Kat,” she said. Her eyes traveled the length of my torso. “I understand why you don’t want to be on MTV. The camera adds ten pounds.”

  I glared at her, not saying a word.

  “Here.” She picked up a bottle of sunscreen and tossed it in my direction. “Just get behind me and pretend to rub this on my shoulders. I can hide most of your body that way.”

  I’d about had it with her. There was only so much pestering and belittling one person could take before they cracked. “And just why, exactly, does my body need hiding?” I demanded, fully aware of how she’d answer.

  “Seriously, Kat, do you even need to ask that? You have a major weight problem, isn’t that obvious? Even with the few pounds you’ve lost, you’re still a total heifer. No offense.”

  I was so stung I said nothing. But a few minutes later, when MTV came over, the opportunity for payback arose. As I sat behind Alyssa, rubbing sunscreen on her narrow shoulders, and as she babbled on, telling the MTV host all about her career aspirations, I gently slid my fingers up to the bow of her string bikini. Swiftly, purposefully, I yanked it. “Ahhh!” she shrieked, as her bikini top came tumbling forward. Her arms flew up, shielding her chest. She was quick, but not quick enough. For a split second, they’d caught her topless.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, whirling around.

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “There they are!” Janelle cried, racing over to the coffee table. Spread out in a fan formation, were six copies of Hollywood Heat. The cover had a collage of our faces, with the title “The Weighting Game: An Insider’s Guide to From Fat to Fabulous.” We sprang forward, nearly trampling each other in our hurry to reach the magazines. Regan scooped up the stack, quickly passing them out to us.

  I cracked mine open, discovering that the cover story was actually a five-page spread with lots of photos and very little text. I had planned to pore over the article for days, reading and rereading it until I’d memorized every detail.

  “There’s barely anything here to read.”

  “It’s enough,” Regan said sadly, her eyes scanning the page. “Wait until you see what it says.”

  I plopped down on the couch and started to read:

  The ratings are in, and over fourteen million viewers agree: From Fat to Fabulous has become America’s spiciest summer show! Fat girls with sex appeal? Who knew! Here’s your guide to the six contestants who make up this addictive reality smash:

  Regan Borrail: The Kid Sister Perhaps fellow Fat2Fab contestant Alyssa put it best: “She’s like your little sister who isn’t so little.” With a starting weight of 341 pounds, Regan is by far the heaviest of the girls. At nineteen, she’s also the youngest—and the sweetest, with an endless supply of hugs and kind words for her competitors. While the other contestants trade insults, this Boulder, Colorado, native adheres to the old adage, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

  “I believe in karma, and I believe in following your heart,” Regan says. “And I treat everyone with respect, no matter what.”

  Alyssa Combs: The Flirt Boston babe Alyssa Combs proves day in and day out that when it comes to sex appeal, size DOES matter! A 176-pound stunner who flaunts her more-than-ample assets (oh, those low-cut shirts!), Alyssa has attracted a loyal fan base of male admirers. “Simply put, she’s hot,” says Zaidee Panola, Fat2Fab’s executive producer. “She’s got meat on her bones. It’s been a long time since America had a sex symbol who could fill out a dress the way she does.” No kidding! This budding journalist can shake her stuff at Hollywood Heat anytime she wants.

  Janelle Kerwin: The Strong Silent Type Nicknamed “No-Tell Janelle” by her first ex-husband, Matt, this 6’0” tall cynic is as tight-lipped as they come. Prone to spending long hours sitting quietly in the Confession Chamber, Janelle leaves you wondering what lurks behind her cool exterior. Either there’s a lot going on upstairs, or twice-divorced Janelle’s a few cookies short of a dozen. Our guess would be the former. Kat Larson: The Brat A lot of words have been used to describe Kat, most of them beginning with the letter B: We chose the nicest one for our heading. Never one to hold her tongue, Kat enjoys blaming others for her weight problem. She demands sympathy for her so-called eating disorder, even going so far as to claim she deserves more pity than bulimics. Her constant skinny-bashing and rants about her unfair lot in life have spawned hate mail, and anti-Kat websites. Yet, Fat2Fab’s host, Jagger Roth, defends her character. “Kat comes across as bitter, but in person she’s very warm and funny. I think as the show progresses, viewers will see her in a more sympathetic light.” A more sympathetic side to Kat the Brat? We’ll believe it when we see it. . . .

  Luisa Olivares: The Gossip Busybody Luisa is Fat2Fab’s resident blabbermouth. Prone to eavesdropping and snooping through the other contestant’s rooms, Luisa is the go-to girl when you’re looking for a little dirt. Her diary sessions often result in major revelations about her fellow housemates. Not that we mind. So far, Luisa has spilled the beans on a number of the behind-the-scenes highlights, including juicy details on Janelle’s failed marriages (she’s a commitmentphobe who can’t stop cheating), Alyssa’s beauty secrets (girlfriend has an aversion to panties), and Kat’s poor luck with men (she can’t seem to keep a guy satisfied, if you catch our drift). With friends like this Cuban spitfire, who needs enemies?

  Maggie Strickland: The Southern Belle This Jackson, Mississippi, import has fought hard to adapt to big-city life. An old-fashioned Southerner who is used to good manners and clean livin’, Maggie has struggled to stick to the show’s weight-loss program. In her few weeks on the series, she’s only shed a pound and a half. A homemaker at heart, Maggie has pined endlessly for her eleven-year-old son, Owen, drowning her sorrows with late-night trips to the Tomb of Temptation. Despite her lack of weight loss, Maggie wins us over every time with her gentle heart and strong family values. And, shucks y’all, we just love her accent!

  I felt as if our whole situation—everything I’d known while I was in this house—had grown wings and mutated, turning into something horrid and unrecognizable. I was The Brat. Or, they might as well have come right out and said it: The Bitch. It all made sense now. The way those people had shouted at me on the beach. The hatred in their eyes. Maggie was The Southern Belle? Maggie, who was from Cleveland and had only lived in Jackson, Mississippi, a short time, was The Southern Belle? What about me? I was born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee! Home of the Blues, the Birthplace of Rock’n’Roll, and a bona fide Southern city if there ever was one! But, no. They couldn’t call me The Southern Belle. I was The Brat. And Luisa! Luisa, whom I’d trusted every day since I’d entered this house, had turned on me. All this time, she’d been buttering me up, tricking me into spilling secrets.

  Regan had the same realization. “How could you?” she demanded, squaring off against Luisa. “I thought you were my friend and you’re a big fat motor-mouth!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, shaking my head in disbelief.

  Luisa shrugged.

  She was about to respond when Janelle cut in, “Hey, guys, did you catch this? We have fourteen million viewers! Those are unbelievable numbers! Low ratings, my ass! I bet you anything Zaidee lied about the low ratings to get us to kick it up a notch!”

  “America thinks I’m sexy!” Alyssa enthused, prancing around. “Not that I’m surprised. But it’s flattering. You know what, Kit Kat?” she said, rolling up the magazine and whacking me on the head. “I was so mad at you earlier for exposing my glorious breasts on television. But now that I think about it, you’ve done me a favor. What do you wanna bet Hugh Hefner’s going to offer me a half million to pose in Playbo
y?”

  Oh, God, there’d be no stopping her now. Her ego would be gargantuan by the time she left the house.

  “Fucking morons!” I blurted out.

  “Kat,” Janelle cautioned. “Be careful.”

  “I am not going to be careful! Those Hollywood Heat bastards have written lies about me. I’m going to sue them for libel,” I fumed.

  “You can’t,” Alyssa responded smugly. “You don’t have a case. I’m a journalist. I know about these things.”

  I opened my mouth to let her have it when I felt an arm grip hold of me tightly. It was Janelle. “Kat, I really think you should go upstairs and lie down. Cool off for a while.” I started to object but something in her face stopped me. “This,” she said, nodding at the cameramen. “This is where they’re getting it. You’ve got to control your outbursts. You’re only giving them more stuff to use.”

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. But I kept my mouth shut.

  ***

  “Hey, Kit Kat, I just had my weigh-in and I’m down again this week,” Alyssa sang out Sunday afternoon. She waltzed into the kitchen, cameraman in tow. It was an unnecessary announcement. Everyone could see she was slimmer. “Go, me!” She punched her fist into the air, cheerleaderstyle.

  “Congratulations,” I mumbled, staring down at my bowl of baby carrots. I’d been prodding at them with a fork for ten minutes, trying to force myself to eat one. They tasted like dirty water.

  Alyssa opened the refrigerator and retrieved an apple. “I knew I’d be lower, that wasn’t a surprise. But look at this.” She lifted up her shirt, exposing the area from her bra down. “My stomach is a million times smaller than it was when I came on this show.”

  As if on cue, my cameraman swung around and zoomed in on Alyssa. I guess the sight of me eating carrots couldn’t compare with bare flesh. I had to admit, she did look good. A little too good. What she said next confirmed my suspicions.