DAHLIA
I worked my afternoon shift in a state of mind where my
consciousness was supressed. I didn’t reflect on what I was doing or who I was;
I simply did it. The duties were so natural to me now. I needed no direction or
reflection on what needed doing; I just got it done.
It was funny to think about a time when hair and make-up and
lights and glamour were what my life consisted of. Now it was only dirty
toilets and dirty floors, soiled sheets and filthy baths. It felt like there
was no transition between these two states; that I couldn’t have ever been a
model. How could that slender beauty be anything to do with the leviathan on
her hands and knees scrubbing the gaps between the floor tiles? It wasn’t
possible.
Once I was done with the cleaning and helping serve the
evening meal I piled my usual plateful of fattening food and went through to
the break room. I ate alone, going back for seconds, thirds and fourths, my
appetite not allowing me to pause or hold back in any way. My stomach was like
a great maw now, a bottomless pit that demanded filling, and I was addicted to
that sense of bloating: the intense pressure in my stomach that meant I had
gone too far; that my fat cells were expanding; my flabby body getting even
fatter than I had been the day before. In my former life I had hated that
bloated feeling. Now it was the only thing that made me content.
But it also made me feel wretched. I knew this was wrong.,
Of course I did. But I couldn’t stop.
I joined the other cleaners for their evening festivities
but as always, I remained on the periphery. I tried to join in the laughter but
could never quite connect and my courage was minimal when it came to
contributing. I had no gift anymore for conversation or humour and when I did
speak I spoke with Melissa’s voice. My constant practice had done its job. Her
inflection and word use was more natural to me now than my own.
The term “my own” didn’t even seem appropriate anymore. It
was my voice.
The other cleaners drifted off one by one but I didn’t
shuffle back to my room. I was hoping to see the cook when he got off. Seeing
Melissa with that man at her hotel bar earlier had made me feel lonelier than
ever. I knew he didn’t really care about me as a person, but I craved the physical
contact. I needed to be close to somebody, even if it was a lie.
In the end, only Maxine and I remained in the staff room. She
was very drunk and exuberant. I was at least as drunk – I had gone on drinking
all evening – but my own inebriation was more dour and introspective.
“I’ve been watching you Little Piggy you know,” said Maxine.
“Since you started here. How long’s it been now?”
I looked at her shyly. She didn’t seem to require an answer.
She didn’t really care about the specifics.
“Every night you sit in here and eat more than I’ve ever
seen anyone put away,” she said. “More than anyone should eat. I mean, it’s
okay to splurge here and there but it’s like you want to get fatter.”
In my lap, my fingers curled, the knuckles whitening.
“You were a bit chubby when you got here but nothing like
you are now.” She chuckled. “I shouldn’t really be calling you Little Piggy
anymore. Plain old Piggy would suit you better.” She laughed.
I blushed, smiling with half of my face because I didn’t
want her to think I was touchy about it.
“Why do you do it?” she asked, and her voice wasn’t goading
suddenly. It was different from any tone she had ever used with me before:
genuine and curious and maybe even caring.
“I, er…” I cleared my throat and then did it again.
“Am I right?” she asked. “Are you eating so much because you
want to get fat?”
“I, uh, I don’t know why,” I mumbled. “I just… I like to
eat.”
She was being so uncharacteristically kind, I almost wanted
to confide in her; maybe even tell her everything; but I knew that nobody could
ever understand. It was amazing that Melissa had but she was wound up in it. If
she hadn’t been getting a benefit from it then surely she would have found it
more difficult.
And also I hated the idea of breaking character. To Maxine
and all the other staff here I was Melissa Chapman.
“You should watch yourself Piggy,” said Maxine. “One day you
might pop.” She gave a raucous laugh.
My headache increased in intensity and then wavered,
vibrating my brain.
“Actually, on another subject, you’ll never guess what
happened to me,” said Maxine. “I was over on the coast yesterday and I was
talking to a bloke at one of the big hotels. He told me they had a big celebrity
staying there.” She smirked. “Turned out it wasn’t such a big one but you might
have heard of her. Dahlia Western? She’s a model; or she used to be. Pretty big
a few years ago.”
I stared at her. My throat rattled.
“Made me want to go and get a look,” said Maxine, “so I
snuck into the hotel and checked her out. She was by the pool.”
“Did you… Did you recognise her?” I asked, nervous.
“Yeah. Sure,” replied Maxine. She looked a bit different
from the pictures but not so much and she was definitely the one. Had a lovely
body. I envied her. I wish I looked like that. Don’t you?”
“What?”
“Don’t you wish you were slim and beautiful?”
“Uh…”
“And rich of course. She must be loaded staying there. Apparently
she’s been there all summer. Wouldn’t you love to be her?”
“I… Well…”
“It’s not a hard question Piggy,” said Maxine. “Would you
rather be a big fat butterball cleaning lady or be a rich, sexy model?”
I couldn’t get a word out. I just looked at her.
Maxine laughed finally. “You don’t have to worry,” she said.
“The decision’s been made for you. There’s no way you could be as slim as her,
the way you eat. And no offence but you aren’t exactly model material.”
I blushed again.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of Piggy. Some people are cut
out to be beautiful and the rest of us have to clean up after them. Am I right?”
I looked at her.
“Eh? Am I right?”
All I could do was nod.
She certainly wasn’t wrong.
