A Farewell to Curves

A Farewell to Curves

By

Patrick Gresham

Copyright 2011 Patrick Gresham

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

Breathe… just breathe…

Shelley’s body was not cooperating. Her palms were moist, even after she wiped them gently on the smooth fabric of her costume. The expansive purple curtains before her did little to dull the clamoring audience. Thousands waited for the lights to dim, signaling the long awaited start of this one-time-only presentation. Politicians, local and national media, and supportive patrons alike were all under the same air of mystery. All that the theater had shared publicly was that it would be a show unlike any they had put forth before.

The Fox Theater. Even in her most self-indulgent fantasies, she had never imagined presenting herself before such an audience. As a girl her parents brought her to see many performers upon the very stage she was now taking. While the details of plot and song had long escaped her, the lavish magnificence of the theater’s interior had been a captivating and memorable force.

It’s just another show, sweetie, Lauren whispered from offstage. Shelley turned to the right, seeing her friend peeking out from the shadowed corner.

Just another show. Right. The starlet inhaled deeply and slowly released through pursed lips. Her previous anxiety had been relieved within four or five performances in their home theater. This night, however, had much more at stake than mere artistic criticism.

Shelley smoothed out her delicate lavender dress, staring at the contours the material clung to. Curves. The same curves that had been a source of shame and self-deprecation for many painful years. Curves that changed her life dramatically not even a year ago. These curves were now, at least unofficially, the true star of the evening.

The purple curtain ended just short of the stage floor. Through the tiny space, the rays of theater lighting began to fade.

Here we go…

As the announcer directed theater patrons to their seats and requested silence, Shelley’s eyes closed in a final moment of tranquility. She found herself- her true self, in that moment. Whispers of distant memories echoed faintly in her solemnity. She thought back to the last day of her old life. That Friday, which had started like any other, was a year and a life behind her.

Chapter 1

6:24.

Shelley Patterson stared at the green digits, lamenting the forthcoming alarm. Her impulse was to preemptively silence it, but Dane would admonish her for doing so. Her husband relied on the startle response to get his adrenaline pumping to start the day. Shelley found herself waking to silent darkness earlier and earlier as her depression deepened. Having already stared at the clock for some forty minutes, she decided to salvage the remaining time for herself.

The ritual commenced. She sat on the toilet, placing her gaze at perfect level to stare at her weekly enemy. As was the Friday ritual, Dane would insist on her stepping upon the scale in his presence. At least with an empty bowel and bladder, she might be able to shave off a fraction of a pound.

While her remaining larger friends had often attested to fearing their bathroom mirror, Shelley was quite capable at staring into it for long minutes at a time. The expansive glass was Dane’s own custom design. Impossible to avoid. Shelley stripped off her oversized nightshirt and examined her reflection.

Dear God. She drew both hands over her belly, tracing the permanent crease created by overly constrictive pants. Her breasts hung pendulously. As she pivoted slightly, their array of faint stretch-marks came into view. She winced. Nothing had changed- and the bastard scale knew it.

The alarm sounded. Dane came back to life slowly. When his wife failed to silence it, Dane flung an arm backwards to the warm empty sheets.

Great, he murmured. One of those days.

He rolled onto his stomach and reached out to terminate the noise.

Dane turned toward the bathroom to catch Shelley walking away from the mirror and to the shower stall. He was familiar with this tactic. She would get into the shower, take her sweet time, and then emerge just in time to dress and leave- saving no time for humiliation.

Come on… just get it over with, he called.

Shelley withdrew her head from the shower, casting Dane a modest glare. She sighed heavily as she took her place on the platform. When the tone sounded, she knew to dismount.

279.5.

Dane withheld the impulsive criticism, offering some half-hearted support instead.

Hey, at least you’re under two-eighty now.

Shelley didn’t respond. Her efforts to slim down began seven weeks ago. The losses had been promising for the first few weeks, but had since tapered off to only fragments of a pound for almost a month. Her self-confidence too had tapered rather abruptly in seeing the disappointment hidden behind Dane’s forced smile.

She stepped into the shower and went about her routine. After relieving himself, Dane entered the stall as well and took his place under the opposite shower head. His lucrative position enabled him such luxuries as a double-sized shower stall. What started as a novelty became a necessity as Shelley’s size increased.

In the early days of their relationship, this moment would have been an invitation for intimacy and tenderness. Now, the image of her grossly enlarged body failed to rouse more than an echo of Dane’s past desire. It had been over a month since they last made love, and even then it felt more like assisted masturbation for her husband’s relief alone.

Dane washed her back like he would wash a car. He ran the soapy poof-ball in fast, efficient circles. She returned the service, and thus completed their interaction. He was the first to rinse and exit, leaving the somber woman to wash the emotional baggage away. The streams of steamy water flowed down her long, dark hair. She watched the dripping streams fall to the floor, wishing for her heartache to be carried along and into the spiraling waters below.

When she emerged, her husband handed over her usual towel. As she dried off, she admired her man’s body. Her lust hadn’t wavered nearly as much as his, but now manifested itself more as a need to feel married again… to feel necessary in some way.

Shelley chose an outfit from the hundreds of potential selections that spanned their closet. Of course, of these hundreds, only a small percent were comfortably fitting at the time. Dane insisted on holding onto the smaller sizes with the hope of inspiring his wife to lose weight.

Dane’s creativity at reshaping his wife is what led to the secretarial position Shelley now dressed for. The pittance she earned hardly mattered compared to her husband’s executive-level income. It was just a way to get her out of the house. He left every day for the Detroit skyline, attending to nebulous tasks of financial wizardry while Shelley typed memos and served coffee. Still, her compliance with the request seemed to ease the negativity that had been threatening their marriage.

See you tonight, she said.

Shelley received her usual grade C kiss from her husband as he struggled to perfect his new silk tie. Detouring through the kitchen, she retrieved a bland diet shake to ingest on her commute to her equally bland career.

The other secretaries at the firm passed around the lunch order sheet. Everyone knew to bypass Shelley’s desk- though not by her own request. Mr. Tennyson had been quite thorough in his goal for full AOI compliance. The Anti-Obesity Initiative had been successful in its task of reducing the percent of morbidly obese individuals by nearly eighty percent over the last five years. Those who retained their size had been the subject of great scrutiny and marginalization. Despite being the perfect government initiative, the AOI hadn’t yet created the equally perfect state of health it had promised in order to squeak past congressional approval.

In their omniscience, the AOI tackled the remaining twenty percent with a more focused attack. Phase 1 had gone into effect only two months ago. The effects were immediate. Phase 2 would follow shortly. It was the hope, or so they said, that a third phase wouldn’t be necessary. Either way, the AOI director assured a final and universal cure for obesity.

Before the AOI took effect, Shelley could count on Linda and Tasha to form a system of mutual big-girl support and respect. Their lunch dates had been full of skinny bitch jokes and playfulness. Now that they had both slipped into a size 9, their compassion for Shelley had also shrunk substantially.

Shelley retrieved her own meal, consisting of a modest salad. It held her cravings in check for about two hours. She looked up to her clock, feeling her resolve fading. One of her goals for lifestyle change had been to go from lunch to dinner without snacking.

Don’t even think about it.

Too late. When the dream of chocolate came into mind, she knew that goal wouldn’t be reached today.

Right choices today for a healthy tomorrow!

Shelley read the sign to the immediate right of the company vending machine. Another inspiring message from your friendly AOI. The featured model held an apple in one hand and extended an oversized pair of pants away from her flat abdomen.

Right… Like you’ve ever actually worn those, she thought.

Shelley withdrew her Nutrition Allowance Card. It was still glossy after only two months of use. A gift of Phase 1. Carefully considering her likely remaining allowance, she selected her favorite candy bar and depressed the corresponding buttons.

Come on… please please please.

She swiped the plastic through the vending machine reader and waited for verification. When the green light showed, she dug through her purse for a few dollar bills and fed them into the machine. The AOI Commission’s heavy taxes on such luxury foods made them a rare, and more appreciated treat. Even as the candy bar began to slip free from its metallic perch, the expectations of flavor began to soothe her. It landed safely, prompting the secretary to reach through the retrieval door.

Hey, Shelley.

With her hand still inside the machine, she looked up to see Linda standing at the adjacent soda machine.

Oh, great. Shelley palmed the candy bar, childishly hoping to hide her naughtiness.

Hey, sweetie. Shelley’s tone was sweet, masking her true contempt.

As expected, Linda stared coldly at Shelley’s culprit hand and the unacceptable item within.

Hon… if you’re going to eat crap like that, you might as well drop the whole salad routine… seriously.

Shelley’s face flushed. Desire for the candy was replaced with annoyance and hostility. She was accustomed to ignoring snide comments without standing up for herself. Making a scene, even in self-defense, hadn’t been an option. Now that it was just the two of them in this little space, she had no eyes of authority to keep her in check.

"Umm… Linda… if you’re going to keep being a bitch like that, you might just get my disgusting fat foot in your boney ass… seriously."

Linda’s mouth dropped open. She pursed her lips and darted her eyes in shock.

You know… you can be as hostile as you want… and threaten me… but after all that whining, I know you’re just jealous. Linda stood tall, seeing her words land perfectly. Don’t be mad at me just because I did something you obviously will never do.

Eyes locked. Shelley’s softened while Linda’s burned with her final vicious shot.

I feel sorry for you, the cocky brunette shot over her shoulder as she turned, abandoning her quest for a beverage to ensure that her coworker couldn’t mount another verbal attack.

Shelley’s lips quivered as her loathing of self and others rose to levels beyond suppression. Feel sorry for me?! She loosened her grip on the now deformed candy bar, brought her arm back, and flung the scrumptious projectile toward the back of Linda’s head. Right on target.

What the fuck?!

Linda turned, seeing the moon-faced woman glaring with fists clenched. She reached up to grab the back of her head and fled through the double doors.

Shelley’s hands went up to cover her face as her sobbing commenced. She leaned against the vending machine and let the emotion flow. No thoughts of consequences or remorse, just pure self-loathing. Feel sorry for me… bitch. When her eyes were irritated and empty, she used a tissue to clean herself up before reappearing in the office. As she left the break area, she purposely averted her eyes from where the candy ammo had fallen. In her state, she wasn’t confident that it would remain uneaten should she set sights on it.

Miss Patterson… Miss Patterson!

Shelley looked up from her desk to see her boss waving his hand, gesturing for her to come into his office.

This is it. She had been on Mr. Tennyson’s shit list for quite some time. Behind closed doors, he had been the butt of numerous jokes regarding his secretary’s size. His treatment of her as of late was a mere redirection of their cruelty.

Yes sir. She stood before his desk, awaiting her sentencing. No fear. No intention of begging.

Close the door.

She did as instructed.

"Miss Wryobeck tells me that you assaulted her with… a candy bar?"

Shelley stifled a grin. She could just imagine Linda storming into his office putting on a grand show, using words like assaulted and depicting herself as the delicate little flower being crushed by Shelley’s commanding presence.

Assaulted is a strong word, sir-

Never mind that, he said abruptly. What the hell were you doing buying candy?

I’m sorry?

We’re less than a month away from phase two, and you’re eating candy? The man raised both hands and let them fall to the desk in frustration. You realize you’re going to lose your insurance right?

Yes sir.

"You’re the only staff member who hasn’t met quota, Shelley. It reflects very poorly on our administration and on me."

At least he was being honest. He could have easily just played the I’m-concerned-for-your-health card. This level of transparency from a lawyer was refreshing.

So, what, you’re going to fire me?

No, no, he replied emphatically. "Obviously we can’t legally do that." His contempt was clear. As long as the firm fell below the government’s suggested quota for personnel fitness, heavy penalties would be levied against them. That financial burden trickled downhill and landed on Tennyson’s desk.

Then… what? she asked, folding her arms in a subconscious shielding of her girth.

Well, that’s up to you. Mr. Tennyson set his glasses on his desk and began the lecture. You’re the only one who can change your situation… and obviously nothing I’ve tried to do has had any effect, so I’m going to stop intervening and leave it in your hands.

Change my situation…

Don’t just do it for the company, Shelley… do it for yourself.

More embarrassment. Her offense against Linda hadn’t raised an eyebrow compared to her far more grievous offense of poisoning both her body and, more egregiously, tarnishing this man’s image.

You’re right. For myself.

That’s the spirit. Her boss nodded, offering a half-hearted smile.

Shelley smiled right back, turning to open the office door. Halfway out, she ducked her head back in, smile still shining brightly.

I quit.

Shelley dreaded the impending conversation with her husband. She rehearsed potential ammunition as she drove.

At least I can get some more housework done!

When no adequate consolation came to mind, she opted to deliver the news after a home-cooked meal. It was a rarely used tactic given their frequency of dining out or ordering in.

Her culinary skills were part of her downfall since getting married nearly ten years prior. In her desire to impress her husband, she unleashed her greatest culinary creations. In the process, she gained nearly twenty pounds a year. Dane, on the other hand, had the same flat stomach of his Princeton wrestling days.

Dane’s BMW was in the driveway when she returned home.

Oh great, Shelley muttered to herself.

Shelley lacked confidence in being able to hold her peace until dinner. She lingered in her car for several minutes before opting to simply deliver the news right away and accept the consequences. The verbal humiliation was inevitable. Just another dose of paternalistic judgment.

The door was unlocked. The house was silent. Shelley went immediately to the kitchen for a glass of water to ease her throat, parched from nervous swallowing. As she filled her cup, a strange item caught her eye. There, sitting on the kitchen island, was a purse- and it wasn’t hers.

She blindly set aside her glass after the tiniest sip, keeping her gaze affixed to the alien item. This purse was small, hardly functional. She lifted it by the thin strap. What the hell? The weight of its contents ruled this out as a gift. In the silent kitchen, a faint whisper of laughter caused her head to dart toward the living room stairs. She dropped the purse on the counter and proceeded to investigate.

Up the stairs, the sound grew more distinct. It was Dane. The laughter was mixed with gasping breaths. At the top of the stairs, the laughter changed. Lighter. Female.

Shelley’s heart began to pound as unthinkable visions flashed behind her eyes. She neared their bedroom door, hesitant to push it forward. Already confident what she would find, every impulse directed her to simply leave and forget what she heard. When a loud smack sounded through the wood followed