Verwandte Artikel zu Alternate Beauty

Alternate Beauty - Softcover

Waggener, Andrea Rains

 
9780553382983: Alternate Beauty
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0553382985 ISBN 13: 9780553382983
Verlag: Bantam Dell Pub Group, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

Giving up her dreams of becoming a fashion designer because of her weight to manage a plus-size boutique, Ronnie Tremayne now faces the criticism of her boss about her weight and prays that she can find a world in which fat is beautiful, only to awaken in an alternate reality in which she is acclaimed as one of the great beauties of her generation. A first novel. Original. 30,000 first printing.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Andrea Rains Waggener left a career in law to pursue a career in writing. She is now a writer of fiction and nonfiction. Her book Healthy, Wealthy, & Wise--52 Life-Changing Lessons for the 21st Century comes out in February 2005 from Hazeldon. Her weekly newspaper column, "The Up Beat"--which appears in The Daily World in Aberdeen, Washington--has inspired people for over five years to live an upbeat life. She has also struggled with the weight issue herself, ranging in her adult life from a size 8 to a size 26. (She is currently a size 12.) She lives with her husband and dog near the coast in Washington State.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One


At noon on a Tuesday in early April, I hesitated in the stark archway separating the lobby from the muted dining room of one of Seattle's downtown, upscale restaurants. Pale white silk-textured walls relieved only by shining mahogany chair rails enclosed a roomful of identical tables that held gleaming white, gold-rimmed plates and polished silverware, spotless stemmed glasses, and napkins folded like little tents—all placed just so. I sighed and scanned the room.

Why did I say yes? I hated being away from the shop during the busy lunch hour. But when Audrey called, the called rushed forth.

A hum of polite conversation ebbed and flowed around me, accentuated by the irregular tinkling of silverware against china. The civilized aroma of butter and basil drifted my way. I swallowed the saliva that came unbidden, like I was some distant relation to one of Pavlov's dogs.

I spotted Audrey seated at a table in the middle of the room. Her tailored cream crepe pantsuit blended nicely with the room's decor. Of course. She was holding court to a couple of men standing next to her table; both wore ubiquitous gray European-cut suits.

I headed toward my mother. My high heels sank into the ridiculously thick emerald carpet, making it difficult to keep my balance. My normal ponderous waddle became a graceless lurch. Struggling to maintain some dignity, I lifted my chin. But I was aware of the futility of my upright bearing.

I stopped at the right side of the nearest suited man. Glancing at Audrey, I noted the pucker between her perfectly arched brows as she inspected me. I adjusted the skirt of my teal linen suit and made sure my silk blouse wasn't gapping open.

"Tell Charlene I'm thinking of her," Audrey said, turning toward the second man. She reached for his hand with her slender mauve-tipped fingers and squeezed it—grace and warmth in concert. "If there's anything I can do for either of you, let me know."

The two men murmured good-bye and moved on, ignoring me.

"Veronica, dear." Audrey's voice was low and even. She'd waited until the men were on the far side of the dining room before greeting me.

"Hey," I said, gripping the table edge and lowering myself into a straight-backed chair. It was ridiculously small—just another example of rampant fat bias.

I love myself exactly as I am, I repeated several times silently in my head. My gaze roamed over the menu, lingered on the French Dip and the Broiled Crab and Cheese sandwiches and went obediently to the salads.

"I will have a small green salad, please," Audrey told the waiter. "With oil and vinegar on the side."
I sighed and pictured the Butterfingers I had stashed in my desk drawer back at the shop. "Same for me."

Audrey nodded. Her frosted blond pageboy didn't move. "I am pleased to see you working on your diet, dear."

I shot a glance at the hovering waiter and remained silent. The only thing I was working on was remaining sane for the duration of the lunch.

I flicked my gaze over Audrey. Beyond slender, bordering on bony, she looked like she'd been cut out with sharp scissors. By contrast, I looked like I'd been sketched in with pastel chalk, all soft edges and smudgy.

Her face was a collection of angles—flat forehead, high, prominent cheekbones, a triangular nose. She had wide-set eyes capped by aggressively plucked brows in an inverted V. Of course, her skin was perfect, nearly unlined—the result of a myriad of creams, lotions, and other potions and the services of a talented dermatologist and an even more talented plastic surgeon.

"I had an unsettling conversation with Cheryl Landing yesterday," Audrey said, stroking her smooth neck.

Though Cheryl was in one of my mother's women's groups, I wasn't aware they were more than simple acquaintances. But, then, they moved in the same wealthy circles where simple acquaintances called each other "friends," gave each other fake little kisses, and gossiped about their other "friends."

"Yeah?" I said.

"The conversation was about you—and it was not, I am sorry to say, positive."

I shifted my weight on the tiny chair. I had just spoken to Cheryl that morning. She'd popped in at Luscious Landing Large Women's Clothing Boutique, as she often did between her charity activities, to check out how business was doing in the shop she owned. That morning, Cheryl had again waxed eloquent on what a positive impact Oprah Winfrey's self-love techniques were having in her battle of the bulge, but she hadn't indicated she had a problem with me. What could she possibly have talked to Audrey about?

"What about me?"

Audrey's forehead furrowed briefly, and her eyelids slid downward. It was her sympathetic look. I'd seen it often enough. Audrey genuinely cared about people, especially people who were debilitated in some way. But she was conflicted about me. Fat, in her eyes, was debilitating, but her patience with my "refusal to live up to potential" had long since worn thin. Witness the tightness around her collagen-enhanced lips.

The waiter set two tiny plates of greens on the table without once looking at me. My stomach growled. The prominent green was endive. I hate endive. I accept myself unconditionally, I told myself, using yet another of Oprah's self-love affirmations I'd learned from her show.
I lifted my gaze from the offensive vegetable.

"I think this is going to be a positive experience for you, dear," Audrey said. She leaned forward, touched my hand for a mere instant. There it was again. That disapproving sympathy.

"What is?"

Audrey positioned her plate precisely equidistant between her fork and knife, then rotated it so the spray of fancy-cut cucumber slices were at the back edge. Aesthetics were important to Audrey.
Which is why my fat offended her so much.

After placing her plate just so, Audrey took a long moment to drizzle a thin line of oil over her salad and shake a liberal sprinkling of vinegar after that. When she finished, I used the oil and vinegar, in reverse proportions.

"Cheryl thinks you have gotten too heavy to be an effective saleswoman," Audrey said.
I dropped my fork.

Audrey deliberately picked up hers. She speared an endive leaf. "She thinks your size is disturbing to the clientele."

"Disturbing to the . . . The clientele," I emphasized the word, "are fat women."

Audrey glanced around. "Lower your voice, dear."

I'd fallen down a rabbit hole. Surely I couldn't be hearing Audrey tell me my boss thought I was too fat to run a fat woman's dress shop. I voiced the thought aloud.

"Well, Cheryl seems to think the smaller, ah, large women are discouraged by your size. They find it depressing and might avoid the store because of it."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I am afraid not, dear. Cheryl was quite clear. She said if you cannot lose some weight—a significant amount, I believe—she will be forced to replace you."

I stabbed at my salad. For almost three years, I'd managed that shop. Profits were up more than 50 percent since I took over.

I accept myself as I . . . Oh, to hell with it. Not even the fat woman who owns the fat women's dress shop could accept me. Who was I kidding?

I don't remember what else Audrey and I talked about that day, and I don't much remember how I got through the rest of the day either. I'm sure the Butterfingers in my desk drawer played a significant role. I do remember it was difficult to be properly solicitous of my customers that...

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Verlag
Bantam Dell Pub Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2005
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0553382985
ISBN 13 
9780553382983
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
371
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Verantwortliche Person
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