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“C’mon girl! Why do you spend so much time putting make-up on? It don’t make no difference anyhow, you know that.” Frannie’s mother yells at her through the bathroom door.
“She’s right” Frannie speaks aloud to the mirror “it really doesn’t make a difference.”
The mirror reflects the hurt felt by her mother’s comment. Frannie would give anything to look like her mother, Sarah. A thirtysomething woman with that emancipated anorexic binge and purge body to die for, with 38 double d’s to boot. The type that the most educated men turn to slobbering slack-jawed knuckle dragging cavemen when she enters a room. The one that always gets the most tips at the bar. Many times Frannie has wondered how she ended up with the fat gene.
“It’s my turn to open up the bar and you’re making me late! You wanna get me fired? Someone’s gotta keep this family in the lap of luxury. Get a move on.”
Lap of luxury. Right. Frannie thought. A two bedroom, one bath, roach infested dump with a refrigerator empty save last night’s pizza and three day old Chinese leftovers, cupboards stacked full of Cup O’ Noodles, and a 13 inch TV with a coat hanger for an antenna. She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, hooker red lipstick poised in midair, staring intently at her face. She begins to see certain porcine qualities start to emerge. With a sigh Frannie puts her make-up away.
“Alright, alright. I’m ready, okay? You don’t have to drive me to school, you know.”
“Shut up and get in the car.”
Frannie hates being driven to school by her mother. It’s only a five-minute walk from the apartment. As soon as they enter the parking lot the jockos and pimply-faced dweebs do the double take so fast one would think whiplash would be an epidemic, and say pretty much the same thing:
“Get a load of those tits! Jeeesus! I can’t believe she is Fat Frannie’s mom”
Sarah pretends not to hear but the attention she gets is the only reason she insists on driving Frannie to school. “Fat Frannie” is the creative label Frannie is known as throughout the school. Every once in a while “Chunky Chick” and “Fat Bitch” pop up, but “Fat Frannie” seemed to have had a pair of legs all it’s own since elementary school. No one knows her birth name. It’s been a rumor since she was a freshman that if you brought a box of Twinkies on your first date she would suck your dick. When Frannie first heard this she was totally insulted. She hated Twinkies. Frannie said would only accept a box of Ho Ho’s for a blowjob. No pun intended. But then she is kidding. Frannie is still a virgin in all areas except a kiss courtesy of one Stuey Steinberg in the 8th grade that paid her $1 to see what it would feel like. He never did tell her if he liked it.
A therapist once told Frannie her pain was self-chosen. Frannie told her she wanted to stab her in the neck and ask her if the pain she was feeling was self chosen as a consequence of saying such a thing to an obese patient with self loathing and low self-esteem.
She is not Frannie’s therapist anymore. The doctor decided further therapy visits would be unproductive.
“Oh . . .My. . .God!... Donnie’s been looking for you.”
Frannie turned to face her fair weather friend Maureen. Frannie characterizes her as a fellow fat chick but without the intelligence to realize how unappealing she is. Maureen’s favorite past time is shopping at swap meets and buying second hand clothes ten sizes too small for her fat ass thinking someday she will fit into them. Everyone should have a goal, right?
“You heard wrong. Why would Donnie be looking for me? You really need to learn the fine art of filtering information through the bullshit radar, Mar Mar.”
Barely out of the car and she’s telling me the jocko I’ve had a major crush on since 4th grade is looking for me. This day is not going well. Frannie thought.
“No really, he asked me himself if you had come to school yet.”
The 1st period bell rings and Frannie and Maureen start walking to class. They are about to walk in when they hear:
“Hey Frannie.”
Frannie turns around and there is Donnie in all his toe headed sleepy blue-eyed letterman jacketed glory. She feel like she is going to faint. Is this what they mean by getting the “vapors”? Frannie thinks.
“Uh, hey. I was wonderin’ if you would like to uh, go get a burger or somethin’ Saturday night?”
Frannie is stunned. She didn’t know what to say. The only thing she could think of was:
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m good.” Donnie says “Uh, do you want to or not?”
“Okay.”
“Cool, I’ll pick you up at 7. Where do you live?”
“That’s okay, just meet me at the 7-Eleven on the corner of Wyatt and 6th.”
“It’s a date. See you then.”
She is frozen, standing there watching Donnie’s retreating back.
“FRANNIE! Are you going to stand there all period or are you going to come in and join the rest of us?”
Mr. Mathis, Frannie’s homeroom teacher, startles her making her jump an inch or two in the air and causing her to piss her panties a little.
“Okay, okay I’m coming in! Jeeez! You like scaring people like that Mathis?”
“No my dear Frannie, only you...heh heh.”
Asshole, Frannie thinks.
Once again Frannie is in the bathroom standing in front of the mirror thinking if this is really happening.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fattest of them all?”
The mirror is a silent un-blinking eye staring back at her.
“Its okay.” Frannie sighs, “We both know the answer.”
Running late, Frannie rushes out the door.
The 7-Eleven parking lot is the usual hang out place for guys who can’t get dates. Of course if you ask them why they are downing slurpees instead of swapping spit, and other biological fluids, with a girl on Black Hills Point, the response would be they are there by choice. Yeah right. Losers. Tonight is no exception. The parking lot is packed. Frannie resists the urge to get some comfort food. A couple of moon pies sounds good right now. The decision is made for her when Donnie’s tricked out Trans-Am rumbles into the parking lot. Donnie’s family is more upper middle class than most in this town. All conversation stops and heads follow his car to where Frannie is standing. He leans over and opens the passenger side door.
“Get in.”
As they drive out of the parking lot everyone is looking at them. The windows are up and she can’t hear what they are saying but she can read their lips:
“What the fuck is HE doing with HER?”
“They are all losers.” Donnie says. “Don’t worry about them.”
Frannie settle back into the car seat. Iron Maiden’s “Die With Your Boots On” blasts from the cassette player. He turns down the music and looks at her.
“How are you doing? Is your mother working tonight?”
“I’m okay. Yeah, she is working tonight. She works every Saturday night. It’s her biggest tip night.”
“I bet with all those drunks wanting to cop a feel of her tits. Oh, uh her assets. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know what she is.”
He glances over at her, turns up the music, turns his head back and concentrates on driving. A veritable fountain of conversation, Donnie is. The trans-am pulls into the crowded parking lot of Athens Burgers, the local greasy spoon. The kind of place one would walk into and half expect to see John Belushi behind the counter screaming “Cheeburger, cheeburger, chips, chips”. Saturday Night Live was so much better back in the ‘70’s.
They stop at the drive though menu. Before Donnie can open his mouth the menu board speaker spews out:
“My God! It’s Fat Frannie with Donnie! Someone please tell me I’m on shrooms.”
A faceless voice from the back says:
“He’s slummin’ He just wants to get his dick wet tonight.”
Frannie leans over to Donnie and says:
“So Donnie, are you just . . .slummin’ tonight?”
“They’re stupid.” He says. “Don’t listen to those idiots, they are just mad they have to work on a Saturday night. So, what do you want?”
Looking at the menu board Frannie decides, what the hell?
“I want a triple cheeseburger, a large order of chili-cheese fries, and a super size chocolate shake”
Donnie stares at her for a second, turns his head, tells them what she wants and orders a hamburger, fries, and a small soda for himself. They pull up to the window. Brianna, the school head cheerleader, takes Donnie’s money, hands him his drink, and says:
“Are you that desperate? Dude, spanking your monkey and cumming in a sock is better than her. What are you thinking? Well . . .if you must, here is some advice. Just roll her in flour and look for the wet spot. Heh heh. Look for the wet spot. Heh heh. I crack myself up sometimes.”
“Shut up, Brianna.” Donny says.
Frannie leans over and tells Brianna through Donnie’s window:
“Hey Brianna, how does it feel going though life with a strippers name? I bet you got a pole in your bedroom to practice your moves.”
“Good one, Fat Frannie. Is that all you can come up with?”
“Yeah well, good luck in explaining to your bastard children how spreading your ass cheeks for a $1 put them through private school, you stupid twat.”
Donnie blows soda through his nose onto his custom steering wheel. Brianna is stunned at the insult. Laughter from her co-workers filter out the take-out window.
“Jesus, you go for the throat, I’ll give you that. God that was funny. Score one for Fat Frannie. Oh . . .uh . . .sorry.”
“It’s okay” Frannie says, “I’m used to it.”
How did I end up here? We ate our food and started driving and the next thing I know we are parked on a ledge overlooking the town. Frannie thought.
The car is parked in the hill area surrounding the exclusive Black Hills Golf Course. Cars to the left and right of them with steamed up windows and squeaking springs keeping time with the tempo of Saturday night adolescent bliss.
“The view from here is amazing. Hard to believe all those lights below is where we live.” Donnie says. “But I can’t wait leave for college and play football. How about you?”
“I feel the same.” Frannie says “You can’t help but feel underneath the freshly mowed manicured lawns there is this undercurrent of decay, just under the surface, corrupting and sucking the life out of the people who live here.”
“Wow Frannie, that’s deep.”
Suddenly she feels his hand rest on her thigh. High up. Like, pussy hair high up. She stiffens and closes up her legs a bit.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing” Frannie says.
Donnie removes his hand from her thigh, grabs her hand and places it on his crotch. She can feel his erection through his 501’s and can tell he is a helmet not an anteater. She starts to pull away but he grips her hand firmly and keeps it in place.
“So . . .Frannie. Fat Frannie that is, are you going to live up to your rep?”
She looks at his face and sees all pretenses are gone. This “date” was about one thing and one thing only.
“C’mon Frannie, don’t look so disappointed. You knew what I wanted. Oh please, do you actually think I would have any more interest in you than a one off back seat fuck?”
Frannie just stares at him. “No” she says, “I guess not” She silently starts to cry.
“Stop it! Stop crying!”
Frannie continues to cry because she knows he is right and yet she still went along on this “date” even though she pretty much knew how it would end. Why did I do this? What is wrong with me? Frannie thought.
“Goddammit, I said stop it!”
The next thing Frannie feels is Donnie’s hand backslapping her across the face. The salty taste of blood fills her mouth.
“You cockteasing bitch, why did you make me do that? Why can’t you just shut the fuck up?”
“I am sorry I disappointed you. Don’t hit me anymore. Take me home. Please.”
“Nope, not until I get what I want. If you’re not up to it you can get out and walk home”
Frannie gets out of the car. It backs up and speeds off.
“Fucking bitch!” She hears Donnie yell as the taillights disappear. Sobbing, Frannie starts to walk home.
Capped and gowned students fill the football field. Some look hopeful, some look scared, and most look bored. The football field is a sea of blue with seniors milling about with cameras taking pictures of each other. Overtures and promises of staying in touch fill the air. By the end of the summer the promises will be broken with everyone going their separate ways. Just like the graduating class before them, and before that. Nothing ever changes.
Donnie and a buddy are hanging out by the field entrance.
“Fat Frannie’s the valedictorian.” He says. “I wonder what she is going to say in her speech”
“Dude, like, who cares.” The buddy says.
“This sucks, man. I was supposed to go to college and play football. Now look at me, my leg in a cast and my football days are over.”
“Shit man, that does suck. At least you went out a champion. Got a big trophy”
“Yeah like that will get me a job.”
Principal Lumley walks to the podium and addresses the crowd:
“Okay class of ’85, find your seats.”
A massive blue procession starts moving towards the fold up chairs in the middle of the football field. They are herded through a single line in the guise of “security.” Mooing cow sounds erupt from a bold few spreading out among the graduates. Light laughter comes from the bleachers reserved for friends and family.
“Thank you all for coming out and supporting our senior graduating class. Just some announcements: Summer school starts in two weeks. Registration for incoming freshmen starts August 31st. Okay, well without further ado I present our class of 1985 valedictorian: Frannie Hewson.”
The applause was almost non-existent. Frannie approaches the microphone, squares off, scans the crowd left to right and says:
“I hate this school, and everyone in it. I hate this town, and everyone in it. Everyone can kiss my fat fucking ass. Goodbye.”
Rumor has it Fat Frannie boarded a greyhound bus still dressed in full cap and gown for parts unknown. No one has seen or heard of her since.
Donnie and his wife are outside the entrance to the newest restaurant in town. They look over the posted menu.
“Oh wow, everything looks so good. I can’t believe a place like this would come here. And here we thought fine dining was Sizzler’s. Although I think this place is sort of pricey. Don’t you think?” Donnie says.
“Yeah, maybe.” His wife says. “But I’ve heard the food is worth it”
“Well I guess I should support our new local business. Being a pillar of the community and all, I have an obligation, you know.”
“Oh stop it Donnie, you are a mediocre insurance salesman, at best. You print on your business cards you were the High School CIF All Star Quarterback for 1985. How pathetic is that?”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing my loving and supportive wife of 23 years . . .Maureen.”
“Stop it. You know I love you. But I’m not ignorant of the fact you and your ex-high school jocks beer buddies are pussy whipped over the rumors of Ms. LaCharite’s supposed beauty and flirtations.”
“Uh . . .uh moi? With such a beautiful and loving wife to come home to?”
“You can be such an asshole Donnie. C’mon, lets get something to eat.”
“Yes, dear.”
I hate this town and everyone in it.
Those words still invade Donnie’s mind when he’s had a few drinks. He still has dreams of leaving this town in spite of his marriage and kids. Does that make me a bad person? Donnie wonders. Big plans and dreams unrealized because he knocked up a local fat chick. His life thrown away because of a simple moment of weakness. How stupid is that? He hates his wife, his children, his friends, and most of all, himself. Is it any wonder he spends most of his waking hours planted on a barstool in The Croaking Frog, the local pub, three steps from his insurance agency? Jack and coke is his drug of choice. Isn’t life sweet? He thinks.
“Hey Donnie! Man, that Hail Mary pass to Nelson to win that CIF championship was sweet. You were at the top of your game. Too bad you got sacked on the next play and blew out your knee. Bad luck that was. But hey, we were still champions, right?”
“Yeah, we were.”
That would be Slim Jim Tim reminding Donnie for the umpteenth time of his injury that derailed any college or pro football prospects. Slim Jim’s nickname is a reference to his sordid addiction to those grease infused mystery meat bar snacks. His continued existence should be the subject of a science experiment. Slim Jim Tim and cockroaches will be the only forms of life surviving the big one.
“Hey, have you heard about that new restaurant in town? GoodEats? I hear the owner is a hottie.”
“Yeah, I heard that too” Donnie says, “Me and the Missus ate there the other night. It’s kind of pricey, but the food is excellent. No sign of Ms. Hottie though. LaCharite. Interesting name.”
“It’s French I think.”
“French. Really. I would have never guessed. Thanks for the clarification Slim Jim.”
“No problem, dude. Oh wait, you were being sarcastic. Okay I get it.”
“Yeah I was. No one can put anything past you.”
“Nope, nobody can...uh . . .oh damn, were you being sarcastic again?”
“Yeah Slim Jim, I was.”
“Hey, speaking of GoodEats, did ya hear it’s hosting our 25th anniversary reunion?”
“Really? Wow. Well at least the food will be good. Our 20th anniversary at that pizza place sucked ass.”
The door to the bar opens. The patrons shield their eyes at the offending daylight. They see an hourglass silhouette in the doorway. The form pauses, as if for effect, before entering the bar. No one recognizes her but everyone knows she is Ms. LaCharite, owner of GoodEats.
“So Bartender is a well made lemon drop martini out of the question, or is this dump strictly beer and wine?”
“Uh . . .no Miss I think we can handle that order.” The bartender replies.
Ms. LaCharite slips onto a barstool two away from Donnie.
“Well, you’re new” Donnie says “Have we met?”
“Is that the only pick up line you can come up with? Wow, are you the slick one. What’s next? Do you come here often? What would your wife say, Romeo?”
“Who, Maureen? Oh please, the old ball and chain probably has her fat ass parked on the sofa watching her soaps and stuffing her piehole with crunchy cheetos as we speak.”
“Your wife’s name is Maureen?”
Ms. LaCharite’s smile disappears and she quickly looks up at the Lotto monitor over the bar.
“What? Is something wrong?”
Her eyes drop from the Lotto screen and lock onto Donnie’s.
“No, not at all. Your love and respect for your wife is inspiring.”
“Aw, I care for her and all I guess. We got married very young. I never thought my life would turn out like this.”
“We all have regrets. What about Maureen? I wonder if she thought her life would turn out like the way it has. Ever think about that?”
“What’s she got to complain about? She stays home and I work. I try not to think about it too much. Hey, what do you say? There is a motel just a block away. I know the owner. I can get a nice suite cheap. Wanna bump uglies?”
“You sure know how to sweet talk a girl but, uh, I’ll take a rain check, lover boy.”
The bartender serves up the lemon drop martini. Ms. LaCharite sips cautiously.
“Not bad. Thank you.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
“Word has it GoodEats is hosting our 25th high school reunion.” Donnie says.
“Yes. I am looking forward to it. Very much so.”
“Well, I hope you have a good menu planned.”
“Oh yes. A very special one I am personally supervising.”
“Oh wow, I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I. Well I would love to sit and chat with such interesting men but I have a restaurant to run. Good afternoon gentlemen.”
Ms. LaCharite slips off the barstool and is out the door seemingly in one graceful motion.
“She is a hottie.”
“Yeah” The bartender says as he pockets the $20 bill left for the $6.50 lemon drop martini.
Donnie and Maureen are standing outside GoodEats looking at the menu for tonight’s dinner.
“What’s so special about this menu?” Donnie says, “Man, she sure likes to deep fry stuff.”
“What do you mean the menu isn’t special? What were you expecting?” Maureen says.
“Oh . . .uh. . .nothing dear. Let’s just go in.”
“I wonder if Frannie will make an appearance this year.”
“Fat Frannie? That would be a riot. She is probably 400 pounds by now.”
“You are an ass, Donnie.’
“I love you too, Honey.”
“Let’s go in have something to eat and try to have a good time.”
“Yes, dear.”
GoodEats was packed. Former classmates measuring their success against one another. Inwardly pleased others are not as well off, spending more time with those than the ones far more successful. Donnie and Maureen find their table and sit down.
“Why is it I look forward to these get-togethers only to hate them once I have to suffer through them?” Donnie says.
“Well dear, I am sure everyone else is thinking the same thing.”
I hate this school and everyone in it.
Why do those words pop into my head? Donnie wonders. He looks around the room and realizes it’s because those words express how he feels. His sports injury, guilt trip family, and meaningless job, has made him a nobody. He had such promise and fate took that away from him. Or was it Karma? No. Wait. Karma is good. Dharma is bad. What did he ever do to anyone?
“Hey Donnie”
“Hey Kevin”
Kevin Matthison was Donnie’s defensive end in High School football. For a time he was also his best friend.
“Missed you in college, man. We would have had so much fun.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me”
“Hey I wonder if Fat Frannie is gonna make it this year? That would be a hoot”
“It sure would. I’m going to get a drink.”
“Okay, see ya.”
Donnie goes to the bar and orders a jack and coke, downs it, orders another and gets back to his table just as dinner was being served. The food was excellent. Everyone else must have thought so. Most conversations stopped as people just concentrated on eating.
“The food is wonderful, Donnie.”
“Yeah, I’m going to have to eat healthy for a month after eating this much fried food.”
Dinner ends and the plates are picked up. Desert is now being served. Maureen is served a plate but Donnie is not. He starts to protest but a waiter seems to show up from nowhere.
“Ms. LaCharite enjoyed her conversation with you at the Croaking Frog. Here is a special desert for you to enjoy.”
“What?” Maureen says, “Are you kidding me? You had a conversation with her?”
“Yeah, a short one”
“Anything I should be worried about? Did you offer to bone her at the local motel?”
“What? How would . . .no of course not.”
“Uh huh.”
Donnie looks at his “special” desert. A puff pastry sprinkled with powdered sugar. He slices into it and a red filling oozes out. He tastes it and a heavenly combination of flavors fills his mouth. It has just the right balance of sweetness and tart. It is amazing. Donnie wonders what the filling is made of. Passion fruit?
Suddenly the din of the crowd lowers. All the guests look up as Ms. LaCharite enters the dining room. You could hear a pin drop.
“Thank you all, class of ‘85, for having your reunion party at my restaurant. I hope the food was enjoyable and everyone is having a good time. A person starts clapping. The other guests join in.
“Thank you. I know there’s been speculation about. Well, my name is Francine LaCharite. But I think most, if not all of you, would know me as Frannie Hewson, or Fat Frannie.”
An audible gasp fills the room. Donnie is stunned. He is glued to the chair. Fat Frannie’s eyes lock onto his.
“As you can see I am not the “fat” Frannie you remember” I once said I hated this town and everyone in it. I still do. This is why it gives me great personal pleasure to inform you all everything you all have eaten tonight was cooked, sautéed’, and deep fried, in my liposucted fat. Bon Appétit’.”
The sound of scraping chairs and gagging fill the room as the diners make a mad rush to the bathrooms. Retching and vomiting sounds are audible through the swinging bathroom doors. Frannie walks toward Donnie’s table and stops at his side. Her eyes locked onto his the whole time. Why can’t I look away? Donnie thinks.
“Did you enjoy my special desert?” Frannie says “I made it especially for you Donnie my dear. Want to know the ingredients?”
Donnie nods. His face is pale. Beads of sweat appear on his brow.
“Your puff pastry was filled with a cancerous tumor removed from my lower intestine. It took a lot of red food dye and sugar cover up the black color and foul taste. Oh and a dash of passion fruit puree”
Donnie starts to feel nauseous and starts to gag.
“Can one get cancer from ingesting a disease ridden tumor? I guess we shall see . . .won’t we? My dear Donnie.”
Bile fills Donnie’s mouth. He swallows it down but the gorge comes back up. He rushes to the men’s room. As he door closes behind him he hears:
“Ah yes, revenge really IS a dish best served piping hot”
