Wedding Weight

Chapter 5 - You Can't Quit

And here's why a self-defense class or two might have come in handy. Then, when the sliding door to the black van slid open and three incredibly fit men in form-fitting lycra gym wear and woolen ski masks leapt out, Robyn might have had the presence of mind to kick one of them in the groin, drive her fingers into the eyes of the second, and stomp her heel down on the instep of the third. 

But instead, she struggled against a restraining arm to get the spoon of ice cream into her mouth. 

She won that battle, although this was scant comfort as she was carried squirming to the van and thrown inside onto the heavily padded floor. The sliding door slammed shut. And she was in darkness.

The tires screeched as the van raced up the street. On the back, a bumper sticker read: Lose weight now, ask me how.

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Flash! A blinding white/blue light. A spectral after-image floating in the darkness, then fading away. The high-pitched whine of a camera battery recharging. And a man's voice again, from somewhere in the shadows.

"Once again. Arms at your sides, please." The cold, bare, locked room felt threatening, but the voice did not. If anything, it sounded bored, as if there was nothing in this world less interesting than Robyn's shivering, naked body.

"Why is this necessary?" Robyn asked. She was instinctively stalling for time, as if more time would somehow make a difference. As if a S.W.A.T. team would come bursting through the door and spare her the embarrassment of being photographed naked. 

"For future reference," the voice said enigmatically. "Arms at your sides, please."

Robyn obeyed and dropped her arms self-consciously to her sides. She knew it was impossible to hide the thirty pounds she had not yet lost. (Well, thirty-five, technically, but she had already revised her goal.) And vanity being what it is, she sucked in her stomach as much as she could. But it was a Band-Aid at best. And try as she might, she could not think of a way to suck in her thighs.

She flinched as the flash went off.

"Turn around, please."

Turn around? Jesus Christ!

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But having her ass photographed was nothing compared to the humiliation of hearing her weight read out loud. It was a large and hateful number. A number without pity. A number that prowled the streets at night, murdering children.

"That's not right," Robyn protested as the man made an entry into his tablet.

The man stepped into the light and Robyn could see him clearly for the first time. It was Dave, the gorgeous and arrogant Tenacity trainer who shared the office with Debbie.

"Is that so?" he said, and his smarminess transformed Robyn's embarrassment into acrimony.

"Yes, that's so," she said in a mocking tone. "I weighed myself this morning. Your scale is heavy."

The corners of the Dave's mouth twitched as a smile almost, but didn't quite, appear on his face. "Here," he said, tossing her some clothing. She reflexively caught it with her right hand. In the process, she briefly exposed her breasts, which elicited no reaction from him whatsoever. Clearly, Dave did not see her as a sexual being. He barely seemed to see her as any kind of being. "Put them on."

Robyn examined the clothing and her anxiety grew. It was a two-piece set of black lycra gym wear that, she judged, could only fit over her body with intense effort. And the results would be profoundly unattractive.