Because Fat Girl

Chapter Eight

The whole fun center had a fairy tale theme with three giant blind mice greeting us at the entrance. Drew bought wristbands for unlimited play, and we raced go-karts and bumped boats while we waited for our tee time. It was weird, watching people interact with Drew in different ways—some staring, some being overly polite, some shooting photos from afar. If it fazed Drew, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continually made jokes to cheer me up and checked in a bit too much to make sure I was enjoying myself, which I surprisingly was. He’d been right. This was exactly what I needed.

Soon it was our tee time, and while I picked out my putter, Drew ran off to the main building, returning a few minutes later with a giant popcorn tub full of fries with cheese.

“You’re my new favorite person in the whole wide world!” I exclaimed, enthusiastically grabbing the tub from his arms.

“You only like me for my fries.”

“It’s true,” I said, shoving a handful of warm, gooey, crunchy, salty goodness into my mouth. “Seriously, though, you’re pretty chill for a movie star.”

“And you’re pretty.”

“Pretty…what?” I asked.

“Just pretty.” He smiled at me as we walked to our starting spots.

“Are you hitting on me?”

“Maybe?” He placed his ball on the dot, lining up his shot and hitting it perfectly along Hansel and Gretel’s trail of crumbs.

“I thought we established that I’m more of the Indigo Girls type.” I handed him the tub of fries before I stepped up to the tee-off line.

“I like the Indigo Girls.”

“And I like girls,” I emphasized as my ball ricocheted off the edge and came right back to me.

“Gender is a construct.”

“Your lesbian mom teach you that one?” I asked as I hit my ball again, this time making it around the curve and almost to the Witch’s Candy Cottage.

“Nice shot.”

“I’m a natural,” I boasted, taking the fries from him.

“Yes, my mother taught me that gender is more social than physical and that people are attracted to who they’re attracted to.” He paused to line up his shot. “But I wasn’t hitting on you, just stating the fact that you are indeed pretty.”

My heart skipped a few beats in spite of myself as he hit his ball perfectly into the hole. I tried to remind the butterflies in my stomach that I was not into cishet men, but still, it was nice to get compliments from someone—regardless of their gender or fame. Especially someone as sincere and thoughtful as Drew seemed to be.

“Nice shot.” I smiled.

“I’m a natural,” he echoed, reaching for the fries.

We headed to Hole Two, and I handed him the tub before bending over and lining my ball up on the little dot. I wasn’t the competitive type when it came to sports, but I still didn’t want to make an ass out of myself in front of Drew Williams. I swung lightly, following through with my stroke like I remembered my dad saying years ago when he tried to teach me. Yet still, my ball went flying, ricocheting off the wall and ending up behind us. “Now you see why I didn’t want to go to the fancy golf course with you?”

“I just figured it was the lack of cheese fries.” Drew held the tub steady as I dug my hand in for more.

“That, too,” I said, mouth full. “And it’s fries with cheese. Not cheese fries.”

“Good to know. I’ll remember that for next time.” Drew placed his ball down, focusing on it as he lined up his shot. “So why were you crying at Roussard’s today?”

I went and picked up my ball, stalling for time until I could figure out how much I wanted to share.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Drew amended while tapping his ball easily into the Big Bad Wolf’s mouth.

“No, it’s fine. I probably should talk about it, and you deserve to know why you’re cheering me up.” I lined my shot up, tapped it gently, and completely failed to shoot my ball through the Big Bad Wolf’s mouth.

“There was this kid.” My heart began aching all over again thinking about Alex. “They were genderqueer, and the mom was horrible about it. A total bitch to me and the kid. It brought up a lot from my own childhood, people not accepting me being queer, and it made me feel terrible for this kid to have such an abusive, unaccepting mother.”

“That sounds terrible,” Drew said as I tried, and failed, another time to make it into the Big Bad Wolf’s mouth. “Anything I can do to help?”

“This is actually helping a lot.” I picked up my golf ball and shoved it into the wolf’s mouth, only to have it immediately roll back out, making us both start laughing. “Who knew putt-putt with a friend was so therapeutic?”

“So we’re friends, then?” Drew picked my ball up and handed it to me, writing a two down for strokes on my scorecard, a total lie that didn’t matter, because he was a good ten points ahead of me only halfway through the course.

“We sang to the Indigo Girls and ate fries with cheese.” I rummaged through the bottom of the tub he was holding, grabbing the last crunchy, salty, gooey bits. “That makes us friends in my book.”

“And if I wanted more?”

“I’m sure we can go inside and buy some more.”

“I wasn’t talking about the fries.” He tossed the container in the trash while I started on the next hole.

“I want an Oscar, but sometimes you have to settle for what life hands you.” Trying to ignore the fact that Drew Williams was possibly hitting on me, and I was possibly liking it, I wiped my hands on my pants, lined up my shot, and sent my ball soaring over Cinderella’s slipper and right into Little Red Riding Hood’s basket two holes ahead of us.

“Keep making movies like Lalo’s Lament , and you could win an Oscar.” He retrieved my ball while the people playing that hole gawked at him.

“Thanks.” I took the ball from Drew and hit it softer this time. “But the chances of me winning an Oscar are as likely as me winning the U.S. Open. I’ve just accepted it’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because fat girl.”

“You’re not—”

“Please don’t say I’m not fat,” I cut him off. “That’s like you pretending you’re not famous. We both know the truth, so why lie about it?”

“Okay, but you’re talented. I don’t see why being fat would keep you from winning an Oscar.”

I watched as his ball seamlessly soared up, around, and into Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage.

“Have you ever seen a fat woman win an Oscar?” I leaned against my putter, waiting for the people in front of us to make it through the Three Blind Mice. “Hell, have you ever seen a fat woman in an Oscar-nominated film?”

Drew was quiet, as if thinking about it for a moment. “ What’s Eating Gilbert Grape .”

“She was the brunt of cruel jokes and torture in that movie. Plus, Leonardo DiCaprio is the only one who got accolades for that, and he was rail thin.”

“ Precious .”

“Again, a movie that allowed viewers to pity a fat girl and gawk at her life. Gabby Sidibe did an amazing job, such a brilliant performance, yet she’s still not getting the roles thin actresses with half her talent are. And don’t even get me started on the problematic bullshit that was The Whale . Hollywood barely gives fat people a chance, and only if we’re making fun of ourselves or seen as the sad sack.”

“I get it. I was the fat sidekick for a long time. It takes a full team of professional chefs, trainers, and nutritionists to get me to look like this so I can get decent roles.” Drew walked us toward a giant Woodsman chopping an ax in front of the entrance to Grandmother’s House.

“And yet you still starred in blockbuster movies and, if I remember the tabloids correctly, you dated a fashion model. Fat men have it rough, but fat women are pariahs in this town. No one in Hollywood would be caught dead hiring or dating a fat girl.”

“My first girlfriend was plus-sized; she shopped at Lane Bryant.”

“And how soon did you break up with her when you got famous?”

“She left me. Broke my heart, actually.” He tapped his ball up and into Grandmother’s House, completely avoiding the ax. “Married a mutual friend of ours who is a sound engineer at Universal. I still see them all the time. Went to their house last month for their kid’s birthday.”

“That’s not awkward?” I tried to repeat his action, but my ball hit the side of the Woodsman and ricocheted back at us.

“I have a lesbian mom. I was raised to believe you stay friends with your exes.”

I laughed at the all-too-true cliché. “Where do they live?”

“Pasadena.”

“I live near there,” I said, trying to make it through the chopping ax again. “I’m in Arcadia with my sister and her two kids. They’re six and eight.”

“Sounds like a wild house.”

“It is,” I admitted. I picked up my ball, after another missed shot, and shoved it into the entrance to Grandmother’s House. “It’s official. I suck at golf.”

Drew laughed and handed our putters to the teenager running the booth.

“Come back soon!” the kid shouted enthusiastically after us, taking out his phone and snapping a photo.

“Don’t you worry people will see a photo of us online together?” I asked as we left the fun center.

“It would only boost my cred to be seen with the director of Lalo’s Lament and a future Academy Award winner.” I tried to ignore the way my heart skipped at the combination of his compliment and the smile he was directing at me. “Why, are you afraid to be seen with me?”

“Of course,” I said, only partially joking.

“Well, get used to it because I plan on making you play putt-putt with me all the time now.”

“You would put yourself through that torture again?” I pointed back at the Woodsman.

“If it makes you smile and forget about bigoted jerks, then yes.”

“Can we skip putt-putt and just go straight for the fries with cheese next time?” I asked.

“Here, hand me your phone.” Drew put out his hand, and I reluctantly handed it over. He typed something in, then handed it back to me. “Anytime you need me, just call.”

Logically, I knew he’d simply felt pity for the crying shopgirl and invited me out to cheer me up. My mind knew that all his compliments were a part of that, and besides, I didn’t like cishet men anyway. But still, I found myself holding my breath as I looked down at my phone and saw my new contact: “Fry Guy.” I officially had the number of famous movie star Drew Williams—and I didn’t know how I felt about it.