Because Fat Girl

Chapter Nine

Drew unlocked the passenger door to his car and opened it for me to get in. “You know I can get my own door, right?” I asked sarcastically, sliding back into the Chevy C1’s leather seats.

“No, you can’t.” Drew closed the door behind me, and I shot him a defiant look as he got into the driver’s seat. “No, really, you literally can’t open the door from the outside. That key sticks every time. I’m the only one who seems to be able to open the darn thing. But I’ll let you try if you want. Maybe you’ll have the magic touch.”

I buckled my seat belt, still staring at him. I’d expected a pompous prick like his best friend, Chris, but instead I found a down-to-earth guy I was finding oddly endearing and magnetic. “Drew Williams, you have continually surprised me this evening.”

“You can call me Andy, you know,” he said as he maneuvered out of the parking lot.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I grabbed Drew’s iPod and scrolled through his music options. The man had taste, I’d give him that. I landed on a mellow Bessie Smith album I used to listen to with my grandfather and settled back into my seat. “So, famous action star Drew Williams, tell me about this lesbian mother of yours.”

“She’s amazing,” he gushed, pulling onto the freeway. “Wanted a kid, found a gay friend to donate some sperm, and raised me all by herself. She’d say not all by herself, since she had a group of gay men who took me to drag brunches and her best friends—Tammy and Joan—would babysit me for weekends she needed away. Really, though, when it came down to it, it was just her and me. She’s the strongest, most accomplished, kindhearted, intelligent, and handsome woman I have ever met.”

“You’re a total momma’s boy.” My tone was joking, but I truly admired the way he lit up when he talked about his mom.

“Guilty,” he gave in, a huge smile on his face. “What about your parents?”

“I don’t see them much anymore, and when I do, we usually get into some kind of fight. They’ve never really been the same since Henry died.”

“Of course not,” Drew said. “How could they be after that?”

Bessie Smith crooned, I got the world in a jug, the stopper in my hand , and I stared out the window, thinking about the way my parents climbed into a bottle the day my brother died and never got out again. Things had always been tense between us, neither of them understanding the “alternative lifestyle” they thought I chose to live, but it was so much worse when they were drunk. I wondered what my life would be like if I’d had a lesbian mother like Drew’s. Someone who not only accepted me but understood what it was like to face the vitriol of people like Mrs. Bertolli, knowing you were never completely safe as a queer person, even in liberal places like L.A.

“I’m sure you changed, too, after your brother died,” Drew continued.

“So much,” I admitted. “But I don’t think it was for the better until about two years ago.”

“What were you like before then?”

“Mean,” I answered honestly.

“Mean?” Drew prodded.

“My grief made me mad, angry, bitter, and cruel at times.”

“And you aren’t that now?”

“Oh no, I still am.” I chuckled. “But now it’s more directed anger.”

“At what?”

“Cancer. Grief. Death. The injustices in the world. I used to hate the whole world. Now I hate my world.”

“Do you really hate your world?”

“No. That was too harsh,” I said. “I actually love most of my life. I just hate the world of mourning. I’ve lived in it for so long. And now I’m coming out of it and trying to decide what to do next.”

“You should write about that.”

“That’s actually what my latest script is about.”

“Tell me more,” Drew pressed.

An insecure panic began to ride up in me at the thought of sharing my story with him. His films grossed hundreds of millions at the box office. Mine had barely made the festival rounds. He was a star. I was some random shopgirl. But he looked at me with so much eagerness and excitement, I had to give him something. “Um, it’s about two sisters going through some stuff.”

There was a pregnant pause before Drew responded, “Well, that won’t work.”

His rejection hurt. “Why, because it’s not some shoot-’em-up man thriller?”

“No. Because your elevator pitch sucks.”

“I haven’t worked on it, seeing as I’m still finishing the final draft,” I snapped, pissed at him for rejecting my idea and mad at myself for not knowing better than to share it with him. What would a man like him understand about someone like me?

“That doesn’t matter. You should have your elevator pitch from the start. You’ll need it to sell the script—which, by the way, won’t be the final draft. It’ll change so much you won’t recognize it by the time the film is out.”

“What would you know?” I blurted, bitterness rising up in me at this unsolicited advice. “Don’t you just show up and read the lines?”

“Actually, Chris and I are starting a production company,” Drew said with pride in his voice.

“A production company? You two?” I laughed.

“What’s so funny about that?” He sounded hurt.

“It’s just, I don’t know, you seem more of the smile-and-wave type.”

Drew said nothing in response, but I could see by his face that I’d struck a chord. The hurt there reminded me of my ex Sam, the way she looked each time I lashed out at her, my insecurities taking over. I’d been so unstable dating Sam, never quite sure if she actually found me attractive. I always felt like she’d rather be with someone else, almost ashamed that she’d unwittingly fallen in love with a fat femme. One weekend, I overheard her friend casually comment that I was not the usual body type she went for. Sam told her I had a good personality and was really talented at my job, so that made up for it. I went back to our table, smiled, and drank my Negroni, trying to pretend I wasn’t breaking inside. Sam denied it all when we got back to my place. We’d fought so hard, she packed her stuff and left for good, calling me abusive on the way out.

She’d texted my sister as she left, saying she still wanted to be her friend. I hated Sam for that, for reminding me that Cecily was the thin, normal, sane one that people loved more than me. But if Sam hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t be here today. My sister knew me well enough to immediately hop in her car and come to my apartment. She’d gotten there just in time to stop me from permanent harm.

I didn’t want to be that person anymore, the one whose insecurities made her attack the people around her, who made her lash out at herself. I knew that only led to lying alone on a cold bathroom floor with a razor in my hand. I’d been through a lot of therapy since then, and I thought I had this demon under control, but I apparently still had work to do.

We all have work to do , I reminded myself, taking a deep breath and readying my body to apologize.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” I reached out and touched my hand to his arm in a gesture I hoped he took as sincere and soothing. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me since we met. That comment was about me, not you. I actually think you’d be a really good producer. I can tell you’re passionate about movies, and I think that will make you great. I know you’re more than a pretty face. I didn’t mean it. I just get insecure sometimes, especially around people like you who are hot, famous, and talented.”

“Thanks for saying that.” Drew looked down at my hand on his arm, as if he was wondering why it was there. I awkwardly withdrew it, feeling even worse than before and hating myself for ruining a perfectly good evening with my anger. I was trying to come up with something else to say to make it better when Drew turned to me and smiled. “So you think I’m hot, huh?”

“Don’t forget famous and talented, too,” I added, making both of us laugh and break the tension in the car. “Tell me about this production company you and Chris want to start.”

“We want to help get the stories made that would otherwise be passed over. Like my mom’s story. Single lesbian raising a kid on her own. Or Chris’s cousin’s biracial family, whose kids are treated differently based on their skin tones. Or our friend Kali’s story, where Hollywood forced her to take diet pills, then rejected her when she got addicted to them. Stories like the ones you were talking about earlier, ones with positive fat characters. We want to help tell stories that are different from the normal narrative seen in Hollywood. We see groups of people struggling to get their stories told, and we want to help.”

“So it’s like a white male savior thing?” I asked, skeptical.

“My mom said the same thing when I told her our plan,” Drew confessed.

“I like the sound of her.”

“She’s an amazing woman,” Drew said, pulling into the Roussard’s parking lot. “I get that Chris and I are privileged, and we are going to mess up at times, but still, we’ve gotta try. Action films are fun, but what I really want to do is make movies that have a positive impact on the world. This production company is my way of trying to do that. To use my fame to get the stories that aren’t being told out there.”

“And what is Chris’s motivation?” I asked.

“Chris wants to win an Oscar and prove he’s more than just a pretty face.”

“Sounds like Chris.” I scoffed. “Even his good deeds are full of ego.”

“He’s a better guy than he lets on,” Drew vouched for his friend.

“I’m still waiting for him to prove it.”

Drew parked next to my car and shut off the engine.

“You want to know the key to making this idea of yours work?”

“Absolutely.” Drew turned to give me his full attention.

“Seek out people of color, queers, indigenous folks, women, trans people, people with disabilities, and other historically silenced and underrepresented folks. Hire ones with strong artistic visions and a solid sense of self. Give them a platform and then back away and let them do their thing.”

“Hire people like you,” Drew said.

“People like me but better.”

“You don’t think you’re good?”

“I’m good, but I think a lot of what makes my films great is Janelle. She’s amazing, one of the best cinematographers in Hollywood.”

“Why haven’t I heard of her?” Drew asked.

“When was the last time you were on a set with a Black DP?” I retorted.

Drew paused to think about it. “Never.”

“And that’s why she’s still working at Roussard’s,” I said, pointing to the now-dark department store. I gathered my things from behind me and turned back to him. “I had a surprisingly fun time tonight, Mr. Drew Williams. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to act so shocked. I’m a fun guy.” Drew smiled shyly, our faces startlingly close in this tiny car, his eyes staring right into mine.

“You are.” I shook my head. It had officially been too long since I got laid if I was thinking about leaning in and kissing Drew Williams right now. Even if I wasn’t super gay, I wouldn’t be into beefed-out guys like him. Still, it had been nice to spend time with Drew. “Thanks again for turning my shitty workday into a delightful evening.”

“You know, you should have your agent send me your script,” Drew said as I opened the door to his car. “We’re looking for movies to produce.”

“It’s not ready yet.” I was suddenly back to being shy again.

“Send it anyways,” he insisted. “You can’t get anywhere in this town without someone greasing the wheels. And it just so happens I’m about to get into the grease business.”

“That’s a horrible line. You should never use it again.”

“I regretted it even as it was coming out of my mouth.” Drew laughed. “But I hope you won’t let that stop you from going out with me again.”

“As long as you’re buying the fries with cheese, I’m there.” I got out of the car and shut the door behind me.

Drew reached over and rolled down the passenger-side window. “I’ll see you tomorrow at one, right?”

“Tomorrow?” I asked, confused.

“My suit fitting,” he reminded me.

“Ah. Yes. Tomorrow it is, then,” I answered, unlocking my car. “Thanks again, Andy.”

“Anytime, Diana. I hope we can go out again soon.”

As he pulled away, I sat there for a moment, letting his words sink in.

I hope you won’t let that stop you from going out with me again.

I hope we can go out again soon.

My brain spun. Had I just unknowingly gone on a date with Drew Williams?