Because Fat Girl

Chapter Eleven

I tried to work, but all I could think about was the fact that Drew Williams was reading my script, and possibly Chris Stanson, too. I told myself that if they didn’t like it, I’d be fine. My agent, Elise, could still shop it around like we’d originally planned. But if they did like it… My brain could barely fathom what that would mean.

Instead of fixating on the possibility of rejection—or even scarier, success—I focused all my energy on what I already knew I did well: fashion. I dug through my closet and found a form-fitting silver sequined ELOQUII cocktail dress that I’d bought years ago for a wedding and hadn’t worn since. I had too many clothes like that, beautiful outfits I rarely took out, opting instead for my comfortable, favorite go-to pieces. Grief had left me living in sweatpants for so long that I’d forgotten how much I loved making a statement as I walked into a room. The LACMA party reminded me that I liked dressing myself as much as other people, but I was still recovering from the destroyed shirt and lost earring, wondering if I really could handle dressing up and going out with a celebrity, where paparazzi might catch us at any minute. The designer dress was stunning, but still, I felt like throwing it off, putting on some yoga pants, and feigning illness. At least that way I wouldn’t have to face Drew as he rejected my script.

“He’s here,” Janelle said as her door buzzer rang. She wore an emerald crushed velvet suit with matching loafers and a perfectly folded goldenrod pocket square. She looked fabulously fashionable, and for a split second, I hated Janelle for how easily confidence came to her, before I remembered that she was a Black, queer, masculine-of-center woman in Hollywood—her swagger was hard-earned.

“Ready?” She looked over at me with excitement.

“No!” I said, my whole body tingling with nerves. “I think I’m going to puke. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Okay, I get it. That’s fine.” Janelle picked up her phone. “I’ll call down and tell him we’re not going.”

“Really?” I was half hopeful, half heartbroken at the idea of staying home tonight.

“No, not really!” Janelle picked up my clutch and threw it at me. “This is a huge chance for both of us—you’re not going to chicken out. You’re going to suck it up, get your ass out that door, and have a damn good time tonight. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because we’re fine as hell.” Janelle grabbed her suit lapel and posed in the mirror. When I didn’t respond, she looked over at me expectantly. “I said, we’re fine as hell.”

“And sexy AF,” I finished without enthusiasm.

“Excuse me, what? I didn’t hear you.” Janelle put her hand up to her ear.

“And sexy as fuck,” I said, louder.

“People are lucky to share space with us,” Janelle encouraged, twirling around and sticking her ass out toward me.

I smiled. “They should pay us to be in their presence.”

“Damn right.” She smiled, opening the door for me.

I stood there, frozen. “What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Then he’s more of an idiot than I thought, and we’ll find someone else to produce it.” Janelle threw her arm around me. “Either way, you get a limo ride and a free dinner at Dos.”

“I do love free food.”

“See, the night is already a win!” Janelle hugged me tightly against her body, then pushed me away. “Now get your ass out that door.”

I grabbed my clutch and Janelle’s hand as we made our way downstairs where, true to his word, Drew had a ridiculously long white stretch limo waiting for us. He stood outside it with a goofy grin on his face and two corsages in his hands.

“You don’t have to wear them all night,” he said, slipping the flowers onto our wrists, “but I thought you might like them for the car ride.”

We laughed and thanked him, climbing inside, where we were greeted by an older white woman wearing a black suit with satin trim, a thick black-and-white plaid tie, and a large, welcoming smile on her face. She waved at us, her corsage flopping around her wrist.

“He never went to prom,” she explained, adjusting the band of flowers.

“Really?” I gasped as I scooted next to her.

“He was rather goofy in high school,” she confided in me.

“He’s rather goofy still,” I joked as Drew got in.

She laughed, a deep belly laugh that at once put me at ease. “You must be Diana,” she said, extending her hand to me. “I’m Jaqueline Williams.”

“Why do I know that name?” Janelle asked, settling into her seat across from us.

“Because she’s a super-famous writer, the first out lesbian to win a Pulitzer, among other prestigious awards,” Drew said, beaming.

“Modesty was never his strong point”—Jaqueline offered her hand to Janelle—“but that is me. And you must be Janelle. And now that we are all acquainted, I think it is time to seal our new friendship with a toast.”

Drew popped a bottle of champagne and handed us all glasses. “To Jaqueline!”

“To Jaqueline!” we cheered, clinking our flutes together.

“I could get used to this.” Janelle lounged against the sofa-size seat she had to herself and sipped her champagne.

“I thought you didn’t like big, fancy events,” I teased.

“I don’t,” she insisted, letting her legs stretch out. “But I do like big, fancy cars.”

I laughed and noticed Drew fussing with his tie in the window’s reflection.

“This won’t do.” I squatted and made my way past Janelle to the far end of the limo where he was sitting. “As your stylist, I can’t let you out in public like this.”

“Windsor knots are impossible.” Drew yanked and pulled his crooked tie tighter.

“You’re impossible.” I tugged on his neck, trying to loosen the wonky knot.

“I read your script,” he said.

I stopped breathing, my hands pausing against his neck.

“And?” I responded, focusing intently on the tie so he couldn’t see the nervousness in my face.

“It’s amazing,” he replied, trying to catch my eye.

“It’s good,” I corrected, still not looking at him. “I wouldn’t call it amazing.”

“Diana.” Drew leaned over and forced me to look into his eyes. “This script is really, really good. With the right cast and crew, I think it could win awards. Big ones.”

“You think so?” I asked, my fingers shaking against his chest, a blush starting to take over my face.

“I do.” The beam on his face told me he meant it. “And so does Chris. We want to produce it.”

I froze, dropping his tie, the knot falling loose. “You want to what?”

“Produce it.” Drew grabbed the pieces of silk and tried to tie them together himself. “With you as the director.”

“Janelle…” I looked over my shoulder at my best friend talking with Jaqueline farther down the limo. “Janelle, I need you to hear this.”

“We’re almost there,” Jaqueline announced. “Andy, fix your tie.”

“I’m trying.” He flipped the silk over and under itself. “Windsor knots are impossible.”

“Drew,” I squealed, “repeat what you told me, loud enough for Janelle to hear.”

“Windsor knots are impossible,” he yelled, smiling coyly at me.

“You know what I mean.” I pushed his fingers away and yanked out the tangled knot he’d created.

“Chris and I want to produce Diana’s film,” Drew said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “With her as the director.”

Janelle shot up, looking from me to Jaqueline. “Is he for real?”

“Andy talked about your script the whole way here,” Jaqueline confessed, “which is a good sign for him and a project.”

“So, then, what do we do now?” I asked.

“I think you should start with fixing his tie,” Jaqueline replied.

I laughed and flipped the material around, my hands practiced from working at Roussard’s. Seconds later, Drew had a perfectly tied Windsor knot around his throat.

He thanked me as he glanced at his reflection in the window. “Looks good.”

“Now, tell us what’s next for this film,” Janelle said.

“We don’t need to talk details right now,” Drew reassured us as the limo pulled over in front of Dos. “But if you’re interested, I’ll have my people call your people.”

“So they really do say that in Hollywood.” Janelle shook her head.

Drew smiled as he looked me up and down. “You look like a disco ball.”

“Thanks?” I didn’t know how to take that. On one hand, my silvery sequined dress did look like a disco ball. On the other hand, I didn’t know Drew well enough yet to tell if that was a fat joke.

“In a good way,” he added quickly. “A really good way. You both look stunning as well,” Drew said to Janelle and Jaqueline. “I’m the luckiest guy in L.A.”

“I’d say you’re lucky, showing up with a limo full of hot queer women,” Janelle said as the driver opened our door.

Drew stepped out of the car first, and a sound like distant gunfire went off around us.

Jaqueline grabbed my arm. “Wait a few minutes. Let the cameras die down. Avoids a crotch shot in the news tomorrow.”

I thanked her for the advice and looked through the windows as Drew waved to the paparazzi. I smiled, excited that it might be me soon, standing on a red carpet posing for photos at the opening of my film. A film Drew Williams and Chris Stanson wanted to produce! With their names attached, this script had a great chance of being made. I pinched myself as Drew raised his hand, indicating he was done, then ducked back into the car. “It’s safe to come out now.”

Jaqueline grabbed a silver-tipped cane from the floor and scooted toward the door. Drew helped us each out of the car, and together we made our way to the front of the restaurant as paparazzi snapped shots and shouted questions.

“What brings you here tonight, Drew?” a woman with a notebook yelled.

“Tacos.” Drew smirked. The woman laughed.

“Who are you here with tonight, Drew?” a man with a camera shouted from the group.

“My brilliant mother, the award-winning writer Jaqueline Williams, and two talented filmmakers, Diana Smith and Janelle…” He paused, looking at Janelle.

“Zenon,” Janelle added.

“Janelle Zenon,” he said loudly. The man wrote something down on his notepad as we walked inside.

“That was intense,” Janelle said as we approached the host stand. “Does that happen to you everywhere you go?”

“Not everywhere,” Drew admitted.

“This row of restaurants is popular with famous people, so the tabloids keep a crew outside on the weekends,” Jaqueline explained.

“Right this way, Mr. Williams.” The hostess escorted us away from the entrance and to a door in the back of the restaurant. When she opened it, I expected a small, secluded space just for our party but instead found a whole other dining room, this one completely full of celebrities.

“Do all restaurants have a secret famous person room?” I asked as we passed Hugh Jackman sipping scotch with Ryan Reynolds.

“Just the most pretentious ones,” Jaqueline said as we reached our table where two handsome women in tuxes sat. “Tammy and Joan, this is Janelle and Diana.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tammy said in a Southern drawl.

“You, too,” I replied, “and might I add that you both look very handsome in those tuxes.”

Tammy laughed and winked at me. “If only I were twenty years younger.”

“Maybe I like my women refined with age,” I said, winking back.

“Then you can sit right here.” Joan patted the seat next to her.

I accepted the offer and sat down as Drew pulled the seat out for his mother on the other side of Tammy and hooked her cane on the back of her chair. Janelle sat next to me, with Drew next to her, and two empty chairs between him and his mom.

Dos was a lavish homage to 1950s Mexico City, with royal purples and rich maroon walls contrasting with bright gold and brass fixtures, all of it accented with bouquets of fresh flowers and lush green vines. Our table itself was a work of art, a copper-and-glass frame lit by a jumbled string of tiny, white lights embedded inside. Janelle ran her hand over it admiringly as I pointed out the chandelier, its waterfall of shining crystals a crown encircling us all. Across the room, a similar chandelier dangled above the well-stocked brass bar, creating a halo around the bartender’s head, like a Byzantine saint serving up redemption.

It was by far the nicest restaurant I’d ever been in.

“Look who made it.” Jaqueline nodded toward the entrance, a warm smile crossing her face. I held back a groan as I looked up and saw the hostess escorting Chris Stanson to our table.

“Ah, Jaqueline, beautiful.” Chris kissed her on both cheeks in greeting. “It’s been too long.”

“And whose fault is that?” She smacked him with her hand.

Chris faked being hurt and then pulled her into a long hug.

“I miss you, son.” She returned his embrace. “Where’s Kali?”

“Couldn’t make it,” Chris said, giving a glance over at Drew.

“Chris, you remember Tammy, Joan, Janelle, and Diana.” Drew pointed to each of us.

“Yes, lovely to see you all again.” Chris sat down next to Drew and let the waiter know there’d be one fewer person.

As the staff took away the extra place setting, I internally freaked out a bit as it dawned on me that they were talking about the Kali, as in the lesbian rock star I’d grown up idolizing. Chris, Drew, and Kali had all been in a show together as teens, and the tabloids said they were still best friends, but I hadn’t even contemplated that she might also be here tonight. Part of me was devastated at the missed chance to meet her, but my nerves were glad to not have another celebrity to impress tonight.

“So, Coffee Girl.” Chris turned to me. “I loved your script.”

Before I could remind him that my name was Diana, not Coffee Girl, Janelle grabbed my arm and squealed. “Oh my god, it’s Lena Waithe!”

Janelle had the hugest crush on the screenwriter and actor, and I couldn’t blame her. Lena Waithe was the complete package: smart, funny, and exceptionally well-dressed. “She is so hot.” Janelle beamed, and all the queers at the table enthusiastically agreed. “Or wait, do they use they/them pronouns or she/her?”

“I know they’re enby, but not sure about pronouns?” I replied. “Either way, so hot.”

“Are you both lesbians?” Joan asked.

“I prefer queer, but yes, definitely super gay,” I answered.

“Why do the young kids love the word ‘queer’ so much?” Tammy asked. “Back in my day, that was the term used to beat us up. Not one I relish.”

“I get that,” I said. “I think that’s why our generation decided to reclaim the term.”

“We call ourselves queer to embrace our differences,” Janelle explained. “To me, being queer means my sexuality, my gender, my kinks, my lifestyle, my politics are all different than the heteronormative, patriarchal, white supremacist society.”

“Exactly,” I agreed as people appeared with dishes for the table. “Plus, many of the people I date don’t identify as women, and I’m genderqueer myself, so ‘lesbian’ isn’t really accurate for me. Queer is more encompassing of the full rainbow of my life.”

“We’ll start with a little palate teaser of oysters,” our server interrupted, placing a small plate in front of me, “fresh up today from Ensenada and topped with a house-made jalape?o granita. “The whole meal is gluten, dairy, and soy-free, as requested. Enjoy.”

“Oh my god, that was so good,” Janelle gushed, finishing hers in one bite and slurping the last bits of granita out of her oyster shell.

Good was an understatement. It was crispy and cool, salty and acidic, fatty and fresh all at once. My tongue had reached nirvana. This one bite held more complexity than whole meals at other restaurants, and I knew we were about to embark on one hell of a culinary adventure.

“Oh, just you wait,” Jaqueline promised.

“We came here for our anniversary earlier this year, and I still dream about that meal.” Joan pulled Tammy into a hug.

“How long have you two been together?” I asked.

“Twenty-two long, tedious, painful years,” Joan bemoaned, and Tammy pushed her away. Joan pulled Tammy back toward her with a smile. “And I’ve loved every second of it.”

“I officiated their wedding,” Jaqueline chimed in. “Drew was a flower girl.”

“Flower girl, eh?” Janelle asked.

Drew shrugged. “We’re not big on gender norms around here.”

“I’m going to need photos,” Janelle teased.

“How have you made it last?” I asked the couple.

“Communication, collaboration, and vibrators,” Tammy confessed, making the table laugh.

“And non-monogamy,” Joan added.

“So you have sex with other people?” Chris asked.

“Why, honey, you interested?” Joan quipped.

“We realized early on that we couldn’t always meet each other’s every need,” Tammy elaborated while squeezing Joan’s hand, “so we opened our lives up to people who could.”

“Doesn’t that cause drama?” Chris asked.

“Says the boy with a different tabloid headline breakup each month.” Jaqueline sneered.

“Have you ever?” Chris looked back and forth from Jaqueline to Joan.

“How do you think we met?” Jaqueline lifted her glass to Joan’s. They clinked and drank, smirking the whole time.

“Lesbians are so complicated,” Chris said.

“Look who’s talking,” Jaqueline said. “Your sex life is like a box of puzzles all thrown together with a few pieces missing.”

“Just how I like it.” Chris raised his glass to her, and she pulled him into her side, their affection for each other apparent. There was something about Jaqueline loving Chris that warmed the coldness I had toward him, and something about Chris showing up for Jaqueline like this that made me think he might deserve a second chance. Might being the key word.

After the delightful oysters came urchin tostadas with sea snail ceviche, followed by the most exquisite guacamole with house-made chips and chapulines—seasoned spicy grasshoppers—to sprinkle on top. I thought about how Reggie and Ellis would laugh at me for eating snails and grasshoppers, but I loved every crispy bite. A cactus flower sorbet cleansed our palates before an entree of wild boar tamales with a peanut mole, followed by quail with adobo sauce over cilantro rice.

The meal went by in a blur of laughter and mezcal, with Janelle pretending to pee every five minutes so she could get another glimpse of Lena Waithe. For dessert, the restaurant sent over a simple yet elegant deep-fried churro—shockingly gluten-free—presented on a wooden board with a miniature chocolate pi?ata Jaqueline had to break open to get at the creamy coconut cajeta center. As we sang her happy birthday, I swore I heard Hugh Jackman join in. When the check came, Drew insisted on paying it in full, and I didn’t protest, knowing the meal probably cost my whole paycheck.

“Happy birthday, young thang.” Joan yawned as she and Tammy kissed Jaqueline good night. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Diana and Janelle.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” I said, getting up and hugging both of them.

“I should get home, too,” Chris declared. “Early morning photo shoot.”

“Please tell me you ladies aren’t party poopers as well.” Jaqueline grabbed her cane and stood. “The evening has just begun.”

“What did you have in mind?” Janelle raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s go to Drew’s house and watch a movie. He has a very big screen.”

“Overcompensating?” Janelle joked.

“If he’s anything like his sire was, he has nothing to compensate for.” Jaqueline looped her arm through Janelle’s.

“You two?” I said, making a lewd hand gesture.

“Cheaper than a sperm bank.” She shrugged, pulling me to her other side as we left the table. “Chris, my darling, can I convince you to join us?”

Chris looked at the three of us, arms linked, smiling conspiratorially, and shook his head, a definitive no.

“Suit yourself.” Jaqueline headed into the restroom. Janelle joined her, and Drew went into the men’s, leaving Chris and I standing alone together. He leaned back into the corner of the room and stared at his phone.

“What’s your photo shoot tomorrow for?” I asked, trying to fill the awkward silence settling between us.

“What?” Chris looked up at me from his phone.

“What is your photo shoot tomorrow for?” I repeated, leaning into him and shouting over the ambient noise surrounding us. As I did, a flash popped off, and I turned to see a man carrying a camera running out of the restaurant, a large security guard following him.

“I’m starting to hate those guys,” I complained as my eyes adjusted.

“You never really get used to them.”

The manager came over, apologized, and offered to show us out the back of the building.

“Lead the way,” Chris said once everyone was out of the restroom.

We wound through the kitchen and out a delivery door, where our limo was waiting.

“Your car will be around shortly,” the manager said to Chris, who looked put out at having to wait.

“You mean the world to me, son.” Jaqueline pulled him into a tight embrace and kissed the top of his head. “Drive safely.”

Chris lingered in Jaqueline’s arms, and for a moment I saw the little kid he must have been. Saying a brief goodbye to Chris, I climbed into the limo, followed by the rest of our party. With one last wave at Chris standing alone on the curb, our limo took off, Aretha Franklin blaring, Jaqueline already singing along.