Because Fat Girl

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Diana, right?” a voice I knew so well said to me. I turned away from where my sister had gone and came face-to-face with my childhood idol.

“I’m Kali,” she introduced herself, as if that were needed.

I shook her hand, dumbstruck.

“Can we talk in private?”

“Sure,” I replied, forgetting all about my sister and following Kali to a little alcove off the main room. At first, I wondered how she knew where to go, then I remembered she was one of Chris’s best friends. Of course she knew her way around his house.

“This is probably the best we’ll get.” Kali turned toward me in the too-tight space.

“What’s up?” I tried to play it cool and not think about how my childhood crush’s body was so close to mine.

“I want to be a part of this movie,” she began.

Ah, of course. That’s what this was about, I thought.

“I’m not sure you’re right for Laura,” I replied honestly. As much as I’d loved Kali growing up, she was too thin now to play the role, not to mention she’d just had top surgery and was now presenting more masculine. I knew Chris desperately wanted her on the team, but she just wasn’t right for this role. I was prepared to fight on this matter, until I noticed Kali was nodding her head in agreement.

“I know,” Kali admitted, “but I don’t want to act in your movie. I want to score it.”

“You want to what?” I was confused.

“I want to write the music for your film,” she explained. “All of it. Like Aimee Mann did for Magnolia and Kendrick Lamar did for Black Panther . Original Oscar-worthy songs.”

“Can you even compose?” My awkwardness around my childhood crush faded as my business brain and instinct to protect this film kicked in.

“I can. I used to be really good at it.”

“What changed?” I dared ask, even though I already knew the answer.

Kali chuckled. “You know what changed. Everyone knows what changed. Between the diet pills and nonstop touring, I wasn’t able to write for years.”

“And now?” I probed.

“And now, I’m trying. I’m really trying. Every day, I wake up and I try. I’m writing again. And it’s good. Really good. Nothing like that overly produced bullshit the studio has had me doing for the past decade. This is like my old stuff. Real stuff. I think it would be perfect for this film.”

“You don’t even know my film.”

“I read the script,” Kali admitted. “It’s good. Relatable. I want to help make it great .”

“Why you? There are hundreds of singer-songwriters in L.A. What makes you the right fit for this film?”

“Because I’m gay, and I’ve been fat, just like Laura.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “And because, like the brother in the script, I have cancer. That’s where I’ve been lately, not rehab, not a bender, but the cancer ward. I let everyone think I’d gone off the deep end again because I didn’t want them to know the truth.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” I challenged.

“Who would lie about having cancer?” Kali sounded appalled.

“I’ve had addicts lie about worse to me.” I thought about my parents and all the lies I’d grown up with, lies they still tried to sell me.

“I can get a doctor’s note, if that will make you feel better.”

I looked her up and down, trying to find the signs. Her hair was cut short, which I’d assumed was a fashion statement but could also be like someone growing it out from chemo. Dark bags settled under her eyes, but that could be from the drug use. “Show me your PICC,” I finally said.

Rolling her eyes, Kali unbuttoned her shirt, and there it was, the cancer patient’s best friend, a tube protruding from her chest, a direct line to her heart. She was telling the truth. “Want to see the mastectomy scars, too? Everyone thinks I had top surgery, and that’s easier to face than the truth. Years of not wanting my tits, and now cancer took them away for me.”

Her revelation was shocking but made sense, now that I knew Chris and Drew more. Those two might live in the public eye, but they held their privacy dear. Considering she was their best friend, I’m sure this was about as private as it got. And it shed a whole new light onto the fights the men had over Kali being on this film as Laura.

“What do Chris and Drew think?” I asked.

Kali sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Drew wants me to rest. Chris thinks I need something to live for.”

“Do you?” I probed.

“Honestly,” Kali said, looking me directly in the eyes, “Yes. I’ve been fighting this for a long time, and I’m getting tired.”

“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m not being very empathetic. You just surprised me, and I’m protective of this film.”

“I get it.” Kali smiled. “We’ve done a very good job of pointing the tabloids toward drugs.”

“Why not just tell them the truth?” I wondered.

“I’d rather have their judgment over something that never happened than their pity over something that did.”

I couldn’t pretend to get it, but I also didn’t grow up in the spotlight like Kali, Drew, and Chris had, their every move documented for the world to see. Still, I understood that fierce desire to hold private their most vulnerable parts. I did the same when Henry was diagnosed.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” I asked. “I’m just a stranger to you.”

Kali shrugged. “Chris likes you. He cares what you think. That’s rare. Rarer than you would think. So you must be one of the good ones.”

“And what if I’m not?” I thought back to my fight with Cecily. “What if I’m a bad one pretending to be good?”

“Then you’ll fit in perfectly with the rest of us.” Kali chuckled and slapped me on the back.

“We’re a team. All of us have to sign off on it, including Drew,” I said, and Kali’s face fell in disappointment. “But I’ll take it to them and see where it goes.”

Kali’s face lit back up with tentative hope. “That’s all I can ask for.”

“Should we, like, hug this out or something?” I asked, my awkwardness returning. “I feel like we just had a moment.”

“Sure, let’s hug it out.” Kali laughed as we embraced.

Together, we left the alcove and headed back out into the sea of people. My heart soared when Kali introduced me to Lilly Singh, another queer idol of mine, and I forgot all about Cecily when Priyanka Chopra joined in our conversation.

“There you are,” Chris said, coming up next to us. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” I asked.

“Our official announcement,” he reminded me, leading the way through the crowd toward the staircase now lit up like a stage. Shamaya and Drew were already in position. They greeted me with large, confident smiles that showed none of the nervousness I felt. Janelle and Jaqueline stood together at the base of the stairs, both giving me encouraging smiles as I climbed up into position.

“Thank you all for coming to our intimate little party,” Chris started, making the audience laugh. “We’re honored to have you here to celebrate the new partnership between Kapoorico Entertainment, Jackie Boy Productions, and Because Fat Girl Media.”

Chris continued to welcome people in his professional movie star voice, one that was congenial yet commanding. As he held the attention of hundreds of gathered elites, I understood why he was a star. Earlier, he’d been awkward, lacking eloquence giving his toast to our little group, but here, in front of hundreds of people, he was poised and polished; he captured everyone’s attention. You couldn’t fake that kind of presence in front of a crowd. You were either born with it or you weren’t.

Too bad I wasn’t born with it, I lamented for the thousandth time since moving to L.A. Still, I was learning to appreciate my own unique assets, separate from what Hollywood deemed valuable.

Shamaya got on the microphone after Chris, giving a hilarious and heartfelt speech, talking about bridging the USA, India, and Mexico tonight, and joking that I needed to write in a big dance number now, just so she could see Chris and Drew try to learn the choreography. She encouraged everyone to eat, drink, and be merry, then just like we had practiced, we put our arms around each other and posed for pictures like one big happy family. It was a dream come true, an absolutely magical moment. If only my sister were here to share it with me.