This evening, after the éclair and before dinner, I slipped up to the apartment to do the souped-up stair machine I bought last week. With all the metaphysical energy I’ve got resonating, I’ve decided to work on my cardio-vascular system before and after all performances. I’m starting to look pretty good.
The big change came the minute Carlos stopped force-feeding me. Right away, I dropped five, maybe even ten, pounds. So, when Maggie knocks on the apartment door, flouncing in, to perch on the coffee table, I get flustered and blush.
[This post is an excerpt from Diary of a Heretic, the novel. Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]
“Don’t mind me,” she says. “Breathe!”
“What?”
“No need to suck it in anymore, Malcolm. You’re starting to look almost normal. When someone gets that fat within a few weeks—I mean, hour by hour, gaining weight right in front of my eyes—maybe it likewise just melts off once you quit eating.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Then she bounces up and clicks in her little high-heeled boots to stand facing me as I work the machine. Palms out, she says, “I’m here to say, I’m sorry. I know. I’ve been a jerk. And as of right now, I won’t act like that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s like we’re so amazed at what you’re doing, we don’t know what to say.”
“All I know is everybody’s being nice to me for a change, and I like it.”
“You do not!” she says. “Or, at least, you won’t for long. We need to treat each other as regular friends. At least, you and I do.”
“All right,” I nod. “I’ll try.”
“Everything’s happening at once, and if we’re not careful,” Maggie says, “it’s going to get fucked up before it even gets going.”
“So we’ll be careful.”
“Except as a rule, none of us are careful types. That’s my point,” Maggie says.
“Everyone’s tiptoeing around when we should be yelling and screaming.”
“Not me. I don’t yell. I don’t scream.”
“Well, I do,” Maggie said. “Which is exactly why you need me.”
(Click here to read the next episode.)
