With my thighs trembling from the vigorous swim in the ocean, I clambered up the beach and headed for our room. Heather, being considerate, had offered to go to the shops and source dinner for us, leaving me alone to suck up my pride and call Matt.
I showered and threw on my favourite pyjamas, then snuggled down in a vast leather chair. Holding a white pillow over my belly as an unconscious shield, I dialled his number.
"Hi, this is Matt from Jump Start. Thanks for calling, leave me a message." Beep!
Dammit. I was a horrendous voicemail messenger. "Uh, hey, it's me. I just- wait, it's Evi, just in case you didn't know. Which you would, of course. From my number, not because I think you'd know my voice. Which you probably do..."
Get on with it, woman! I heard a soft beep in my ear, signalling another incoming call, but I was committed to seeing the message through. "So, anyway, I just wanted to tell you some stuff. So, call me back? Or text me, and I can call you? Or email, and I can text you to find a good time. Or..."
My own voicemail tone dinged, and I pulled the phone away to check. "Oh! You're calling me on the other line! So, just ignore all this! In fact, don't listen to it at all!"
I hung up and redialled him, this time getting through. "Hey!" My voice was breathy with pent-up excitement.
"Hey."
Matt sounded neutral. Needing to explain, I rushed ahead. "I just called you! But you were calling me."
"We always were in sync," he said, his voice just a little sad.
"Matt, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did. I was a bit drunk, well, more than a bit, and I'm such a freaking mess at the moment, I just took it all out on you."
"Evi, I called you to apologise. My return email was out of line. I should have set the crew straight about the bet ages ago; from the information you had, of course you'd be upset."
"Still, I had no right to say the things I did. I called you garbage."
"I've been called worse," he said drily.
I wanted to ask if he'd meant what he said in the email; if he still thought a future was out of the question for us, but I chickened out. "So... Friends?"
"Friends."
With that one word, my heart started again. "I miss you- your emails," I said, again deflecting my true thoughts.
"Why don't you write me a few? I feel like you and I still have a lot we don't know about each other."
"Deal." I couldn't keep the smile from my tone; he could have asked me to express-post him toenail clippings and I would have said yes.
"So, how was your weekend?"
"Oh, just the normal," I said, grinning as I swung my legs around under me. "Stayed with my new bestie and her gay life-partner, propositioned a Salsa dancer, wrestled with uncooperative swimsuits."
"Sounds good," he replied, a laugh lilting his words.
Heather appeared through the front door, bearing rustling bags of take-out. "Oi! You in the PJ's! Get over here!"
"I gotta go," I said reluctantly.
"Call me any time. I'll be looking forward to your email."
"Do you have a question you want me to answer?"
"Hmm... How about, you just answer the same things you asked me already?"
"Oo, I like it."
"Evi..." Heather called out again.
"I'm coming!" I lowered my voice, husky in emotion. "Thanks for answering. And for still being my friend."
He sounded just as intense as he said, "I am here for you, Evi, no matter what. Talk soon, okay?"
"'Kay." I hung up and skipped through to the outdoor dining table, where Heather was scooping food onto plates.
"I take it that went well, then?"
"It did! Why did you yell at me to get off if you knew we were doing okay?"
She laughed, the afternoon sun catching in her hair and burning it gold. "Because, my gorgeous friend, I know you. If you stayed on, you'd end up saying something silly out of excitement."
"The woman knows me," I admitted. "What's for dinner?"
"I found this amazing place that makes twenty different kinds of salad!"
I knew better than to ridicule any of Heather's ideas by that stage; she'd proven me wrong every time I had. Instead, I said, "Yum!" and sat down to feast on quinoa and pumpkin and kale and cranberries and chicken breast and feta and about a hundred other items in six spectacular salads.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you before," said Heather as she ran a finger over the caramelised balsamic vinegar left on her plate and tucked it in her mouth. "I was out of line."
"Don't be sorry. You were right. I worry about being judged, and all I do is judge other people all day long. Those people today coming in for surgery, the models at fashion week, Taylor for being skinny... Even you."
"For the boobs?"
"For the boobs. I just don't know how to get rid of all this judginess."
"Well, tomorrow is another day."
***
I spent Tuesday following the aromatherapist around. I wasn't sure if I believed in the healing powers of scent, but I had to admit, I felt olfactory ecstasy for the rest of the day.
Heather and I went for another swim after work. My arms and legs a little sore from the day before, but the peacefulness that the ocean water had brought me made up for any discomfort. It was easier throwing away my cover-up the second time, and I stroked more powerfully through the waves, loving the way the sea could make me feel both infinitesimal and a part of something universal.
I worked on Matt's email for a few hours that night, but it wasn't ready to send. Suddenly, I had so much to say, so much I wanted to share with him. Eventually, the words on my laptop blurred into each other and I drifted off to sleep.
Wednesday started a little earlier. At eight o'clock, I found myself waiting in a hall at Radiance, playing with the hem of my scrubs as the OR was prepared.
Grace wafted in. "Evi? Can I beg a favour of you? I need to see to another patient and all the nurses are busy. Would you please go into pre-op and chat with Haley?"
The young girl was curled into a tiny ball on the wheelie bed, hugging her arms around her bloated breast. Empathy rushed out from me as I approached her. "Haley? How are you feeling?"
Her bloodshot stressed-out eyes told the story before she even opened her lips. "Not great. I just keep thinking about when I was waiting to get them done the last time, and I was so excited and happy, and now I'm like, what the hell was I thinking?"
I took her shaking hands in mine. "Did you rush into the choice?"
"No. I wanted to do it for years, and I saved my ass off to afford it."
"So, you were thinking. You were thinking about doing something to make yourself feel more confident." I squeezed her gently. "Sometimes, stuff just doesn't work out right, even when we've put tons of thought into it. You'll be okay."
"She's right." Dr Blake stood behind us, smiling benevolently. "We're ready for you now, Haley."
She drew a deep, steadying breath. "I'm ready too."
I'd never been particularly squeamish, which was a blessing that day. There was something grotesquely beautiful about watching Dr Blake work; his bloodied fingers were the hands of a master craftsman, and his skills were apparent, even to the uninitiated like me.
When Haley was re-boobed and re-stitched, we changed into our street clothes for the previously promised lunch break at a restaurant Dr Blake's friend owned. It only took a few minutes to walk there from the clinic. The place was somewhere I'd already heard about before, aptly named Place.
"Blake! Good to see you, man!" A tall blond man with glowing green eyes welcomed us into the lounge.
"Jackson! Are we still on for the footy next weekend?" The two men embraced, while I hung back, feeling invisible in the face of so much extraordinary attractiveness.
"Yeah, of course! Come, sit. Cat's on her way with the kids, you'll have to say hi." The hunky owner ushered us to an outside table, dappled with Queensland sunshine. I ordered a lime and soda water, and waited for my chance to question Dr Blake.
"So, tell me about your career?"
The canny doctor lifted a knowing eyebrow. "Are you asking why on earth I went into cosmetics, rather than something nobler?"
"No..."
"It's alright, I don't mind. It's not about the money, although that's what people always think. My family are wealthy, and I've never lacked for anything. In fact, I will often work on cases pro-bono, just like Haley this morning, which isn't something you'll hear about from doctors working in more traditional fields."
"Do you ever struggle with the ethics of what you're doing?" I might have been impressed by his answer, but I wasn't letting him off that easily.
Dr Blake leaned back into the chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "Ethics. Such a strange concept. The word itself implies that there is a right moral path and a wrong one, but the truth of the matter is, everyone is on their own path. I am only interested in giving people what they truly want. The ethics of their request is up to them to sort out."
"Where do you draw the line, then?"
"Each case is different. I won't perform surgery on anyone under eighteen without parental support, and as you saw with your friend, Heather, I require a waiting period for all major operations. I will give a personal recommendation for aesthetics, but I will always defer to the patient's final decision. It's their body, and they have to live with it."
I had to know. "What's the weirdest procedure you've ever performed?"
"I once gave a man dimples in his cheeks. And I've turned outie belly buttons to innies more often than you'd think."
Our food arrived, and I kept chatting with the sexy surgeon, trying to shed my judgement and see the world a little differently. Perhaps, it's not an entirely mental option... I teetered on the edge of asking Dr Blake for a personal consult, and a new world loomed before me, one where my tummy sat flatter as the offending fat cells were sucked into oblivion.
Musing as I finished my Thai beef salad, a child's voice rang out from the front of the restaurant.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
A little boy entered, dressed as a Ninja Turtle, and less than two years old. Behind him, his beautiful and plump mother entered, pushing two bundles in a pram. "Tyson! Slow down, please!"
He shot into Jackson's arms, who swung the child high above the tables. "Hey, little man!" He crossed to the lady and kissed her deeply. "And how are my three gorgeous girls?"
"One of them managed to have a shower this morning, and the other two are sleeping – at the same time! It must be a miracle." She turned the pram to reveal two twin girls, about six months old.
Their adorable faces made me sigh. "Oh, goodness! They're so beautiful!"
She turned to me, grinning. "They have their moments."
Simultaneously, we both registered the same fact. "I know you!"
"Cat Markwell!"
"Evi Moore!" She quickly rushed to greet me. "What a surprise!"
"I haven't seen you since you threw Vance Myers' birthday party a few years ago! How's things?"
"Busy," she laughed, indicating little Tyson, busily emptying a salt shaker on a table, and the twins, one of who was stirring. Dr Blake stood to intercept Tyson's efforts and Jackson began to jiggle the pram. Cat smiled in gratitude. "Thanks, guys. Yeah, busy. We got pregnant on our honeymoon, which was awesome, but then, one of us was convinced that breastfeeding was a natural contraceptive-"
"I know I read that somewhere reliable," called out Jackson. "Didn't you tell me that, Blake?"
"Don't drag me down with you, sir!"
"-Anyway," Cat continued, "fourteen months after Tyson, along came the girls."
"Oh, wow!" I admired the other lady, but I felt the first tendrils of judgement creeping in. When I'd seen her last, the most influential events planner in Australia had been a svelte size eight, swanning around Vance Myer's celebrity party in skin-tight Jordy Green number.
Now, she was still beautiful, but certainly carrying a few extra baby kilos. Not that I'd expect anything else from a woman who'd had twins recently, but Cat was practically a celeb in her own right. She could afford personal trainers, chefs, nannies, liposuction. I was keen to know why she wasn't following the usual path of a wealthy new mummy. "Are you enjoying motherhood?"
"Motherhood is amazing," she said, sliding into the chair across from me. "My events company is still going strong – my number two is managing things for now, and I'll get back into it when I'm ready. For now, I just want to spend time with this lot and enjoy life."
"So, you're happy, even though life is a little less glamourous?"
Jackson approached. "Isla pooped. Where are the wipes?"
Cat tilted her brows in helpless submission to the situation. "Under the pram. Remember the bum cream!" Turning back to me, she said ironically, "A little less glamourous?"
"Would you ever consider, I don't know... getting some help?"
She shook her head firmly. "No. I didn't have babies to palm them off to a nanny twenty-four hours a day."
I pushed. "But, what about time for yourself? You look like you could use a break."
"You mean, I look like crap."
"No, that's not-"
She rushed to apologise. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm a little sensitive, that's all. I know I don't look like the same girl I was when I got married and hosted gala events and hung out with movie stars. Believe me, I know..." Her face crumpled, just a touch of self-pity salting her edges.
I reached for her hand. "For a woman with three babies under two, you look fantastic."
"You're kind. But it's not true."
"Have you thought about some different options? Heath retreats or a cleansing program? Your husband hangs out with a pretty exceptional cosmetic surgeon."
The struggle passed over her face, the battle between the aesthetic and the soul, but the stronger woman won. "No. I know I'm packing a few extra kg's, and yeah, most days, the only treatment in my hair is baby food, but this is where my life is at right now. Don't get me wrong, I've cried and hidden under the doona plenty of times, wishing for my flat belly and my tiny nipples back..."
She glanced over at Jackson, re-entering the room with the newly changed baby. "But I learned a long time ago, the right guy will still find you sexy no matter how you look, and the wrong guy will never see you as truly beautiful, even with all the sex appeal in the world. My husband loves me, and so do my kids. The weight will sort itself out down the track."
My throat tightened as I watched Jackson stare lovingly across the room at his wife. I want a guy who sees me as beautiful.
You had that, my bitchy brain reminded me.
My heart chimed in. Maybe, we can still have him.
***
Heather was meeting up with a friend from Brisbane that night and I had the apartment to myself as I snuggled down in bed with my laptop. Reading over the letter to Matt, I wasn't sure if I was ready to send it or not. There was so much of my heart invested in those words.
Dear Matt,
God, I didn't realise how hard this would be! It seemed so easy when it was you answering all the questions.
So, the first thing I asked you was to tell me about your family. Mine isn't nearly as exciting as your clan of super-geniuses. My parents are both still alive and together – currently, they're on the QE2, cruising around the world. I bought them the trip as a gift when I received my last bonus from the show. Weirdly, it felt kinda depressing that I didn't have anything more pressing to spend the money on, but it's made them really happy, so that's good.
I'm an only child. Mum and Dad were late to the kid party, and they only ever planned to have one. I was lucky, plenty of friends and activities through school to keep me busy, and I never really felt like I missed out by not having siblings. I read a study recently that said only children have social issues later in life because they missed out on early socialisation, but I think I'm relatively normal *clicks tongue while flipping the light off and on six times*
Mum has always been a round woman. She worked in a bakery for years, and rewards were always in the form of something sweet and doughy in our house. Even now, if I want to really reward myself, it's with a chocolate croissant rather than jewellery, and solace looks like a cheesy scroll.
All that sugar was fine when I was a kid and burned it all off, but when I hit puberty, the carbs stopped at my thighs and belly and set up camp. I ballooned, and I became this fat, funny girl. It's a part of my identity I'm not sure I'll ever lose.
After school, I enrolled straight into a broadcasting/arts degree at uni. I'd thought that I'd become the next Rebel Wilson or Gabourey Sidibe, but it turns out, I wasn't fat enough to be a fat actress, and I wasn't skinny enough to be a normal one. I was in the middle ground, the background player, the best friend or the comic relief.
I got so sick of it all, I decided to become anorexic. Yup, I DECIDED, like developing an eating disorder was a logical choice, Toyota over Ford. I cut back all my food to practically nothing, put up with the dizziness and stomach cramps, drank litres of green tea laced with cayenne pepper, and dropped two dress sizes.
I kept waiting for someone to jump in and save me, to tell me I was being crazy, that looking after myself was more important than looking good. But no one did. Everyone around me kept singing my praises, saying how hard I must have been working, how fantastic I looked, how well I was doing, how good I must have felt being so much lighter. My own mum bought my "Oh, I'm just watching what I eat" act, and I somehow felt betrayed by her and the rest of them for not realising that I needed help, not compliments.
It all came to a head at the end of year production, the final one before my class graduated. I aced the audition for the lead – I knew I'd done the best, and everyone else said so too. I was so confident; this was going to be my big break, where the world would see me looking my best while acting with depth and truth.
That's why, when the cast list was posted and Rachel Upton's name was typed where mine should have rightfully been, I marched straight up to the director and demanded an explanation. He shrugged. "She's hotter than you," he said, not even trying to be cruel, just being honest.
I ate a lot of croissants that day...
I finished uni, with my eating disorder magically cured, and another one lurking in its place. I found myself eating more and more, with abandon. If I couldn't be 'skinny' enough, even when I was on the brink of starvation, then what was the point? Might as well eat, drink, avoid all forms of physical activity and be merry.
I threw myself into indie projects, theatre and fringe performances, and I joined the panel of a public access TV show, where I would rant about life in a hilarious manner. That was where Jump Start found me. For the first time in my professional life, I was just the right amount of fat. Robbo loved my outspoken ways, and no one pressured me to conform, so I didn't bother to do even token amounts of exercise, or bother watching my waistline. I was a wealthy big-shot TV queen – what more did I need?
And that brings me to the second question, but I think that one will have to wait for next time – I'm feeling far too self-indulgent right now after all of that.
Miss you,
Evi
Book cameo! All of my books happen in the same universe - I couldn't resist bringing Cat and Jackson from 30 Lays in 30 Days back again :) There are sample chapters of 30 Lays available on my Wattpad profile, and the full story is edited and published through the digital arm of Pan Macmillan - find it here: https://www.panmacmillan.com.au/9781760300807/
So, tell me if you're happy Matt and Evi are speaking again, if you like the idea of a wealthy socialite mum not bowing to the trend of perfection, and what you thought about Evi's story in her email to Matt. And anything else you'd like to share!
Please, if you liked the chapter, take the time to click the little star and vote for it. xxoo Kate