36. Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter 36
Leslie
“ N othing fits!” I screamed at Risto from my spot in front of the closet. My trusty white blouses, blazers, and slacks hung limp and useless on their hangers. In frustration, I grabbed the camel jacket Kaelen Reed hated and held it up to myself in the mirror.
Had I really worn this three months ago?
I stretched out my arm, gripping the fabric with my palm. Its width was about the same as the empty sleeve.
Yeah, not happening.
I mourned for my clothes. They gave me a professional style, in front of and behind the camera. They kept me warm despite the frigid television studio temperatures. I slid hangers aside, spotting one of my other work uniforms.
All straps and mesh, I paraded around in this hooker outfit as if it were a job requirement. Like being a journalist meant I had to prostitute myself. Literally. Could I succeed without using my body as bait? Let my words speak for themselves?
Yes. I could and I must.
Plus, that’s what I’d done all summer with my YouTube show.
Viraj was right to suggest I stay in the public eye. My videos had millions of views, and the comments I received showed my message was changing lives. Most of all, mine.
I accomplished all this without prancing the streets in a hooker outfit. Not once did I pretend to be in love with a mobster or lurk in a dive bar waiting for an informant. That was my normal MO, but I was playing a character. The crackerjack journalist I thought everyone wanted me to be. No, that wasn’t quite right. I dressed up because I enjoyed being someone else more than living my pathetic life. Compared to my alter egos, the real me had always been a lousy alternative.
But I’d changed.
The clothes morphed before my eyes. Instead of thrilling adventures, I saw them for what they were: straps of restraint. Prison garb, no longer representing who I was and who I wanted to be. Tears trickled down my tightened throat in sorrow for the woman who wore them. I hoped to never be her again.
I shut the closet door and slipped on a dress I packed. It was 11:00 a.m. I had plenty of time to get a new outfit, then hop over to the network for our 2:00 p.m. meeting. Finding clothes had always come easily to me. I wasn’t fussy, favoring classic cuts and solid fabrics. Hopefully, I’d find suitable garb quickly and squeeze in… lunch?
Wow. I had definitely changed.
Risto entered the room and drew me into a hug. “Go buy something new. My treat.”
“You’re bankrolling my shopping spree?”
“Yes. You work hard and deserve it.”
I kissed him. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, I am.” He squeezed my ass and headed out for his day.
I faced the storefront of my favorite store and immediately knew I was in trouble. The display sizes mirrored the ones in my closet, and I wondered if the shop carried anything that’d fit me.
I pulled the glass pole of a door handle and entered the retail space. Women’s clothes were to the right. Fall items were up front, so I went to the back of the store where summer hadn’t yet left the building. Garments hung limp on every rack, with more folded in incredibly precise piles on white display tables, likely arranged using a ruler.
A salesperson approached. Young and blond, her pale skin was identical to the translucent pink top she wore over black leggings and sensible flats.
“Looking for a gift?” she said in a cheery voice.
My brow furrowed in confusion. “No. I’m shopping for myself.”
Her smile fled as she looked me over. “Um.”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“It’s just… We may not have anything for someone of your… shape.”
“What shape am I supposed to have to shop in your store?”
“It’s…” The girl dropped all pretense of civility. “Look, I don’t make the clothes. Are you going to make me say it?”
I lifted my chin in defiance.
“Our shoppers wear skinny cuts. Your proportions… I mean … well… curvy people are better off somewhere else.” She shrugged, looking over her shoulder, hoping another customer would rescue her with an interruption. But we were alone.
I pivoted to face her, crossing my arms across my chest. “So you discriminate against anyone who’s not a size zero?”
“No, not at all. I mean, you’re not huge, but you’re…” She pantomimed the arc of my new hips and round butt. The one that drove Risto wild and made me feel sexy as hell in bed. Seeing my stormy expression, the salesperson gave up.
“I think it’s best if you leave,” she said flatly, crossing her arms.
“I’m way ahead of you, sister.” I hiked my shoulder strap and headed for the door.
Would this be the treatment I’d get everywhere?
Curvy people are better off somewhere else.
Like having curves was a bad thing. Suddenly, my shopping trip became a mission. How many shops would toss me out? I made a quick voice memo on my phone, noting the store and the first name of the sales associate.
I hopped straight next door, not even looking at the style of clothes displayed in the window. Yet I had identical results. Store number three went the same way. Then I tried a department store. The departments I frequented before had the latest in cute styles. But to find something that fit my hips and butt without pinching, I had to journey to the “women’s” section. Oddly positioned beside “petites,” a stark reminder that I was now an “other.” Shapeless sacks of cloth hung from hangers. Depression personified. Did no one in the fashion industry think that “curvy” people wanted to be stylish?
I huffed out of the store and paused against the storefront window to open a browser tab on my phone. I could forget about lunch. At this rate, I’d show up at the meeting looking like an upholstered sofa. Not the powerful impression I was going for. I had to find something that screamed, You made the right decision in hiring me.
All the places that populated my web searches were exclusively online shopping. While the fashions were cute—and I’d definitely return to them later—that did me no good today. I needed clothes. Now.
Frustrated, I dialed my cousin Gabby.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
I swallowed a sob, plugging my ear from the traffic blaring around me. “I’ve been to four stores and can’t find a decent fucking thing to wear. Everything looks like a tent.”
Gabby sighed. “Welcome to my world.”
“Shit, this is awful. I’m definitely doing a story on this next. Total bullshit.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
I wasn’t even sure. I started by Herald Square and meandered uptown. The green-and-white sign anchored me at 40th Street and Fifth Avenue. The likely reason my comfortable shoes weren’t. I sank onto the front steps of the New York Public Library, the stone lion giving me as much love as the crabby salespeople. The NewsOne building was a quick walk away, but time was running out.
“I’m by the main branch of the library. Near 42nd Street.”
“Perfect. Go to B’Cause. It’s nearby and you’ll have a gorgeous outfit in a flash. They’re not cheap, though.”
“Risto’s treating me. He might regret it!”
Gabby whistled. “Jackpot. Get going and let me know how it turns out.”
I hiked the eight blocks up Fifth Avenue to the store and breathed easy when a full-figured beauty stood behind the checkout station. Dressed to the nines with sparkling accessories, her green eyeshadow and plum lips complemented the deep tan tones in her complexion.
“Wait! No! Shut the front door! You’re Leslie Allen!” Her glossy dark curls bounced as she clutched her hands, squealing.
“Um, yes.” People recognized me sometimes. But never with so much enthusiasm.
“I’ve been watching your YouTube series. We all have.” She turned and yelled to her colleague across the store floor. “Grace! Grace, come quick.”
The second clerk looked up from her work refolding shirts. She used a folding board to get each shirt the same width, bending round at the front. “Is that who I think it is!?”
“Yes, can you believe it?”
As overjoyed as I was to be gushed over, the clock was ticking.
“I’m kinda in a rush. I have a big meeting in an hour and have to look the part.”
“Do you have an outfit in mind? Dress, pants?” Grace asked.
“Something that says ‘don’t eff with me’ but also shows I’m a woman. Got anything like that?”
“Definitely.” The pair scattered across the store, grabbing hangers, belts, and shoes before shooing me into the dressing room.
A few changes later, I looked like a million bucks. Black slacks with an ivory sleeveless cowl-necked blouse, topped by a black jacket that cinched at the waist with a sparkly marcasite belt. They even let me use the staff bathroom to freshen up and reapply my makeup.
I stepped out to meet Grace, who was holding up onyx hoop earrings with sparkly edging that glinted in the overhead spotlights. “You need these.”
I slipped them on and my outfit was complete. “Perfect. Thank you. Time check?”
“One thirty-six,” Salesperson #1 said, now recovered from her initial shock and thoroughly invested in my meeting.
The pair rang up my purchases, and I tried to ignore all the decimal places. No way Risto was paying for this. He’d have to spoil me another day.
“You ladies were lifesavers!” I stuffed my sweaty dress into my handbag and dashed out. Five minutes later, I flashed my badge at the lobby security guy, who did a double take and smiled. That slight pause of approval made me feel beautiful, confident, and ready to meet the network team.
I rode to the 41st floor and knocked on the producer’s closed door.
“Come in!” I heard her yell.
I entered to find Maureen sitting at her desk, opposite her star anchorperson, Kaelen, and Jay Key from the legal department. My internal warning system blared.
Why was a lawyer here?
This meeting smelled of dismissal. And while I was nervous, never had I entertained a scenario that ended with me losing my Saturday host spot.
“Come sit down.” Maureen gestured to the empty chair between Jay and a smirking Kaelen.
I stashed my purse under my seat. “What did you want to discuss?”
“As if you don’t know.” Reed eyed me up and down with disgust before looking away.
Maureen side-eyed Reed before centering on me. “Leslie, when we signed you on, we were so happy for you to be our Saturday host.”
“Were? Has something changed?” I didn’t like where this was going.
“Well, yes. You have. Quite a bit, if I’m to be frank. You’re noticeably larger and, I believe, are in violation of your contract’s weight clause. It mandates that you stay within the designated percentage gain from when you signed the deal. While we appreciate that you’re accustomed to being a freelancer and doing as you please, as on-air talent your choices now have consequences.”
Jay handed out copies of what I presumed to be my contract. Thirty pages deep, I found a paragraph highlighted yellow. Sure enough, I committed to a weight clause. I had a vague memory of it when reviewing the original contract language. But having never strayed from my starvation diet, I’d only given the passage a cursory glance when Barbara pointed it out during her legal review. Now I wish I had taken it more seriously.
I looked up from my paper to meet three sets of unyielding eyes.
“Here are your choices.” Maureen leaned forward on her crossed forearms. “If you commit to dropping back to your original weight and staying there, we’re all good. If not, then I’m afraid this triggers the termination clause.”
“You’re not serious? Do you know how sick I’ve been?”
“Leslie, we—”
“Just listen. I was nearly hospitalized. My weight was so low that my organs were failing. You want me to go back to that?”
“Shit, Allen. No one cares about your fucking sob story. They just don’t want to turn on their television and see a blob.” Kaelen’s expression dripped with disgust.
Jay shot Reed a silencing stare. “What Mr. Reed meant to say is that we have these clauses for a reason. You were hired because of the package of attributes you brought to the network, including your appearance. Given your weight gain, we are no longer getting what we signed on for.”
My mind flooded with memories of sex workers standing on street corners. How they strolled in the dark, selling their bodies for cash. Sure, I was sitting in a skyscraper. But how would I be any different if I agreed to these terms? That would surrender control of my body to a corporation while reinforcing the impossible standard I railed against to millions of people on YouTube. The diet industry would win, yet again.
Then it hit me.
“A sponsor complained.” I didn’t ask.
Maureen squirmed in her seat.
Jay stared at his wristwatch.
Kaelen skewered me with an icy stare.
“Someone has to pay the bills, Allen.”
Of course.
When we watched Kaelen’s show over the summer, Dot would change channels, complaining about all the ads for diet plans, weight loss drugs, and empty-calorie diet foods. With Kaelen’s maniacal diet regimen, it figured he’d court diet-industry advertisers, none of whom were likely happy to have an anti-diet crusader on the staff. As a recovering anorexic, I’d become a living example of the dangers of their lies.
Maureen cleared her throat. “Regardless of any complaints we might or might not have received, the fact remains that you’ve violated your contract. It’s right here.” She waved the papers for emphasis.
“Yeah, well, it’s bullshit. Rodney Cox, Morgan Finch, Steve Gruber.” I ticked the names off on my fingers. “All three anchors are large-bodied and on-air. Why am I held to a different standard? Because I’m a woman?”
Kaelen snorted. “Don’t be thick. They were always fat. You’re the one who did a swan dive into an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“That’s enough,” Maureen snapped at her superstar turd.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Allen.” Jay handed me a letter. “This is your official warning. You have 48 hours to reply, in writing, about your intentions.”
Jay and Kaelen rose and left, leaving the door open behind them. But I wasn’t done.
I grabbed my bag and followed them out. Jay turned a corner and disappeared, but Kaelen strode ahead.
“Kaelen! Kaelen, wait.” I hurried after him. “Don’t do this. Please.”
He stopped and turned to face me, fuming. “This was your big break. Network brass had plans for you. Now you’re a fucking mess. I mean, look at you!”
“Because I stopped starving myself? This is bullshit and you know it. My YouTube videos get more viewers than two cable news networks combined—as I am. Why leave ratings on the table by cutting me loose?”
“I don’t make the rules here,” he said.
“Do you seriously think viewers care what I weigh?” I asked.
“I do. The lookers across the dial attract viewers for a reason.” He flicked his head, and I followed him into an empty conference room. He slipped out his smartphone, tapped it a few times, and handed me the device.
Survey results.
In your opinion, does Leslie Allen look better in picture A or picture B?
The question was above two pictures. One of me on the red carpet at a news industry gala, slim and smiling. The other, a grainy picture from YouTube, my face blotchy from crying, chin retracted to make it look like my neck had eleven rolls.
For fuck’s sake.
This was a bullshit setup to get me off-air and silence my voice. If he watched my videos, then Kaelen damn well knew how sick I’d been. The network expected me to reject their terms. They wanted no part in exposing the incestuous connections between the diet industry, government researchers, pharmaceutical companies, and the medical establishment. All the sectors profiting from keeping people chasing an illusion.
Kaelen sighed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it ended this way.”
“Then why not stand up for me? This is your show. You have power.”
“Allen… Give it up. No good will come from making a fuss.” He strolled across the room, staring vacantly out the window. The hazy view a perfect metaphor for the network’s foggy reasoning for firing me.
“There’s a story here. I’m living proof.” I handed back his phone. “Isn’t the journalist in you the least bit curious? Don’t you want to know whether that health regimen of yours is motivated by faulty science?”
Kaelen stiffened in anger. “Getting healthy changed my life for the better, and it’s doing the same for every kid I work with.”
I sighed in frustration. “Then you’re just as brainwashed as the rest of them.”
“Not brainwashed. Smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds me.”
I shouldered my bag and stormed out of the network offices, mind raging with anger, confusion, and despair for a career suddenly off the rails.
But if they thought I’d go away quietly, they were sadly mistaken.