7 #2
She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Fine, then. I won’t shower. But we still have to talk first.”
They entered his room, and she sat on his sofa and waited as he built the world’s speediest, most inadequate fire. When he
offered her a towel, she dried off as best she could. Almost immediately, though, her wet hair resumed dripping down onto
her quilted parka, and she gathered the sopping strands into a single rope with unsteady fingers.
He sighed and sat next to her. “Maria, let’s just—”
“You knew they were going to ask us to lose weight sooner or later, right?” Twisting the towel, she wrung out her hair and
swiveled to face him. “I mean, why else choose two fat actors for characters stranded on a chilly, desolate, windswept island
for years? The only fat actors, I’ll note, in the entire cast, even though our characters aren’t described as fat in the books.
They wanted us fat for a purpose, and since we’re not Hansel and Gretel, it wasn’t serving us for dinner.”
Peter closed his eyes, the lines bracketing his mouth deepening moment by moment. “Of course I knew they’d want us to lose
weight. I’m not an idiot.”
He’d understood from the beginning what would eventually be asked of them, then. So had she—but he’d had no way of knowing that. So why hadn’t he warned her? If not in LA, then later, when he’d gotten over his animosity toward her? Once they’d become friends?
“I can’t believe you didn’t—” She gave her head a violent shake, her hands trembling with cold. “Never mind. We don’t have
time for that now. The important thing is this: When my agent and Filip looked over my contract the day we were cast, I had
them check whether anything in the language would oblige us to lose weight if we were asked to do so. They said weight loss
is not legally enforceable according to my contract. Probably not according to yours either, though they couldn’t know for
sure without seeing it.”
His dark eyes blinked open, and he gazed expressionlessly at the fire.
Fine. If he didn’t want to speak, she had more to say anyway. “When Ron asks us to starve for the sake of drama, I’m going
to refuse. I imagine he won’t be thrilled, but if they choose to fire me over the issue, fine. I’d rather that than the alternative.”
Slowly, he turned toward her. Brows drawn together, he was staring at her like she’d just announced her intention to eat nothing
but surstromming —fermented herring; a famously smelly Swedish delicacy with a truly disturbing texture—for the rest of her misguided life.
“That’s why you packed all those snacks,” he said. “To defy them if they tried to fuck with our food supply.”
She inclined her head. “Of course.”
When he didn’t say more, she set aside her towel, laid a hand on his forearm, and made her appeal.
“That day in the parking lot, you told me I was on my own. But Peter, we’d have more power if we stood together on this issue,” she told him, gently shaking his arm. “If we both refused—”
“I’m not going to refuse the showrunners anything.” There was no indecision in his voice. No hesitancy. “I need this role, and I’m willing to make
sacrifices to keep it.”
Astounded, she opened her mouth but found herself speechless.
He jerked his head toward his phone, mouth firm. “Can we call Ron now?”
She paused before speaking again. Finding the right words in English took longer than she’d prefer, but her point was too
important to leave unclear.
“Peter. Listen to me.” She leaned in until his face was a mere handful of centimeters away from hers, because he needed to
pay attention. “Don’t you understand the long-term effects of what they’re asking us to do? Haven’t you read about the contestants
on those awful weight-loss TV shows and the irreversible harm they did to their bodies?”
The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened in a tiny, nearly imperceptible flinch, but otherwise, his face might have
been carved on a Viking runestone.
“You should know, Peter. You have to know what’ll happen.” Brows furrowed, she fought the urge to shake his arm again, this time much, much harder. “Your body
will scream at you to eat more and get back to your original weight.
You’ll be hungry all the time. All the time .
And while you starve yourself, you’ll fuck up your metabolism, and it’ll never be the same.
Never . Because your body will think you’re in a famine and slow everything way the fuck down, permanently. ”
For those reasons and so many more, she’d resolved long ago to stay healthy and strong at her current size, rather than focusing on weight loss.
Back home, she’d even given occasional talks about the issue.
And if the role of Cassia raised her public profile and allowed her more of a platform, she would gladly take advantage and spread the word to as many people as possible.
Starting, apparently, with her sexy idiot of a castmate, Peter Reedton.
“If you lose weight too quickly, you can damage your internal organs, including your heart. If you don’t believe me, I’ll
send you links to various articles written by trustworthy sources.” She squeezed his arm for emphasis. “You can’t switch bodies
the same way you switch roles, Peter. If you do this, you’ll harm yourself for life, and no job is worth that. None.”
To his credit, he appeared to be listening. He even took a minute before replying.
Then he said simply, “I’m sorry, Maria, but I disagree. For smaller roles, I wouldn’t do it. For this one, though...”
His shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug, and apparently that was it. Everything he had to say on the topic.
Ah. Now she truly understood.
He cared about work above all else. As many Americans supposedly did, probably because they didn’t have much of a safety net
if they lost their jobs.
But she’d suspected that about him already, hadn’t she?
The part she hadn’t realized, though, not until this very moment: It wasn’t going to change. He wasn’t going to change. Not
now, not next month, not next year.
Work was what drove him. What mattered most to him. What he lived for, and what he might very well die for. Not friendship
or love or good deeds. Not happiness. Not even his own physical well-being.
Now she knew: Her initial instincts hadn’t led her astray.
Peter could never make her happy, because he’d never make her his top priority.
Her needs, her well-being, would always come second—at best—to his career.
And unlike him, she cared about her own happiness, so she wasn’t settling for less than the sort of relationship she wanted.
Even if that meant never having Peter in her bed again.
Even if that meant potentially staying single for the rest of her life.
Carefully, finger by finger, she removed her hand from his arm.
This conversation hadn’t proceeded as she’d hoped, but that was fine. She’d learned valuable information anyway.
When she shivered at the loss of his body heat, Peter’s frown deepened. “I’ve changed my mind. Go take a shower before we
call Ron.”
“I’m fine.” Every limb felt weighted with disappointment, and she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at him anymore.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice gruff and unhappy, but he set aside his own towel and had them connected to Ron within
moments.
The showrunner, of course, wanted them to start losing weight. Rapidly.
“Because Cyprian and Cassia would have so little to eat over the winter,” he explained breezily. “This is an excellent opportunity
to dramatize the severity of their conditions on the island and the extremely high stakes of their partnership. If they don’t
cooperate to the fullest extent, they’ll starve, and seeing the two of you become thinner and thinner will sell that story
to the audience in the most powerful way possible. Starting tomorrow, you’ll—”
“No,” said Maria.
When he was startled, Ron’s chin jerked back toward his neck, and he looked like a turtle. A very dickish turtle. “Pardon
me?”
“I’ve already had both my agent and my lawyer study my contract, and there’s nothing in there that would legally obligate me to diet or lose weight.”
She didn’t wait for or watch Peter’s reaction. Her response was her own and didn’t depend on his, and its consequences were
hers to bear alone. Even if she still hoped he might have altered his stance on this issue in the last, say, thirty seconds.
Ron’s pale eyes had turned hard. “Maria, you certainly have the right to refuse my directive. Just as I have the right to
recast the role of Cassia. Immediately, as necessary.”
“Of course you do.” So predictable, that response. So predictable, and so disappointing. “That said, your memo from last week
indicated that this season’s filming is already running late and over budget due to issues at your other shooting locations.
Can you truly afford the time and money it would require to stop everything here while you found another actor for my role,
got her to the island, had her outfitted, and adequately prepared her for the part?”
“I’m certain...” He visibly swallowed, an angry red tide of color rising from beneath the collar of his button-down. “I’m
certain we could make it work.”
She inclined her head. “All right. Then let me ask you another question. Haven’t you noticed the amount of positive publicity
you’ve received for casting fat actors on your show? Do you really think you can ask those actors to visibly starve themselves
and not expect a terrible, extremely public backlash? I’m a symbol of the body positivity movement, with a substantial social
media platform, and if I’m fired because I refused to diet, there will be hell to pay, Ron, and I won’t be the one paying
it. You will. The show will.”
Peter was still and quiet next to her. Very, very quiet.
If he was going to speak on her behalf and his own, this would be an excellent time.