cross the intersection and enter the southwest corner of the park, making our way through the pigeons, food carts, and tourists, and find an empty park bench where we can sit.
“I was going to get a Frappuccino,” Lisette said, “but I saw you.”
No more sweets . Jennifer’s harsh bark echos in my head.
“Smart move.”
We’re both quiet for a minute.
“Listen …”
“I …”
We look at each other, and laugh. Our conversational tangling of the tongues breaks the ice. Lisette urges me to go first.
“I just want to say I’m sorry for the other night. I felt terrible … I feel terrible.”
“Why?”
I stop mid-blow on my coffee and stare at Lisette. “Why? Because what happened there wasn’t cool.”
Lisette holds my gaze without breaking it. “How do you mean?”
“How do I mean?” Is this girl mentally challenged? “Everything!” I look around to make sure no one’s listening and I lower my voice. “You tied up like that, Jennifer insulting you, picking on you, asking me to critique you? And then you nearly get raped—with an audience, if you didn’t notice—by a black dude with a dick so big it needs its own sex offender registry? That whole night was a Mardi Gras parade of fucked-up shit. And I feel gross that I was there, that I participated. That I didn’t stop it sooner.”
“But I liked it,” she says softly. “I liked almost all of it.”
“You’re not an actress?”
Lisette frowns. “No, I’m not.”
“Are you joking? You did that on your own? You like what happened the other night?”
Lisette sighs and takes the shopping bag she’s placed between us down at her feet so she can sit closer to me. “It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the highlights,” she says.
“Please do. I have a list of questions that’s been keeping me up nights.”
“For most of my life, I’ve had what you would call a ‘weight problem.’” She does the air quotes for emphasis. “My mother tried everything to help me lose weight: private nutritionists, health clubs, trainers who’d come to our apartment, even Jenny Craig. Then a few years ago, in my freshman year at Lexington, she died of cancer and I fell apart. I started eating everything in sight, and I got to be the heaviest I’ve ever been—over 200 pounds.”
“So you go to Lexington?”
“Went there. I graduated last May. You?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “Keep going.”
“Anyway, I started failing tests, staying in my room all day, eating. Everything felt hopeless. I even thought about killing myself. Then one of the girls in my dorm, a senior, gave me a card.”
“The Getting In card,” I interrupt.
Lisette looks at me curiously. “No. This card said, ‘ Staying In. ’”
Staying In .
“This girl, she had never talked to me before. She was tall, gorgeous, stylish, in a different league … you know the type.” Lisette pauses and motions to me. “Like you. Really put together. Someone I thought I could never be. And she told me to call the number because she thought it could help. She said it had helped her. So I called.”
I huff out a little laugh. “This is whacked.”
Lisette shrugs. “Maybe it’s whacked, but it worked. Look at me. For the first time in my life, I’ve got people—hot guys, beautiful girls—checking me out, and it’s not because I belong in a freak show. I can fit into clothes that I didn’t have to buy at a tent shop. And I feel … good.” She giggles and I can see her flush. “I used to feel ashamed about my body, but now … now, I appreciate it. I like the way it looks, and I like the way I feel. I was never sexual before this.”
“You like … you like Jennifer hitting you? And tearing you down?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I wasn’t crazy about it at first, but then it sort of grew on me. I started to look forward to it. The spanking, the whip, even the mean things she says … it has helped me focus. Be more disciplined out here in the real
“I was going to get a Frappuccino,” Lisette said, “but I saw you.”
No more sweets . Jennifer’s harsh bark echos in my head.
“Smart move.”
We’re both quiet for a minute.
“Listen …”
“I …”
We look at each other, and laugh. Our conversational tangling of the tongues breaks the ice. Lisette urges me to go first.
“I just want to say I’m sorry for the other night. I felt terrible … I feel terrible.”
“Why?”
I stop mid-blow on my coffee and stare at Lisette. “Why? Because what happened there wasn’t cool.”
Lisette holds my gaze without breaking it. “How do you mean?”
“How do I mean?” Is this girl mentally challenged? “Everything!” I look around to make sure no one’s listening and I lower my voice. “You tied up like that, Jennifer insulting you, picking on you, asking me to critique you? And then you nearly get raped—with an audience, if you didn’t notice—by a black dude with a dick so big it needs its own sex offender registry? That whole night was a Mardi Gras parade of fucked-up shit. And I feel gross that I was there, that I participated. That I didn’t stop it sooner.”
“But I liked it,” she says softly. “I liked almost all of it.”
“You’re not an actress?”
Lisette frowns. “No, I’m not.”
“Are you joking? You did that on your own? You like what happened the other night?”
Lisette sighs and takes the shopping bag she’s placed between us down at her feet so she can sit closer to me. “It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the highlights,” she says.
“Please do. I have a list of questions that’s been keeping me up nights.”
“For most of my life, I’ve had what you would call a ‘weight problem.’” She does the air quotes for emphasis. “My mother tried everything to help me lose weight: private nutritionists, health clubs, trainers who’d come to our apartment, even Jenny Craig. Then a few years ago, in my freshman year at Lexington, she died of cancer and I fell apart. I started eating everything in sight, and I got to be the heaviest I’ve ever been—over 200 pounds.”
“So you go to Lexington?”
“Went there. I graduated last May. You?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “Keep going.”
“Anyway, I started failing tests, staying in my room all day, eating. Everything felt hopeless. I even thought about killing myself. Then one of the girls in my dorm, a senior, gave me a card.”
“The Getting In card,” I interrupt.
Lisette looks at me curiously. “No. This card said, ‘ Staying In. ’”
Staying In .
“This girl, she had never talked to me before. She was tall, gorgeous, stylish, in a different league … you know the type.” Lisette pauses and motions to me. “Like you. Really put together. Someone I thought I could never be. And she told me to call the number because she thought it could help. She said it had helped her. So I called.”
I huff out a little laugh. “This is whacked.”
Lisette shrugs. “Maybe it’s whacked, but it worked. Look at me. For the first time in my life, I’ve got people—hot guys, beautiful girls—checking me out, and it’s not because I belong in a freak show. I can fit into clothes that I didn’t have to buy at a tent shop. And I feel … good.” She giggles and I can see her flush. “I used to feel ashamed about my body, but now … now, I appreciate it. I like the way it looks, and I like the way I feel. I was never sexual before this.”
“You like … you like Jennifer hitting you? And tearing you down?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I wasn’t crazy about it at first, but then it sort of grew on me. I started to look forward to it. The spanking, the whip, even the mean things she says … it has helped me focus. Be more disciplined out here in the real
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