“Her Father’s Daughter” (2nd installment)

(…continued from yesterday’s post…)“I’m sorry – Feast or Famine is closed. May I leave a message for someone there?”

Rebecca loved her job.

As an overnight answering company operator, she felt strangely in control of others’ lives. When she took a message for Dr. Cecil’s Family Practice or Thompkins Funeral Home, she knew she was providing a needed service. Everyone was grateful for her voice… and no one cared what she looked like.

The two other women who worked the phones were in their fifties, slender and angry. They complained about their hair, their husbands and their husbands’ girlfriends. Rebecca was lucky to get an acknowledgement from them.

Nobody ever asked Rebecca why she worked the graveyard shift position. Everyone seemed to know it was her weight that kept her out of mainstream society. And no one knew she still lived with her mother or had a deceased father. No one knew anything except that Rebecca showed up on time, left on time and never used vacation or sick days.

* * *

In the morning, Rebecca would greet her mother as her mother hurried off to her job as vice president of an ad agency, black coffee in one hand, diet shake for lunch in the other. Some days, her mother would just grunt a snide, “Hello.” Other times, the greetings were even less cordial.

“You look disgusting. Why don’t you start at least walking home from work? I’ll bet you’ve put on thirty-five pounds the past year…!”

Then, still ranting, her mother would walk out the door, slamming it shut. Her mom loved to slam doors, no matter what her mood.

Then the house would be quiet for the Morning Routine.

Rebecca would pull her secret box out from under her bed. It contained a photograph of her dad, several Elvis albums and a variety of snacks.

She’d put Elvis on the stereo, eat chips and crackers and allow herself to cry. Sometimes, she’d choke on her food as tears dripped down her cheeks. But she kept eating anyway.

When Elvis’s last song finished and the record player was silent, she’d clean up the mess, hide the empties in a duffel bag stuffed at the back of her closet and crawl into bed, completely spent.

* * *

“Hello – is Joseph Taylor there?”

Rebecca heard a whirring in the background. Was this man on a treadmill? Running a blender? In a jet-spray hot tub?

“I’m sorry. This is the answering service for Thompkins Funeral Home. Would you like to leave a message for Mr. Taylor?”

The background noise stopped and there was a long moment of silence.

“Sir… sir… are you there?”

The quiet was broken with a laugh. “So nobody’s working on the stiffs tonight, eh?”

Rebecca smiled, but was careful not to giggle. Her supervisor had cautioned her about being chatty. “The office is closed, sir. Can I leave Mr. Taylor a message?”

“No sense of humor,” the man muttered. “Okay, just tell him Dick Hertz called.”

Rebecca held back laughter. “How is that spelled… H… U… R…?” She finally chuckled in spite of herself.

“Gotcha,” the man said. “Nah, my name is Anthony Marino. Joseph and I go way back. I met him last week at a bar… funny story, but kind of weird. Anyway, he said I should give him a call sometime and I thought he might be up early with the corpses. I’m in the cosmetics business, and he wants to maybe do some business. Gotta make those clients look good, you know? My number’s 555-0648. He should have it, but give it to him anyway.”

Rebecca nervously checked her watch. They’d be on the telephone for almost three minutes. At five minutes, her supervisor would ask for a special report.

“All right. I’ll let him know. Thank you.” She reached for the ‘terminate’ button.

“Whoa!” yelled Anthony. “Hold your horses, babe. I’m not finished!”

“I’m sorry, sir. Was there more to your message?”

“Not for Joseph… I’m wondering about you. What in the world are you doing in a job like this?”

Rebecca desperately wanted to end the call… three minutes and 45 seconds had passed…

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s against policy here to use the phones for personal conversation.”

“Okay, okay…” The whirring in the background started up again and she finally figured out what it was. Coffee beans. He was grinding coffee beans. At 5:47 a.m.

“Thank you for calling, sir.”

“What’s your name, anyway? Come on. I have to know who I’m talking to. It’ll kill me to never find out. Really.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I…” Four minutes, 18 seconds. She hated to end the call, but she couldn’t lose her job.

“Just a name… what is it? You sound pretty. I’d like to know… What’s your name?” His voice was soft and low and the background became quiet again.

Four minutes 42 seconds.

“Rebecca,” she blurted in a panic. Sweating, she hit the ‘terminate’ button and heard the dial tone.

* * *

When she stepped out of her office building at 7:04 a.m., the morning air was crisp and delicate, cling to her skin. Spring was pushing its way into the world like a newborn. She decided to take her mother’s advice – for once – and walk home.

As she moved, she felt her legs rub together – thighs, knees, calves. She wondered what it would be like to be thin. She passed a couple jogging and thought about the conversation with Anthony and avoided making eye contact with the svelte woman who looked amazing despite being covered in perspiration. Did Anthony picture her looking like that?

She grinned. He thought she had a nice voice. No one had ever complimented her, except her father. No one had ever laid hands on her, except her father. No one had ever loved her, except her father.

It was nice.

She fantasized about Anthony and decided he was probably mid-forties with dark hair, an olive complexion and a firm, lean body. She imagined that he loved to eat – pasta, chicken, spumoni – maybe he had recipes for Italian meals that his family had passed down for generations.

By the time she reached her house, her fantasy life with Anthony had taken a pleasant turn. They were married and spent most evenings cooking delicacies for their four children. They were happy. They were safe. They were one.

But it was all a dream, of course, because in this world she had created, she was thin and beautiful. She sighed, opened the door and mentally readied herself for her Morning Routine.

* * *

When her mother came home from work that night, Rebecca was seated at the kitchen table with a deck of cards. Playing solitaire always made her feel a little more normal, a little less alone. And she’d won five times in the last hour-and-a-half. She promised herself a peanut butter frosted white three-layer cake tomorrow as a prize.

Her mother stood in front of the table. “Put those away.” She stared at Rebecca and didn’t move.

Rebecca was in mid-game. She hesitated, but then piled the cards. Her mother quickly whisked them into the corner of the table and plopped herself across from Rebecca. Before removing her white leather jacket, her mother threw a bag at Rebecca. “Open it,” she commanded.

Inside were two huge bags of potato chips and an oversized can of creamy spinach dip. Rebecca was puzzled.

Her mother spoke without any expression on her face. “Let’s eat. Come on.” Gravely, she dug in. Rebecca was mesmerized by her mother’s ability to eat. She rarely saw the woman eat more than a few bites… and here she was, consuming chip after chip. Finally, Rebecca decided this was no joke and joined the frenzy.

In fifteen minutes, the food was gone. It was then that her mother suddenly smiled, a warm smile that Rebecca didn’t recognize.

“You love to eat, don’t you, Rebecca?”

Rebecca nodded, feeling uncomfortable and suddenly scared.

“But I’d love for you to be thin…”

Rebecca nodded again, bowing her head.

“Did you know you can please yourself and please me, too?”

Rebecca looked into her mother’s eyes. There was an excited twinkle there, a sparkle which made Rebecca uneasy. She shook her head.

“Follow me,” her mother said, marching into the first floor bathroom.

(…to be continued…)