Monica O'Rourke - Suffer the Flesh

Ican help you.

Those had been the words that started it all, words that changed Zoeys life.

She turned the corner of Fourteenth Street at Union Square, bumped into a vendor hawking honey-roasted nuts, watched a skinny Jimmy Walker lookalike sell fake Rolexes out of a leather briefcase worth more than the items he was trying to unload. Mobs of downtown Manhattan commuters rushed past her into oblivion. She ducked into a bookstore on Seventeenth Street.

I can help you.

Clutching a book to her chest, she glanced at the woman standing beside her. Zoey knelt before the endless volumes of dieting self help on the Barnes and Noble shelves. Excuse me?

The woman knelt beside Zoey and flipped her long blonde hair over one shoulder. I can help.

Zoey blinked. I think youve confused me with someone else. I didnt ask for help.

But you want it, dont you?

What? Zoey stood, her knees popping. She scratched an itch on her eyebrow and shifted the books from one hand to the other.

The woman followed her up from the crouch. Hey, look, its no biggie. Its just well, Ive been there. I know what its like. I know how to fix it.

Zoey didnt know what the odd woman was talking about, only knew that it wasnt the most uncommon thing to have a few unstable people approach you when you lived in New York City. Even in Barnes and Noble. Even crazies enjoyed a good read.

She shrugged and laughed nervously and moved slowly away from Powter and Atkins and sidled toward New Age.

My names Mel. As in Melody. Would you stop moving away for just a minute?

Zoey stopped. She trailed a finger along the shelf as if inspecting for dust. Then she saw it coming. The expression on Mels face, the way she cocked her head and pursed her lips and squinted her eyes. That look of judgment. Zoey knew what was nextthe commentary.

The advice. A few hundred clichs. Zoey often had retorts for them, but mostly not. Most of the time it wasnt worth it, and retorts rarely had the desired impact.

Zoey sighed, crossed her arms over her chest. What is it?

I used to be your size.

Knew it. What are you selling? Weight Watchers? Jennie Craig? NutriSystem?

No.

Zoey waited for Mel to continue. Felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and anger toward her own reaction. Why was it that she felt the need to accept other peoples views of her?

Its not a diet.

Pills then. Supplements? Shed heard it all. Metabolism boosts, speed, all-protein diets, all liquids, all fruit, count calories, count fat grams, exercise till you drop. There was nothing new out there.

Will you let me finish?

Again, her cheeks flushed, reduced to this by a total stranger.

I didnt mean to embarrass you. But youd never guess, because its not a diet or pills, nothing like that. Its well, its more of a regimen.

What, a fat camp? Zoey laughed. If youre trying to sell me something, youre not very good at it.

Mel smiled sadly. Its just see, this isnt . . . She pulled at her lip, twisted the corner. I shouldnt even be telling you this. There are recruitment requirements.

Recruitment? What is it, boot camp? Is this for the military?

Mel shook her head.

Now Zoey was intrigued. She noticed how attractive Mel was, how thin, and she felt a twinge of jealousy as she often did when seeing a thin, beautiful woman. She had no idea how beautiful she was herself.

Are you interested? Mel asked.

In what? She didnt know any more now than a few minutes ago. Whats the cost?

No cost. Are you married?

Married? Nowhy? Zoey tilted her head.

Whats your name, anyway?

Zoey.

Kids, Zoey? Pets? Serious relationship?

No to all of the above. But

Youre a perfect candidate. No commitments.

For what? She swallowed, not sure why she suddenly felt apprehensive. A no-cost plan that didnt include dieting. But now she was getting the third degree from Mel, this unusual woman shed met only minutes before. What was there not to be wary of?

It reminded her of a sales pitch shed received a year earlier, a company trying to convince her they were the wave of the future in telecommunications and that she should invest huge sums of money and become a seller. The truth was, everything had a catch.

A price. So this is free? And Ill lose weight?

Absolutely. I used to be a size twenty, and now Im a six.

Whats the catch?

LookIm not supposed to say anything else. They already know youre interested

They?

So my part of this is over. Good luck, Zoey. Mel turned away and headed toward the escalator. Glanced back over her shoulder as she descended. Please dont hate me

Mels parting words sat like a rock in the pit of Zoeys stomach.

Reading and book buying were suddenly of no interest. This was too bizarre. She needed chocolate. Zoey headed uptown, found a Baskin and Robbins and ordered a rocky road sundae. Her attempts at death by chocolate were never fatal. Wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand because shed forgotten the napkins. Mels words ran through her head, and little of it made sense; shed been so cryptic.

Who were they? And when were they going to contact her? How could they?

She headed west toward the subway, toward the N train that would bring her home to Queens.

Several blocks from her destination she was approached by an aggressive homeless man, asking for spare change. She tried to ignore him, to maneuver around him, but he kept blocking her. She moved toward the curb but he was faster, seemed to anticipate her moves. He smelled like urine and sweat, his hands crusted with grime.

She looked around, searched for help, a waste of time in a city that wasnt known as the City of Brotherly Love. Passersby inspected the sidewalk as they rushed past, giving wide berth to the lunatic confronting her.

Cmon, girlie, cost yaa quawta ta pass. He grinned, surprisingly white teeth somehow more startling. There was something disturbing in his smile, something she couldnt determine in those fleeting moments.

You got too much food in ya, girlie.

In spite of her fear, in spite of the dread, embarrassment spread on her cheeks like a disease. To reference her weight was the secret weapon. Zoey was ready to wave the white flag, to empty the contents of her wallet into his filthy, diseased hands just to shut him up. To detract attention away from her, from her size. He was a dirty fighter and she was defenseless against him.

Whats going on here? Police officer. Zoeys heart sank. Had he heard the lunatics last remarks? You okay, miss? He hurt you?

The homeless man was being cuffed and led into an unmarked police car. She hadnt even noticed them approach.

Come on, he said. Well give you a ride home.

Its okay, I live in Queens. I can take the train.

He smiled, his lingering gaze making her uncomfortable. His eyes roamed her thighs, hips, stomach, chest, face. As if sizing her up. She couldnt tell if that was disgust in his eyes. There were men out there who were attracted to large women, but she usually wasnt interested in them. She wasnt comfortable enough with her own size.