Size Eight in a Size Zero World

The telephone rings. “Come up to my place in an hour.”

I open my closet to look for a sexy, slimming, casual outfit. Frustrated, I have a business idea: Find a designer and manufacturer to make sexy, slimming, casual clothes for everyday. I could make millions. I look in the mirror. Can I lose twelve pounds in an hour? Is this medically possible without sacrificing a limb? I settle on a pair of black shorts, a black vest top, and sandals. It’s gotta be black, slimming, sophisticated and a little sexy.

I had no idea how long sixty minutes could feel like. My pulse is racing. I look at the newspaper quickly so I can sound intelligent discussing current events, though I hope there will be no discussion of the outside world. The only thing I want to talk about with him is the two of us. To succeed with the man upstairs, my strength will be my brains and wit, expanding on the rapport we’ve developed over the last few months. I’m married to an extremely good-looking man, but appreciate the value of an intellectual connection because I don’t have one with my husband. I’m still curious as to why he chooses to confide in me. I lead such a quiet life. Maybe he desires home, family, tranquility, and a sense of belonging. Sometimes people want what they don’t have.

It’s finally time for me to go upstairs. The elevator moves slowly up to the forty-first floor. This little elevator ride is scarier then my time spent in the delivery room attempting natural childbirth. By the time the doors open, my body is trembling. I walk toward his apartment, frightened and completely unsure of myself.

I stand in front of his door, about to knock. The man opens it.