Savanah's Swan Song (Part 24)

“My days were a blur of non-stop eating.”   Angelina diddled the edge of her wood salad bowl with her finger, as if debating whether to take the final bites.  “One flowed right into the next with little variation apart from my weight.  Still, I convinced myself that as long as I had Maggie that I was happy.  She was the life raft that I clung to.” 

Savanah struggled to keep a neutral expression.  She had a girlfriend back home who was stuck in a bad relationship.  The woman was married to a lazy good ol’ boy who liked to carouse and, whenever she deigned to complain, was directed to the layabout's fisted “complaint department."  While Savanah wasn’t exactly sympathetic—she couldn’t understand anyone staying in an abusive relationship—the sanctity of marriage was serious in the south, and they had a couple of kids to consider.  Angelina, on the other hand, was alone in LA-LA Land, clinging to the fickle affections of a sex-toy robot. 

How sad and pathetic could you get?

“The more desperate I got, the more distant Maggie grew,” Angelina continued with a fragile smile.  “She’d go on shopping trips that took all afternoon.  She’d come home, stuff me into a food coma, then she’d be off again.  Some nights she wouldn’t come home until 1 or 2 in the morning.  Other nights she wouldn’t come home at all.”

Savanah seethed as a tear rolled down Angelina’s chubby cheek.  How did this blubbering blimp ever play Lara Croft?  She was obviously a helluva actress.  Too bad she was a personal affront to Savanah and all the trailblazing and independent female characters she portrayed.  

“Finally, one night, Maggie brought me home.  Not the actual me—I hadn’t left the house in months—but my android version.  Apparently, the movie shoot had finished.”

 “That must have been awkward.”  

“It was.  I’d had zero interaction with my humanoid before that night.  Concurrent Technologies would always release her at my request, escort her to whatever party or public appearance I needed her for, then bring her back to their facility.”

“What happened?”

“We made small talk.  I asked her about the movie.  She said it went well.  That she really grew into the role.  Then Maggie patted my belly and said I was still growing into mine.”

A fresh tear rolled down Angelina’s cheek, but Savanah didn't feel like striking her this time.  The circumstances surrounding the actress's story were so ridiculous and embarrassing that it took a modicum of courage to tell. 

Savanah pulled a napkin from beneath her empty salad bowl and handed it to the fattened superstar, who used it to dab away her tears.

“At some point,” Angelina continued, “Maggie suggested we all go out to celebrate.”

“Fishy.”

“Definitely.  I protested, but they hauled me up and dragged me from the house.  Next thing I know, we’re on the private jet to Vegas.”

Savanah’s mouth fell open.

“I know, right?  When I expressed doubts, they shoved a glass of champagne in my hand and told me not to worry. By the time we landed, I was drunk and giggling right along with them.” 

Angelina paused, looking out to sea.

“The sad part is, they were right.  As blitzed as I was, I expected a paparazzi to jump out from behind a bush at any moment, snapping my picture as I barfed into a planter or something.  I could see the headline in The Inquirer: ‘Jolie Green, Giant!’” 

Savanah gave the actress a tight-lipped smile.

“Didn’t happen.  Nor did anyone put two-and-two together about there being two Angelinas in the same place at the same time.  The closest someone came was a restaurant at The Paris where a maitre'd guessed I was a relative.  ‘Distant cousin,’ Maggie told him.”

Savanah shook her head.  “That’s cold.”

“I was too drunk to care.  The whole night was like an out-of-body experience.  I watched my ‘bot sign autographs.  Pose for pictures with fans.  Get fawned over by wait staff.  I was worried about what people would say when they saw me, but nobody even noticed me.  I was over 400 pounds, but I was invisible…” 

The corpulent superstar took another wistful gaze at the sea. 

“It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized the truth.”

“What was that?”

“That my identity had been stolen.” 

Savanah wanted to laugh.  The whole thing was absurd.  Then she felt the jiggle of her thighs against the hard plastic of the deck chair and the pinch of her hips within its confines….and was shamed into silence.

“In the cold light of day, the night’s events gradually came back to me,” Angelina continued.  “The way Maggie couldn’t keep her hands off my clone.  The way they abandoned me at a club when the doorman stopped me from entering, claiming they were ‘at capacity.’ Never mind that he let another half-dozen girls in.  To be fair, I was probably four times heavier than any of them.” 

Angelina waved away Savanah’s offer of another napkin.  Although her well-defined features had been buried in blubber, the growing anger on her face was impossible to mistake.

“But then I opened my phone and found that picture. The one of us on the plane.”

“That crystallized everything,” the actress added with resolute determination.  “These weren’t my friends.  They weren’t laughing with me..."

"They were laughing at me.”