Savanah's Swan Song (Part 22)

Finishing her meal, Savanah slumped against the back of her chair and threaded her fingers in her lap.  A few seconds later, the unfamiliar tickle of her swollen abdomen chased her hands back to the armrests.

“I don’t get it,” Savanah said, her posture straightening.  “You’d gained what?  100 pounds by that point?”

Angelina pushed away her bowl, leaving behind a few bites of salad.  “More.  Maybe 150.”

“Over the course of what?  Six months?”

“Thereabouts.”

Savanah took a moment to do the math.  “So, you gained almost a pound a day?”

“Yes," Angelina stated before adding with a wink, "then it got fast.”  The actress chuckled at the pop star's slack-jawed reaction.  “What is it you don’t understand?”

“I understand how weight can creep up on you.  Lord knows it’s crept up on me the past few months.  But to get to 500 pounds—"

“Almost 500 pounds.”

“Almost 500 pounds.  Over such a short period of time.  That seems like willful self-destruction.”

Angelina shrugged her well-padded shoulders.  “Maybe it was.”

“But…why?” 

“You of all people understand the pressure we’re under.  I grew up Hollywood royalty.  I was always expected to look a certain way.  Act a certain way.  Concurrent Technologies allowed me to take a vacation from myself.” 

Savanah’s brown eyes shifted to Angelina’s thick middle.  “A permanent vacation.”

Angelina frowned.  “Don’t say that.  That’s why I’m eating salads.” 

“Sorry.”

“It’s OK.” Angelina pulled her bowl back and forked another bite.  “You aren’t that far from the truth.  It probably would’ve been permanent had Maggie gotten her way.” 

“She was a bad influence?”

Angelina’s hearty laughter took Savanah by surprise.

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,” the actress said, covering her mouth with her napkin.  “Though I think if someone hands a loaded gun to a suicidal man and whispers ‘do it,’ they’re more than just a bad influence.”

“Why would she do that?” Savanah puzzled.  “What did she have to gain?”

Angelina tossed her napkin into her now empty bowl and sighed. “I suppose I should continue my story.  Where was I?”

“You gained 150 pounds, so you sent your ‘bot to film your next movie for you.”

“Right,” Angelina affirmed, then with a sad shake of her head, “that should’ve been the ultimate wake-up call.  For a while it was.  I began working out again and even dropped a few pounds.” 

“What about Maggie?”

“Maggie seemed supportive.  At least initially.  She prepared healthy meals and encouraged me to exercise.  With my private gym and Maggie acting as my chef and trainer, I figured the weight would melt off before anyone was the wiser.” 

“But that’s not how it happened.”

“No.  Before long we slipped back into old habits.  And why not?  Money was still rolling in and reports from the set were that I was a joy to work with and doing an excellent job.  Without any fear or sense of urgency, there was little to motivate me.”

“What about shame?”

Angelina smiled frailly.  “Maggie suppressed that pretty well.  She was always telling me how beautiful I was. How I deserved a little indiscipline now that I was in my 40s.  After all, what was the purpose of working so hard if I never feasted on the fruits of my labor?  It made sense to me.”

“After that, the pounds came fast and furious.” 

“And if Maggie didn’t think they were coming fast enough, she got furious.”