Savanah's Swan Song (Part 14)

Three Months Earlier

Savanah inspected herself in the mirror, crinkling her button nose at the hints of cellulite on the backs of her thighs.  She wore a stretchy blue tennis skirt and an even stretchier green cashmere sweater with a plunging neckline.  At least the incongruous combo dug from the back of her closet fit. 

Barely.    

She had lost another five pounds, but the twenty that remained from her month-long feeding frenzy on her family’s farm weren’t going quietly.  They still screamed “Look at me” from the shelf of her jutting ass and the swell of her unsucked tummy. 

She wished Chad were there.  To help her relieve some tension if nothing else.  He wouldn’t be bothered by the junk that refused to leave her trunk, or the milky slivers of skin that kept peeking between the articles of clothing like a curtain, or the way her crucifix dangled above the shadowy den of sin created by her plumped-up cleavage.  He would think she looked sexy.

Chad had left for Hollywood three weeks before with her custom humanoid. After Dr. Wagner assured her that the design flaw that precipitated its need to wear a neckerchief (which had started a fashion trend amongst her ‘Savanah Nation Army’ as well as the general populace) had been dealt with, Savanah had given the OK for it to represent her at the pre-production meeting that would determine both her fitness and her fate.

“Everything went great!” Chad had gushed on the phone following the meeting’s conclusion.   

“Excellent,” Savanah sighed, creating an echoey wind in the receiver.  “There were no hiccups with the…the…the thing?”

“Nope.  She looked and sounded great.  She even referenced a student film the director made ten years ago and asked the producer about his son with cerebral palsy.  I didn’t know that, did you?  Anyway, they think you’re a rock star.”

“I am a rock star.”  Savanah’s intended sarcasm came out weakly as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“Of course, hon.  You know what I meant.” 

“When are you coming back?”

“I’m not.”

“What?” 

“They want Savanah involved in some of the pre-production meetings.”

It was weird to hear Chad refer to her in the third person as if he were speaking to someone else.  Savanah didn’t like it.   

“Why?”

“They want her opinion on a few things.  I wouldn’t worry about it.  Formalities mostly.”

“I don’t want that THING making decisions on my movie.”

“She won’t be.  Just do what you need to do and then you can join me in a couple of weeks.  I’ll brief you on everything that happens in the meantime.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Hang out.  Walk the beach.  Check out Hollywood Boulevard.”  When Savanah didn’t respond, Chad added, “Think about you.”

“Good answer.” 

“Love ya, babe.”

Chad had been in Tinsel Town for less than twenty-four hours and already sounded like he’d gone Hollywood.  Nevertheless, Savanah returned his sentiment—"Love you, too”—before hanging up the phone.  Then she wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and rummaged around for something to eat.  

Despite countless hours on the treadmill, Savanah had done too much rummaging in the weeks since. She thought being alone with no distractions would provide the perfect environment for her to focus on her figure, but with nothing to do but diet, she had spent too much time California Dreamin’ about what was going on along the Golden Coast without her.  Those thoughts invariably turned sour and sent her searching for something sweet. 

Now judgement day was upon her.  Savanah was scheduled to travel to LA in the morning and her bot was boxed up and ready to be shipped back to Concurrent Technologies.  Maybe Chad could find her some shapewear before she reported on set?  Or perhaps she could fake a cold and buy herself a few days of fasting?   

Fanfare from her cell phone interrupted her thoughtful self-inspection.  Grabbing it off the counter, she was relieved to see it was Chad. 

“Hey babe.”

“Hey,” came the weary voice on the other end.  Since his recap of that initial production meeting, Chad had been Johnny Sunshine.  During their subsequent conversations he’d been full of enthusiastic ‘wonderfuls’ and dismissive ‘don’t worry about its,’ but tonight he sounded beat.  “How’s it going?” 

“I’m still about ten pounds short of where I want to be,” Savanah frowned in the mirror as she spoke into the phone.  “I’m trying to find something flattering to wear so it won’t look like I blew up overnight.  Maybe I could pretend to be sick while we catch some sun and burn off a few pounds in the bedroom?” 

Savanah expected a laugh or an eager affirmation, but her suggestion was met with silence. 

“I have some bad news,” Chad finally uttered.

“What?”

“They’ve decided to shoot the beach scenes first.”

“When?”

Savanah heard Chad swallow.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Savanah imagined her doughy body in a bikini.  Then she vocalized what the director would undoubtedly say if she showed up on the set like that: “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry.”  

“Who made that call?” 

“W-what?”

Savanah’s eyes narrowed to slits.  “Who thought filming the beach scenes first was a good idea?”

“It…it…it was a group decision.  There’s a cold front moving through next week.”

“Who suggested it?”

Chad didn’t answer.  He didn’t have to.  She had suggested it.  At least who everyone besides her boyfriend thought was her.  And then as now, he had remained silent.

“Fuck you.”  Savanah mashed the digital red button and threw the phone against the mirror, sending it clattering into the sink.     

Savanah stood with her hands on her hips, stewing in anger and betrayal.  So much for her loyal boyfriend.  So much for her trip to Hollywood.  So much for becoming an actress.  So much for the movie destined to make her a megastar of stage and screen. 

Gradually, the harsh jumble of emotions faded away, leaving a surprising one in its wake—

Relief.