Glitter on the Web (11 page)

I turned away with a sigh. “Because of you, now I’m one too.”

Eli leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So how do you propose to fix any of this?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. And that was the bitch of it. I really didn’t.

He ambled to his feet. “Well, I guess you have a year to think about it,” he said as he looked down at me. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, or so they say.”

I stood as well. “Maybe.”

I walked him to the door. He didn’t even bother to kiss me before he left, which, ironically, was the most non-dick thing he had done.

“Eleven?” he asked, just as I opened the door, to confirm our “date” for the next day.

I nodded. “Eleven.”

He gave me a small smile before he disappeared down the darkened stairwell. I closed the door behind him, as
Hogan’s Heroes
gave way to
Gilligan’s Island
just on the other side of the wall. It was ironic, given I felt like I was suddenly stranded on a deserted island myself

Only eleven months and twenty-seven days to go.

CHAPTER
SIX

That night I tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. The more I thought about my conversation with Eli, the worse I felt. I had bared myself to him twice that day, once by stripping down to my underwear, the other by telling him my innermost thoughts and feelings.

Oddly, the latter bothered me so much more than the former.

I hadn’t shown this much of myself to anyone with a penis in a long, long time. Fuck Eli Blake for making me do this now. I knew with all certainty that an opportunist like him wouldn’t be able to resist using this new advantage against me.

I defaulted to anger, simply because it was easier to hate Eli. That was the sharpest arrow in my quiver. He saw this whole thing as a game, but I sure didn’t. It was a war—and I planned to launch the first offensive strike that sunny Saturday morning.

He was chipper when he knocked at my door, ten minutes till eleven. He leaned casually against the frame. He wore old faded jeans and a concert T-shirt, with only a smidge of product in his hair to give it that devil-may-care finish that invited fingers to dance right through the golden fullness.

I sniffed in derision. I would not be tempted. Not now. Not ever. I grabbed my oversized bag, which was filled with bottles of water and some fresh fruit. I could feel his eyes scan over me like a laser beam, assessing the data from top to toe. I likewise wore a faded T-shirt, paired with a comfortable pair of leggings, having tied my newly two-toned hair into another ponytail. There was no product in my hair, just like I wore no makeup. It was just 100-percent me, and he was going to have to be okay with that.

I led the way back to his car waiting downstairs, where, of course, more paparazzi waited. An exotic foreign car like his was built to get attention. In this town there were always some worthless souls who had nothing better to do with their day than stalk my apartment, just to snap a photo of it whenever it happened to park there, even for a minute.

Neither of us bothered speaking until the doors were shut behind us. “Do I finally get to know where we’re going? Or do you want to drive?” he asked. “You do have experience working a shift, right?”

I glared at him. “Since I was fourteen,” I answered, though I didn’t clarify whether or not I meant a standard transmission or the obvious sexual double entendre.

He grinned as he adjusted himself in the seat, drawing attention to his lower body. “My kind of girl. You can drive my car any day.” I rolled my eyes and he laughed “So where are we heading?”

“To hell if we don’t change our ways,” I quipped. It was what my granddaddy had always said. In this case, though, it was totally true. Finally I answered. “Lake Hollywood Park.”

He programmed our destination into his GPS system and away we went, blaring his music, as usual, but it was a welcome distraction. The last thing I wanted was more conversation.

Alas, he turned down the music before the first song was over. “We got company. Just give me the word and I’ll ditch ‘em.”

I realized he was staring in the rearview mirror. “We’re being followed?” I echoed as I turned to look behind us.

“Are we still trending?” he asked. With a drop in my gut, I checked my phone. Already someone had posted the photo of us leaving my apartment, and already #TeamRhonda had made a comment about how Eli was “slumming” it these days with his new bargain basement girlfriend.

Everyone was still trying to piece together our relationship, which sprang up out of nowhere like a weed in the sidewalk. We remained a top news story, particularly since I was the first big girl that the Big Girl-loving crooner had ever actually dated. Their curiosity was insatiable.

“If we can use it to our advantage, I say let them follow. Throw them bones here and there. Nugget by nugget, they’ll keep us in the news, which keeps me on the charts.”

I thought about the day I had planned for us. I hated to bring the press into it, but he was right. I could definitely use it to my advantage, and that had nothing whatsoever to do with Eli. He wasn’t the only one who could use press anymore. Finally I shrugged. “Let them watch.”

Eli grinned and gunned the motor, heading straight for the Hollywood Hills.

Most of my gang had already arrived to the park by the time we got there. I directed Eli to park beside the funky VW bug that Clem had painted a deep, royal purple. There were bumper stickers all over it, my favorite of which was, “If you’re going to ride my ass, at least pull my hair first.”

It was Clementine to a T.

Eli snickered when he saw it. “I can’t wait to see who that car belongs to.”

I spotted my bestie, who was already warming up with Antoine. She wore shorts and a cami, and she didn’t give a fuck what anyone had to say about it. I pointed her out, and it made Eli chuckle even more.

“That does not surprise me at all.”

“Listen,” I said as I grabbed his sleeve. “That’s my best friend. And there isn’t enough money in your bank account to buy the right to be mean to her. You hear me?”

He held up his hands. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”

“I mean it,” I reiterated.

“Okay.”

I held up my finger in his face. “Falsetto,” I reminded.

“Fine. Got it. Sheesh.”

“Okay,” I said before I finally got out of the car. Both Antoine and Clem headed our way. I sent another cautionary glance to Eli, who adopted a smile a mile wide for my friends as they approached.

I made the introductions. “Antoine, Clem, this is Eli.”

Clem held out a hand, but Eli wasn’t having it. “We’re way beyond that,” he said as he grabbed her in a big bear hug. She sent me a confused glance, which I returned. “Any friends of Carly’s are friends of mine,” he said as he reached to hug Antoine as well. “Although you're going to have to let me in on this secret shindig because Carly hasn’t told me a thing.”

“We’re playing football,” Clem told him, working hard to piece together my plan so that she could hop on board.

“Football,” Eli echoed. “Of course.” He took note of the writing on her top. “FFF?”

“Full-figured Floozies,” she clarified. “It’s our club.”

It only puzzled him more. “Club?”

“Yeah, our nightclub. It’s in Hollywood, just a few blocks away from Carly’s place.”

My eyes widened and I barely concealed the shake of my head. The less he knew about the club the better, especially after our conversation the night before. But the cat was out of the bag.

Eli smiled. “Is the ‘full-figured’ part a hard and fast rule, or will any kind of floozy do?” He smiled down at me, taking me into his arms and nuzzling my neck for the whole world, or specifically, the paparazzo—who now stood about fifty feet away from us, obscuring himself at a nearby picnic table—to see.

I could tell by the looks on their faces both of my friends were trying extra hard to process this puzzling turn of events, and they were the select few who knew what was really going on. “It’s an all-inclusive place where people of all sizes, genders, and sexual orientations are welcomed,” Antoine told him. “All you have to do is show up and have fun.”

“And accept everyone else there doing the same,” I added, since that was the only stipulation FFF ever had.

Eli poured on the charm. “And here I was hoping there was some kind of initiation process.” He cupped my ass for emphasis. Both my friends sent me a look, but I couldn’t really say or do anything, given that the paparazzo was now about ten feet closer, likely eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Day’s still young,” was all I would say.

“I love it,” he replied. “So football, huh? Touch or tackle?”

Both Antoine and Clem said, “Touch,” while I answered, “Tackle.”

“Oh, good. Glad we’re all on the same page,” he teased. “But how is this going to work if it’s just the four of us?”

I grinned. “It’s never just the four of us,” I assured before I pointed to a group doing stretches several yards away.

We joined the others, who were warming up with some Tai Chi, led by 25-year-old Brandon Hough, one of our FFF regulars. He wasn’t ‘full-figured,’ but he loved the women that were. He set up his whole training program around a larger clientele who wanted to live healthy without all the judgment that screamed from a scale. Like Eli, he was athletic and blessed with golden good looks. Unlike Eli, he didn’t really expect people to worship him because of it. I had dated Brandon for about a month after I got to Los Angeles, and he had always been a perfect gentleman, even when we finally got between the sheets. He was a patient, generous lover who never made me feel like I owed him something just because he deigned to give me attention. We remained friends even though that initial spark never really caught fire. He tended to like older women, like Daisy Meriwether.

Like me, she hailed from the great state of Texas, San Antonio, to be precise. She had just turned 40 and was enjoying her years as a cougar. Her husband dropped her like a hot potato just before her 36th birthday, trading his near-40-year-old-wife for a couple of twenty-year-old girlfriends. She had never let that get her down. Thanks to a company transfer, she moved to L.A. and never looked back. She wasn’t looking for love, just a lot of good lovin’. That she was a size-14 didn’t stop her. She knew what she wanted, and more importantly, what she deserved, and wasn’t afraid to demand it. People may have called her a slut for her shameless pursuit of pleasure, but she didn’t care. She wanted to sow all those wild oats she had buried when she got married just out of high school. Being a “good girl” and a good wife hadn’t really benefited her in the long run, so she was ready to live life on her own terms. When she found FFF, she knew she’d found home.

She became sort of the unofficial Mama to all of us at the club. She knew our birthdays, she sent cards and presents, and it wasn’t Christmas Eve until you were eating tamales and tacos from her 1920s West Hollywood bungalow she’d purchased with the divorce settlement.

Though she never had kids of her own, she’d picked up a couple of strays, including Lisa Pinsky, a 20-something retail associate who found her place in fashion despite being a size-22. She was short and stout, but she could make the T-shirt and jean cutoffs she wore look like they belonged on the cover of a magazine. She helped manage a second-hand store in Hollywood, which catered to every imaginable body type, and was the life of every party.

So of course Daisy had asked her to move into one of the spare bedrooms. Every day with Lisa was like a slumber party. They added young Randy to their mix shortly after.

Randy Larson was young and clean cut and fabulously gay. He worked with Lisa at Next to Nothing, and they bonded like siblings even though they were born five years, and a thousand miles, apart.

Rounding out our motley crew were members of the FFF payroll. This included Randy’s new crush, Joe Gutierrez, the biggest, cuddliest teddy bear you’d ever want to meet. He wore a full beard and a crew cut, and towered over everybody at 6’5. But he was a gentle giant, who—as the head of security for FFF—made sure that everyone’s needs were safely met on a nightly basis.

Last but not least was our DJ, Lola Fontaine, who was a biracial, bisexual tour de force. She wore her hair in an unapologetic sky-high afro that framed her lovely face, which featured star tattoos just around her eyes. The rest of her body was likewise inked. She was a walking, talking gallery of modern art, unafraid to reveal quite a bit of her luscious size-12 figure on a regular basis. For the day’s festivities, only a sports bra and some athletic shorts covered the important bits enough to keep her from getting arrested.

She enjoyed the feeling of the sun shining on her skin, and wasn’t about to curtail her pleasure just because of the biases of other people. These were my people. This was my tribe. And I couldn’t wait for each and every one of them to blow Eli Blake’s narrow little mind.

I made the introductions, though people like Lisa and Randy didn’t need them. They were big fans of Eli’s music, as was Lola, who played no fewer than five of his songs every single night at the club.

Daisy didn’t care if he could sing. She liked the way he filled out those skin-tight jeans, and wasn’t afraid to let him know it.

To his credit, which I did
not
want to give him, he seemed to roll with it. “So how is this going to work?”

“You’ve played football?” Clem asked.

He flashed a smile. “Quarterback for my high school all the way till senior year.”

I just rolled my eyes, but Clem was intrigued. “This I’d like to see,” she decided. “You can be captain of your team. And,” she glanced around the rest of us until her eyes finally fell upon my eager face. “Carly is captain of the other.”

Both Eli and I smiled. We liked the sound of that.

The first order of business was picking teams. Since he won the coin toss, he went first. He picked Clem, probably just to stick it to me. I knew he couldn’t possibly want her for his team, given she was one of the biggest girls present. And of course, after I chose Antoine, he selected Brandon, just for that athletic advantage.