The Sportin' Life (7 page)

I wore them to tempt whatever man was nearby. And if he had the nerve to reach out and fondle me in public, so much the better. Anything that took place with someone watching was a turn on. Unfortunately, few of them had that kind of nerve. They were usually more tongue tied than I had been in my former incarnation. And if I spoke and let them see that I wasn
’
t the dumb bimbo they
’
d expected, it got worse. My boobs had the power to enthrall, but unfortunately they also managed to turn most men into stuttering schoolboys. What could I do but smile and be understanding
—
I knew what agonies they were suffering, and although that inspired kindness in me it hardly proved to be an aphrodisiac. I wanted to meet a man who wasn
’
t intimidated by my boobs and then maybe he could make me come in private. I kept looking and hoping but I had no luck at all.

And then Mother found out about my work as a stripper. She discovered my bankbook, came down to the coffee shop to ask me about it, learned I hadn
’
t worked there in a year, and my double life unraveled. When I got home, she flew at me like a vicious, rabid animal, calling me a tramp and telling me that I would have to live by her rules if I wanted to live in her home. Why didn
’
t I just take a typing course and become a secretary if I wanted a better job, not something degrading like exposing my body
—
my surgically altered body
—
to strangers.

I pushed her off of me and staggered out of the house. My first stop was at the local school where I inquired if they had a typing program. Indeed they did. I signed up for it, paid for it, and asked for an envelope which I addressed to Mother after inserting the receipt. They said they would mail it to her. I figured that if somebody in our family was going to learn to type, it sure as hell wasn
’
t going to be me. Then I went to see Tony. I explained that I wanted a change, that I couldn
’
t take it there any more and he suggested going to
Los Angeles
where he had a contact who could set me up in private shows for parties of businessmen and other rich, important guys. I thanked him, cleaned out my dressing room, went to the bank and withdrew my savings, climbed into my car and headed west. I never looked back.

The miles vanished and the distance between me and my past grew as steadily as time and space. I thought about my life, such as it had been up until then and formulated a theory: this could be a completely new start. I didn
’
t have to be Francis or Francis-Fauna or even Fauna if I didn
’
t want to be any more. I could be whoever I chose. I now had killer looks. I had long blonde hair and boobs the envy of everyone. I didn
’
t have to be poor, shy, tongue-tied Francis any more. This was my chance, my rebirth, and it was up to me to make the most of it. I could be a loser, if I wanted to continue on the path begun for me by my mother, or I could be the person I created, bit by bit. Gradually things began to look bright and my future loomed ahead like the city that waited for me at the end of the road.

Delilah

Of Biblical Proportions

I love my little pussy more than anything in the world. Before I found my little pussy I was lonely and unhappy all the time, and now I feel content and at peace. The problem is that I am a Fat Woman, and that means that to the men of this town I am invisible. There
’
s this guy, Kevin Samson, who comes into the video store where I work, and we have this amazing rapport. We can talk for hours about this movie and that, and often I let him rent movies for less money than I am supposed to. I
’
m crazy about him, and for a long time I figured he might be my destiny. After all, my name is Delilah and he could my Samson
—
any night of the week he could be my Samson.

Kevin comes into the store once a week or so to rent movies, and we always have great conversations. I give him the low-down on the best movies to see and why they
’
re interesting, how they fit into the scheme of that particular director
’
s work or that particular actor
’
s career. And we have these fascinating exchanges. Kevin is so interesting and charming and friendly, and I know that he senses a special bond between us. But he never does anything about it. He rents his movies and he leaves. For a while I thought that he would be the one guy to see that I am a wonderful person, fascinating, and filled with joie de vivre, lively, and yes, even sexy, because I am all those things. But I guess he just sees me the way everybody else does
—
as a Fat Woman.

I don
’
t know what it is, but I know that I am special. I have a volcano of feeling inside of me, and that depth of passion is unique, and a lot more valuable than a tiny waist. When these
Los Angeles
women with their perfect bodies start to age, they
’
ll lose the only thing of value that they have
—
their looks. I
’
ll remain the same, perhaps becoming better as I grow older, because I am so filled with life and passion that a few wrinkles won
’
t diminish my appeal. If only anyone would notice it.

I
’
m always alone. I go to the movies alone every Saturday night. I push the money into the slot. And the girl invariably say,
“
One?
”
Look around you, dolly, do you see anyone else here? And I always want to say,
“
No, I need two seats, one for me and one for my cello.
”
But I figure she won
’
t get the joke, so I smile and nod, yes, as though this is a rare occasion when I am going out alone.

But I
’
m always alone. If I were boarding Noah
’
s ark, I could walk up the gangplank next to the animals, boarding two by two, and the other humans, boy-girl, boy-girl. And we
’
d get to the admissions desk and Noah would check everyone
’
s reservations and point them in their right directions. And when he got to me, he
’
d smile and say,
“
Delilah, we have a single room for you, right this way.
”
Fat women always get the single rooms.

These guys don
’
t know what they
’
re missing. There are certain men, maybe they were my lovers in past lives, I don
’
t know, but I can see them and know instantly that we could go to bed together and it would be wonderful, without even an introduction. There is this immediate spark. The other day I was walking out of a store in
Century
City
and there was this guy just standing there. He took my breath away. I knew that I could walk right up to him and go into his arms and I would fit exactly and both of us would feel the passion, not just of the moment, but of each other and it would be good, right, wonderful. Of course I didn
’
t do it. I just stared discretely at him until my poise returned. Then I went in another direction. Fat women can
’
t accost hunks in the mall or anywhere else.

It
’
s funny, though, because they all look alike. They few guys I
’
ve been involved with (when I was Thinner) all look alike. They
’
re tall and thin and physical looking. They
’
re the wave of the future. Long ago men were small, humans were small, and gradually we in
America
(and maybe the world) are evolving to a taller race of creatures. Maybe that
’
s why I like tall guys
—
they
’
re more evolutionary. Or maybe I like them because they
’
re what I wish I was
—
tall and thin.

I
’
ve tried losing weight a million times. The problem is that Food just tastes too good. I signed up for this class in the valley,
Supernaturally Slim
, kind of a metaphysical group using meditation, and for a while I thought it would work. I could meditate and see myself thin and sexy and able to live the life that so far only occurs in my mind. But then we would have to do group sharing and that was tiresome beyond belief. Most of the people in the class were housewives, and they whined all the time about how hard their lives were, how they never had the time to take care of themselves properly, how their childhoods caused all their problems today. For God
’
s Sake! I
’
d like to see one of those dollies in a real life, having to support herself at a Crummy Job like mine and having to live on the money she earned. No, they had husbands with Mercedes and they had diamonds on their fingers and in their ears. I mean a housewife can do anything she wants to do. If the bathroom doesn
’
t get cleaned, then so what? And I figure that anyone who is over thirty and is still complaining about how their mother screwed them over is full of it. Grow up, dolly! I got so disgusted at the women and their whining
—
and the fact that I was always depressed after
Supernaturally Slim
—
so depressed that I had to stop off for a late snack, and I usually eat for pleasure and not depression
—
that I decided to drop out.

One night after a particularly dismal evening, I drove home to my Crummy Little Apartment in
West Hollywood
. I sat on the end of my bed and looked out the window, watching the palm trees blow in the wind. I love the palm trees, and watching them always cheers me up. They
’
re so physically in tune, something I guess I
’
ll never be. On this evening I saw that the light was on in the kitchen in the building across the way. The woman in the apartment was washing dishes or something at the sink. I stared at her for a while. She had long hair, all riply and curly, and she was thin and graceful, but not skinny and anorexic. I always check out thin women to see if they
’
re anorexic, because then I don
’
t feel so bad.

She was washing something. And as she worked, the strap of her nightgown kept slipping off her shoulder. She
’
d shrug and restore it unthinkingly. I was about to turn away from the window and go to sleep when a man entered the kitchen. His body was as beautiful as the woman
’
s
—
I couldn
’
t see their faces, but I was sure they were both gorgeous, like everyone else in
L.A.

The man walked over to her and stood behind her, molding his body against her own. Then he reached down to brush her neck with his lips. His gestures were so intense and loving that I was struck with not only the beauty of the moment but with the adoration that he obviously felt for her. I decided then and there that they must be wonderful people, my kind of people. Most everybody is just bland compared to myself, I feel. They expect ordinary events and they respond in lukewarm ways to life. I expect every moment to be filled with passion and intensity. I don
’
t believe in simply getting married. I expect to fall in love in the most epic, most romantic way possible. And I plan to have an amazing life. Right now, I
’
m just waiting for it to start. But at least when I see other people who seem to have the same energized spirit of expectation that fills my own soul, it
’
s heartening, like I
’
m not crazy and that eventually such a beautiful love story will be my own.

I stood mesmerized, watching the man woo his lady love. At first she took his attentions for granted, focusing on whatever was in the sink rather than on her Romeo. I was rooting for him, though, and he didn
’
t seem put off at all by her low level response. He just kept kissing her and rubbing his body against hers. I know that if he were my guy, the dishes would have been long forgotten. I would have turned to him, reaching for his caress and returning it with equal ardor. And then he would have felt like the sexiest swain in all the world. Some people take longer to warm up, I guess, and eventually the woman did begin to return his affection. They walked out of the kitchen in a moving embrace, and I was filled with the fantasy of what happened next as these two perfect specimens retired to their bedroom to make love and to share each other
’
s adoration.

And of course I was left alone once more, dropped back into the vacuum of my own loneliness. And I had to face the usual dilemmas that filled my consciousness. What I felt at that moment was that sometimes it just doesn
’
t matter that I know that a grand passion will be coming my way. It doesn
’
t matter that I know that I will have a future filled with excitement and wonder on a scale as majestic as possible. Never for a moment do I doubt that my future will be glorious, because that is the only frame of reference that I know. But what does that matter when the present is dreck, and there is no emotional sustenance? Little did I know that that was going to change.