Seeds of Fear

stare at? You're not all that much bigger than a bus.'

Agatha lowered her face, fighting back tears. Nick sighed. He pushed away the remains of the torte. Half of it was still on the plate. He nudged it towards her.

'Go on, eat it.'

'I don't want it.'

'One more pound isn't going to make a difference, is it?'

Agatha lifted her face and glared at the torte. She could not help herself. Don't touch it, she said to herself. Don't demean yourself. Please, God, don't humiliate yourself further.

'I know you want it. What's stopping you?'

'Nick, don't.'

'Jesus Christ. Take it!'

Heads turned again. Agatha's world shrank to the size of the plate in front of her.

'I hate you,' she said softly, and did not know if she meant Nick or the torte.

'How many calories does hate burn?' Nick sneered.

'Don't, Nick.'

'There should be a law. A guy should get to see what his wife is going to look like after six years. Save a lot of grief that way. I have to whiz. I'll be back in a minute. If you're going to eat that thing, do it while I'm gone. Watching you shovel it down would make me sick.'

Nick stood and walked away. Agatha lowered her head, stared at the table, blushing so hard, it felt as if her skin were peeling. Everybody in the restaurant was staring at her. She could feel it.

'How are you doing?'

Agatha looked up, startled. One of the two slim, beautiful women who had been looking at her earlier was standing by the table. Her long blond hair was impeccably styled, hanging to her shoulders like a waterfall of gold. Her makeup, too, was perfect. Full lips, wide eyes, high cheekbones. Agatha felt gigantic, slothful.

'Pardon me?'

'Your husband was a bit of a brute.'

Agatha blushed, tried to smile as if it had meant nothing.

'May I sit for a moment?'

Agatha wanted to say no, to make the woman leave, but something about her manner, the tone of her voice, breached her defenses and she nodded.

'Your name is Agatha? My name is Helen. Agatha, I'd like to give you something.'

From her purse she removed an envelope and handed it to Agatha. Agatha took the envelope, looked up at Helen's eyes.

'What is it?'

'Open it.'

Frowning, Agatha slipped her finger under the lip of the envelope and pulled it open. Inside she found a photograph. She took it out and looked at it. It was of a very large woman, larger even than Agatha herself, sitting on a sofa, smoking, arms bulging like gigantic sausages, neck a pale roll of fat, cheeks hanging in jowls. Something about the eyes was familiar.

'That's you,' Agatha said in a small voice.

'Yes.'

Agatha looked up at Helen. There could be no doubt that the person in the photograph was the person beside her. The eyes were identical. And yet, it couldn't be the same person.

'That was six months ago.'

'No.'

'Yes, Agatha.'

Agatha's heart pounded. When Helen put her long-nailed hand on her arm, Agatha jumped, looked up into her eyes.

'The same thing can happen for you, if you want.'

'How?'

Helen handed her a business card. On it was an address on Fourth Street South. One word. OVEREATERS.

'Diets don't work for me.'

'This one will. Guaranteed, permanent results. Permanent. No cost to you unless it does.'

Agatha shook her head.

'You want to lose the weight, don't you, Agatha?'

'Yes.'

'Think of how you'll look. Think of how your husband will react. Think of what other men will think.'

Other men.

'Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. We can help you.'

Agatha could only nod, mouth locked shut.

Helen stood. 'See you tomorrow, then.'

As she walked away she winked at Agatha and smiled warmly. Agatha felt a flutter in her stomach and looked down at her hands.

Nick came back, adjusting his belt.

'Guess you didn't want this,' he said, pulling the torte towards him. 'Too bad. It's delicious.'

There were six women in the meeting room on the third floor, sitting in a circle around a glass table. On the table was a lump of what looked like fat. The women were staring at it, concentrating. Positive thinking, Agatha thought. They're making themselves hate the fat. The women, each and every one, were strikingly slim and beautiful. Agatha's legs felt weak as she came through the door. A mistake, she thought. A big, big mistake.

Worse than the women in the room were the pictures on the walls. Huge pictures, poster-sized, of gigantic, obese women. Bulges and rippling flesh filled every open space, eyes squeezed to slits by pockets of fat, ankles flowing like melted butter over sensible, ugly shoes, chins falling in cascades like fleshy neck laces.

Helen left the circle and came to the door. She took Agatha's hand.

'I'm so glad you could come,' Helen said.

'I feel so… out of place.'

'You won't for long. I promise you that.'

Helen led Agatha down a narrow hallway to a small office. In the office, Helen sat behind the desk. Agatha took the seat by the door. Helen put her hands under her chin and studied Agatha speculatively.

'This is always the hardest part,' she said.

Agatha smiled nervously.

'How badly do you want to lose weight?'

'I do want to, but I haven't had much luck.'

'We don't depend on luck here, Agatha. Our program works. It has never failed.'

Agatha stared at her. 'Those pictures on the walls in the other room…'

'Us. Yes. Before the program.'

Agatha shook her head.

'Do you want the same thing, Agatha?'

'Yes.'

'What will you give for it?'

'Give?'

'Everything has a price, Agatha.'

'What do you want?'

'Nick.'

'Nick?'

'He's not much of a husband, is he?'

'He's my husband.'

'When was the last time the two of you made love?'