Chasing Harry Winston

with quiet resignation.

It was then that Adriana realized Otis thought he was fat, not her.

All this time Otis had been screaming “fat girl” and “fatty,” and they were cries for help! He must have known Emmy always offered too much food in a desperate attempt to quiet him. Poor thing! How could he be expected to control himself with the unlimited quantities of processed pet-store birdseed constantly paraded through his cage? Adriana immediately went online and scanned a few sites on proper African Grey nutrition, and she was horrified to find that packaged commercial bird food practically guaranteed morbid obesity and early death from kidney failure. Not to mention the psychological toll it was taking on him! To look at yourself in the mirror day after day-to live your life caged in front of a mirror!-and to recognize that you’re overweight but not be able to do anything about it…well, Adriana wasn’t sure it got worse than that!

This changed everything. Once she understood that Otis’s anger and insults weren’t directed at her, she was overcome with sympathy for the tubby little creature. That very afternoon she’d placed a call to Irene Pepperberg, the living parrot legend herself, and asked what the woman had fed Alex, her world-famous African Grey who had a larger vocabulary than the average American eighth-grader. Mobilized with newfound knowledge and bolstered by a very foreign-feeling desire to help, Adriana immediately hit Whole Foods, the Union Square farmers’ market, an upscale pet boutique, and a vet who specialized in exotic birds. It had taken nearly a week of constant work, but Otis’s lifestyle makeover was nearing completion.

It was hard to say what had had the greatest effect, but Adriana guessed it was probably Otis’s new digs. Banished was his rickety aluminum cage with the vile smell and nasty wire bars that looked-and sounded-like some sort of Middle Eastern torture cell. In its place was a proper avian home: an armoire-sized, handcrafted wooden chest designed by one of New York’s finest architects and built by a reputable contractor who had executed the vision perfectly. The frame was made of solid oak that Adriana ordered stained an espresso color to match her living room furniture; granite made up the floor and ceiling; the sides consisted of high-grade stainless steel mesh; and the front panel was made from floor-to-ceiling unbreakable acrylic that looked just like glass. She’d ordered a lush, high-resolution jungle print from a world-renowned National Geographic photographer and had it laminated and mounted in the background so Otis could feel close to nature, and she’d requested a full-spectrum lighting system installed so he wouldn’t struggle so much with day and night. On the advice of a parrot behaviorist, Adriana had outfitted the inside with an assortment of basking ledges, swings, shelves, feeders, and perches, although she had later removed a few accessories after worrying the space might feel too cluttered. It was undoubtedly eight grand well spent, as evidenced by the fact that Otis had literally sung upon seeing it for the very first time. Adriana swore she could see him smiling as he gazed at the jungle panorama from his bamboo perch.

She guessed Otis’s new diet, which included only nutrient-rich whole grains, fruits, and vegetables, had gone a long way toward alleviating some of his body-image issues as well. Adriana purchased a bulk supply of highly nutritious quinoa and supplemented it with organic berries, carrots, and-for calcium’s sake-twice-weekly servings of Greek yogurt. Once Adriana discovered that Otis preferred the taste of Fiji artesian water to both Evian and Poland Spring, she replenished his bottle three times daily to ensure he was flushing out all his toxins. A trip to the avian groomer for a bath, a conditioning mist, and a toenail clip had completed his rejuvenation regimen.

What a difference a little indulgence made! Adriana made a mental note of this, should she ever doubt the importance of pampering herself (however unlikely that was). Otis was like a new bird. He sang, he chirped, he bopped his head in rhythm to the bossa nova music constantly playing in the apartment. In just one week he’d graduated from aggressive beast banished to the bathroom to sweet-natured playmate who liked curling up on the couch. This morning he had demonstrated just how far he’d come when, finally, he responded correctly to Adriana’s relentless coaching.

“Okay, Otis, now try to focus, querido,” she cooed as she pulled a hand mirror out from her night table. They walked into the living room and sat together on the floor, where Otis happily pecked a carrot and Adriana coached him on his new vocab words.

“Now, I’m going to show you the mirror, and you’re going to tell me who you see, okay? Remember, you’re a smart, beautiful bird who has nothing to be ashamed of. Are you ready?”

Otis continued to munch.

Adriana moved the mirror in front of his face and held her breath. They were close, she could feel it, but so far Otis hadn’t been able to move beyond screaming “Fatty!” at the sight of his own reflection. She held the mirror very still and waited, willing him to say the right words.

He was clearly entranced with himself-a good sign if there ever was one-as his wing feathers puffed up a bit and his beak parted ever so slightly. He appeared to be pleased with what he saw, although of course there was no way to tell. C’mon, Adriana willed, you can do it! And then, sure enough, with his head cocked and his eyes gleaming, Otis cawed, “Pretty girl!”

Adriana almost fainted with excitement. “Oh, now that’s a good boy!” she said in enthusiastic baby talk. “What a good boy you are! Does the good boy want a treat?”

She’d decided to give Otis a little leeway on his gender confusion-for now, at least. There was time enough for everything, and it was his crushing lack of self-esteem that had had her most worried.

“Grape!” Otis cawed, clearly delighted. “Pretty girl! Grape! Pretty girl! Grape!” He shimmied up and down Adriana’s calf as he called out the words.

“One pesticide-free grape, coming right up for…for who? Who gets the grape? The pretty boy gets the grape!” Adriana hoisted him onto the couch arm and headed toward the kitchen. She was just reaching inside the fridge for the bowl when the phone rang.

“Hello?” Adriana said with a twinge of irritation at the interruption. She wedged the portable between her shoulder and chin while arranging a few grapes on an appetizer plate.

“Adriana?” a breathless female voice asked through the handset.

Callers who refused to identify themselves before demanding to know your name were a pet peeve of Adriana’s, but she willed herself to be polite. “This is she. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Adriana, it’s Mackenzie. Hi, sweetheart! Listen, I have some phenomenal news. Are you sitting down?”

Phenomenal news sounds good, Adriana thought with anticipation. Phenomenal news sounded like Elaine had decided to post one (or maybe more!) of her essays on the Marie Claire Web site. Phenomenal news might even mean that Elaine had adored Adriana so much that she planned to feature her as a regular monthly contributor on the site, complete with a splashy link on the home page and (naturally) a tastefully posed headshot of the author herself. Author! Who would’ve ever imagined that she, Adriana de Souza, was about to embark on a career…as an author! And one who would surely garner thousands, if not millions, of hits every day. Girls would be forwarding her column link to all their friends, attaching to it little notes that read, “Check this out” and “so true” and “how funny is this,” while men would stealthily visit the site to gaze adoringly at Adriana’s author photo and perhaps pick up a pointer or two from the enemy camp. It was almost too fabulous to fathom.

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” she said, trying to keep the squeal out of her voice.

“Well, I just got out of a meeting with Elaine.” Pause. “She was very impressed with you.”

“She was?”

“Very. I’ve worked here for almost nine years, and I don’t think I’ve seen her this on board with a pitch, ever.”

“Really? So that means she’s going to publish one of the columns on the Web site?” Clearly it was true, but Adriana needed to hear the actual words. She was already thinking ahead to whom she would tell first. The girls? Toby? Her mother?

There was another pause, just long enough to pique Adriana’s anxiety before Mackenzie said, “Um, actually, that’s not what she was thinking.”

Not what she was thinking? But she loved it! Adriana wanted to scream. You said so yourself! How could I have so misjudged the situation? she wondered as she rejoined Otis on the couch and balanced the grape plate between her knees. She stroked his back as he joyfully attacked the fruit. Then she began deconstructing the whole stupid idea. American women were never going to change-hell, they’d been on this empowered-female kick for decades now-so what was the point, anyway? Besides, who needed that kind of exposure? Publicity was one thing, but Web-based exposure, what with all those tacky Web site designs and undesirable lurkers…yuck. It made her skin crawl just thinking of it. It was time to put an end to