Read Fat Chance for Free Online Page A

over it.”
    â€œYour point is?”
    â€œNot just any doodles, Maggie….” Her voice begins to trail.
    I won’t go for the bait.
    â€œ Mike Taylor doodles in all kinds of cutesy-poo little writing.”
    Unmasked.
    â€œBlock letters, puffy pastel two-dimensional letters, calligraphy, flowery script, and then little red hearts.”
    I’m not in the mood now for the drama queen who is studying me. She switches gears and is trying another approach as she drops the armload of mail she’s been holding onto my desk.
    â€œYou okay, Maggie? You been acting a little strange lately, you know what I’m sayin’?”
    â€œStrange how?”
    â€œStrange like…” She drums her iridescent green fingernails on top of a thick hardcover book called Aberrant Eating Behaviors. “Uh, aberrant…you’re not here, your mind is elsewhere.”
    â€œMy mind’s right here, Tamara, you want to take a CAT scan?”
    â€œI’m not your doctor, babe, I don’t want to take no CAT scan. But I’ll tell you that you are most definitely not your ever-lovin’ self. You are adrift. Something bothering you?”
    â€œMy job, my column, a water pill, my next meal, the exchange rate of the yen, that’s what’s bothering me, okay? What else could be on my mind? WHAT? WHAT? There is nothing else whatsoever. End of discussion. You read me?”
    Tamara holds up her hands in surrender. “Not another word from me, I swear. I’ll just sit myself back down outside and let you have your estro/progestero hissy fit. I’m out of here.” She cha-chas toward the door.
    I should let it go, but I can’t. “Come back.” I point to a chair opposite my desk. My pencil turns into a drumstick. Tap tap tap tap. “You’re right. You know me. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I can’t hide anything from you…although Lord knows I try.” We eye each other over a drumroll.
    Tamara crosses her legs and leans forward, twirling a corn-row around her finger. She raises her eyebrows and checks her watch. Then she sits back, and uncrosses her legs.
    â€œH-E-L- L-O— ”
    â€œWHO has a body like no other man?”
    She screws up her face. “Fabio?”
    I fling open the paper to the TV page. “Ever heard of a show called The High Life? ”
    â€œStarring that lowlife…er…what’s his name?”
    â€œThat gorgeous lowlife, yes.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo? The SO is that that sexy lowlife, Mike Taylor, called me last week. He needs my help. He wants me to fly to L.A. and help him with a movie he’s making.”
    This is apparently the funniest thing that Tamara has ever heard. “You’ve been had, girl. Barsky’s at it again. That guy slaughters me, I swear—” She smacks her thigh and laughs harder.
    â€œNo, my child, no no no no—”
    â€œThat man should sell a CD. ‘Get ’em going with Alan Barsky.’ God, he EXCELS! Barsky RULES!”
    â€œFine then, ask for a transfer and work for him if you’re so tickled with his bullshit. Of course, you won’t get Godiva truffles, chanterelles, tins of Beluga caviar. On Metro you’ll get Tic Tacs. You like Tic Tacs, Tamara? What color? Or more likely you’ll get gift baskets of poison apples and hemlock.” Vicious pencil tapping now.
    Tamara waves her arms over her head as if to clear the air.
    â€œGirl, you are a pushover. Barsky is head and shoulders above you in the pranks department. You are just not up there in his league. Boy, do we have to bring that boy to his knees, make him pay. Oh, I love this…it’s gonna take some thinking, but we can do it, we—”
    I stare at her unflinchingly. “Barsky was out on assignment.”
    One perfect eyebrow arches up, then her whole body slumps. “You mean…?”
    â€œYes…it really was—”
    â€œMike