Fat Funny Famous

Chapter 15

During filming, we'd needed to shoot a scene inside a moving vehicle. Trish had been driving a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle when she'd met the prince; we put the replica on a trailer rigged with cameras and filmed as a truck towed us through the streets.

At one stage while I was in the driver's seat, a gaggle of little school kids ran out into the road. I instantly reacted, slamming my foot on the brake and twisting the wheel. Of course, both of these were useless because I wasn't actually driving. I had to helplessly watch us careen towards the shocked group of children, unable to slow, steer or stop.

Luckily, the truck driver hit his brakes, and both the truck and our trailer came to a stop without harming anyone. But ever since, I haven't been able to get that feeling out of my head: the sensation of being powerless to stop something out of control.

I'm having that feeling again now, in Erik's swanky hotel suite facing the vista of Sydney Harbour. The bridge and the opera house sparkle romantically in the moonlight, a juxtaposition to our escalating argument. Only a few hours ago before the cast dinner, we were making love against the floor-to-ceiling windows, my arse pressed against the glass, my legs around Erik's waist, as close as two humans could possibly be. Now, there's a rapidly widening chasm between us and as much as I'm trying to hit the brakes, they aren't working.

"I just don't understand why you're upset," says Erik, folding his long arms, his brows lowered in annoyance. "You're not fat."

"It's not about that! I mean, it's about more than that, and other stuff! Just... Okay." I try to calm myself by smoothing my hands over my hair and taking a deep breath. "First off, your parents insulted my mother – and you didn't even try to defend her or-"

"I already told you, that's just how my parents are. You didn't grow up around them, you don't understand."

"I hope I never do," I say vehemently. "But let's just say I can make my peace with that, they then insinuate I'm not good enough for you because I might one day not be as slender as I am today, which is wildly inappropriate and just plain shitty."

Erik shrugs. "To which I say, that isn't a problem."

"I seriously don't get how you can think it isn't a problem, but just for shits and giggles, how about you explain it to me." I fold my own arms, squeezing my own skin tightly as if I can hold everything together.

"Because it won't happen."

"What won't happen?"

"You getting fat."

I scrunch my face up. "Uh, I hate to break this to you, sunshine, but I'm a human. I am a brain operating a meat-mecha suit, a ghost inside a biological machine. Over time, I'm going to age, I'm going to get injured and sick, and yeah, maybe even gain weight. And unless you're actually a Terminator-style android, those things are going to happen to you too."

Erik waves a hand at me. "Aging can be managed; my mother is still a beautiful woman."

Yeah, for a soulless harpy... I'm close to saying it out loud, but I sense it would be like tossing TNT into a bushfire.

Erik continues, "And, of course, you're allowed to get sick and be injured-"

"I'm sorry – I'm allowed?" I sarcastically curtsey and adopt an Eliza Dolittle accent. "Ow, much obliged to ya, gov'ner! I'll be sure to schedule in me cancer diagnosis so it don't interfere wiv huntin' season!"

Erik ignores me, saying, "But gaining weight is a deliberate choice. That's science."

"Oh, for the sweet love of Dench," I mutter, justified in invoking the name of my acting idol. "There's so much bull in that sentence, I don't know where to start. Weight is not 'just a choice' – there are a million different reasons why someone might be fat! Medication, genetics, injury, mental health, even financial – studies show that people from lower-socio economic backgrounds struggle to afford quality fresh foods and often don't have tons of downtime where they can workout at an over-priced gym because they're too busy just trying to survive."