chapter 2

Hackman observed the scene with a mixture of rye amusement and- if he was completely honest- abject desire. Rhonda had hauled herself down from the stage and was leaning on the diner's polished, neat counter. The fact that her dress had been unable to handle the strain of enclosing her meant that she was wearing nothing but a bra and knickers. Naturally, she was attracting quite a few stares.
"That was quite the feast I had up there," she gestured towards the stage. "I think I might need something to wash it down with. What have you got by way of milkshakes?"
The waitress behind the counter- who looked more than a little awestruck-managed to produce a menu displaying the different flavours.
"Looks lovely. Bring them over to me when they're ready, will you?"
"Er... all of them?" squeaked the waitress, trying not to look at the overburdened bulge of Rhonda's belly.
"Of course, all of them!" Rhonda laughed. "A big meal needs a big drink, doesn't it?"

Hackman smiled to himself and slid out of his chair. He picked his way deftly through the crowd of people who had come to watch Rhonda's display of appetite (and who were now politely chatting and trying not to think about the fact that their evening's entertainment was practically naked and standing nearby).
"Pardon me. Miss... Apatite, isn't it? I'm Hackman Orthoclase," he introduced himself.
Rhonda turned away from the counter and favoured him with a smile of the kind usually reserved for old celluloid films.
"That's me," she said. "Let's be honest- you can't really miss me, can you?"
"Er... no. I suppose not. I'm from the Metropolitan Gazette- I was sent to report on your, er, performance this evening. I was hoping I could get an interview?" Hackman realised he was gabbling and shut his mouth.
"Sure thing, sweetie- let's just find somewhere to talk, shall we?" With that, she led him across the diner to an alcove in the opposite wall. It contained a booth-like seating arrangement and had a curtain, which could be drawn across to afford the occupants a good measure of privacy. It was, Hackman reflected, rather a serendipitous little nook for the diner to possess.

Hackman couldn't help but watch, transfixed, as Rhonda squeezed herself into the narrow space between seat and table: her gut pressed into the polished top of the table so that it divided into two rolls, one of which spilled over the surface while the other was squashed under it.
"Leave the curtain a minute, would ya?" the rotund woman said. "My milkshakes are just coming."
Sure enough, eight tall glasses (containing enticingly colourful liquids) were placed before Rhonda a bare second later. Hackman twitched the curtain across and tried to turn his mind to the job of interviewing the legend that was Rhonda Apatite. This wasn't easy: she was massaging her belly absentmindedly, causing it to yield and ripple deliciously.
"Are you alright?" she asked. "You just sort-of zoned-out there for a second."
"I'm fine. It's just you're... you're very..."
"I'm very what?" Rhonda laughed.
Hackman gave up. "You're very beautiful," he said simply.
Rhonda seemed momentarily frozen by this remark, taking a minute to process it. Then she grinned again- the warm, sunny, genuine smile she'd had just before eating 104 servings of icecream. "Of course I am! But you'd be amazed how few people notice it!" She gave him a knowing wink. "Now, what do you want to know?"
"Well," Hackman managed to assume a semi-professional air "Why don't you tell me how you got into competitive eating and, well, general professional overindulge."
Rhonda nodded, thoughtfully. "Okay, but it's not a short story..."

This is what she told him:

***
"It started at university, really. Well, not right away. It took until the second year, because I'd been living with family throughout the first. But that second year was something different: I'd finally sorted out my own apartment. I kept it for a grand total of two months.

"You see, in Uni, I discovered food. You know how some people go to university and discover booze, or partying or drugs or music or something that completely changes their lives? Well, I discovered food. I was free to do whatever I wanted, and- as it turned out- what I mostly wanted to do was eat. There were loads of restaurants, takeouts and fast-food places around the university and I started eating there as often as I could. I'd eat takeout for lunch before I left the house, have another lunch on the way to uni, and another one between lectures, and something else on the way back home. Sometimes, I'd skip the lectures altogether and just lounge around in a food coma in one of these places, all day.

"It got pretty extreme. After two months, I realised I was going to have to choose between cutting down on my food bill or not being able to afford my apartment's rent. Naturally I gave up the apartment. I didn't go home, though: I couch-surfed. Living at one friend or another's just so I could keep eating like I had been.

"As you can imagine, I wasn't doing great academically by the end of the second semester. By the beginning of the third year, I wasn't even trying. I flunked most of the modules, because I couldn't tear myself away from eating long enough to put in any effort. Then someone whose couch I was sleeping on said I'd make a great competitive eater. They were joking, but I'd never heard of it before. Once I knew what it was, everything just kinda clicked into place. I could get paid to do what I loved. I did some research, entered myself into a few competitions and dropped out of university.

"I turned out to be amazingly good at competitive eating. I've never looked back since".

***
"Wow," said Hackman. That seemed to just about cover it.
Rhonda smiled sheepishly, as though embarrassed by her tale. "You know how there are film geeks who can just watch and analyse movies all day? Or music lovers who will just drink in classical music 24/7? That's how I feel about food, really. It's like an art-form I can never quite get over."
"An art-form?" Hackman asked, a little dazed. The things Rhonda had told him skirted the line between the absurd and the mind-blowing.
"Yeah. That's why I got so into eating at first. I could never just eat one pizza, or one dessert. That would be like... I don't know... going to the national portrait gallery and only looking at one painting! It would be obscene!" She looked genuinely scandalised that people did this. "Every dish is completely unique- even when its made to a formulaic recipe. They all demand my..." her hand stroked her belly "... consideration."
"So what you're telling me is..."Hackman thought about it. "You're ideologically; philosophically opposed to any form of self-restraint concerning food. Because it would be to ignore art?"
"Yes! That's it!" Rhonda leaned back, apparently satisfied to have gotten all this off her chest.
'She's completely mad,' thought Hackman. 'But mad in the most enticing, magnetic way I've ever seen'.
"Given your desire to sample as much edible art as possible," he ventured "and given that your last repast must have started to digest by now... I don't suppose you'd like to see the diner's menu, would you?"
Rhonda gave him her knowing wink again: this time, there seemed to be something lascivious in it. "It's like you read my mind.... almost" she whispered

***
STAY TUNED FOR TOMORROW'S INSTALLMENT, IN WHICH HACKMAN AND RHONDA BECOME MUCH MORE INTIMATELY ACQUAINTED