Chapter 4

As Egress ate, taking gigantic bites from the lasagnes, curries, stir fries, pizzas and plates of chips ranged in front of, lacquering the immense expanse of her body with the juices and cooking oils that dripped from her rich, girth-stretching feast, she flipped on the television. There was an advert on for the upcoming new series of chat show hosted by a woman named Melonie. It was offering cash for anyone willing to tell all and be on it.

“Hey, Polygon!” Egress rolled onto her back, her hefty, stuffed belly quaking with the motion. “I think our money worries are over!”

Polygon nodded. “We’ll call them tomorrow,” he said. “The hotel charge you more to use their phones at night.”

“Really? Isn’t that a rip off?”

“Yes. Obviously,” Polygon said, and kissed her, leaning over the fleshy barrier of her gut as best he could. “But we can wait. There’s no hurry.”

“Gotcha,” Egress said, pulling him down on top of her and kissing him back.

“Want to help make the time go faster?” she asked.

***

Entré and Bon Mot lay side by side in their room, swigging beers, still out of breath from some half an hour earlier when they’d indulged an appetite that had nothing to do with food or booze. They could hear Egress and Polygon in the room next door.

“How can someone as big as Egress keep going like that?” asked Entré in honest amazement.

“I think she makes Polygon do most of the work,” Bon Mot said, finishing his first beer, pausing to decide how drunk he was, then reaching for another.

“Do you want to try and go again?”

Bon Mot thought about this. “Yes- but I think I’d just end up falling off onto the floor in a knackered heap if I tried.”

“Yeah,” Entré said. “Me too. But a woman can fantasise...”

***

Melonie’s fantasies at that moment had nothing to do with the wild abandon of coital writhing: they were about ratings. Melonie was, in fact, examining the two candidates that her production team had already selected to appear on her show from the flood of responses that had been received within minutes of the advert for their appearance first airing.

“We want to wait until someone who might prove a bit of a curve-ball turns up before we cast our third star,” her producer told her. “Do you think you can write your interview questions with the two we’ve got at the moment? There’s no hurry, but I can see you’re eager to get started.”

Melonie nodded. “Yeah- I can work with this,” she said. “It’ll make the show a little more dynamic if I don’t know precisely what to expect of the third guest. Just so long as I have a basic type to work with, that’ll be fine.”

“Good. I’ll let you get on with it,” Vineman said, nodding approvingly. “When you’re done, I’ll be in the bar down the road. Come find me if you... want anything.” With that, he turned on his smart, polished boot-heel and strode out of the studio, leaving Melonie with a pen and her notebook, ready to get started on making television gold.

***

The morning came and Egress awoke in a mess of emptied plates and ruffled sheets. She hauled her swelling, well-rounded body out of bed and immediately started looking for the phone- her hunger already filling her with a powerful desire to call room service and indulge her cavernous belly. As she found it, she felt a pair of thin, affectionate arms encircle her from behind: Polygon.

“Calling that chat show?” he asked.

Egress vaguely remembered suggesting that they appear on a chat show discussing the lifestyles of the overweight the previous evening. “It’ll have to wait a minute,” she smiled. “I’ve got to call room service first. I’m ravenous!”

Polygon looked at Egress, took her in, letting his eyes linger on her supersized physique. Her appetite, absurdly large since the first day he clamped eyes on her had grown steadily over the course of her relationship. It was no surprise that food took priority over calling the chat show, even though the latter stood to pay them a substantial sum of money for their appearance and could seriously help with their financial troubles.

“Just send up another platters of fries, maybe a few omelettes, nothing fancy,” he could hear Egress instructing room service. “Oh, and large portions,” she added as her gut rumbled volubly.”

“You want to call these people while we’re waiting for breakfast?” asked Polygon.

Egress nodded, absent-mindedly massaging her midriff. “Sure. You wrote down the number, right?”

Polygon shook his head, then rattled it off from memory.

“You’re a scary bastard, sometimes- you know that?” Egress laughed a little and picked up the telephone again.

***

The moment the production team heard from Egress, they knew they’d found their ace- someone who could serve to mix up the show’s format and keep it fresh and lively. They knew ratings gold when they heard it trickling down the telephone line.