Chapter 5

The bright lights of the chat-show studio shone with fluorescent, searching energy on some of the most overblown examples of womanhood America had to offer- three women with proportions ample enough to break scales and cause serious problems where narrow doors were concerned. Two out of the three of them sat up straight in their seats, nervous, it seemed, of all the attention being brought to bear on their bodies. They had taken the time and effort to select clothes which either flattered or outright concealed their figures and which made them look neat, respectable and as far away from the slobbish stereotypes that had plagued them all their lives as it was possible to get.

The third presented an improbable contrast to the other two. She was sprawled on one of the chat shows comfortable couches, end-to-end, with the top three buttons of her too-tight shirt unbuttoned to reveal a cleavage that could only be described as ‘shocking’. She had kicked off her shoes, apparently just to take full advantage of the chance to relax and was swigging a beer, drinking straight from the bottle in a series of giant swigs that caused spilled alcohol to run down her chin and onto her bosom.

Melonie, in her capacity as the show’s host watched this third example of the supersize species with some interest. The show’s format for this season was simple, she knew- she got people with strange or extreme problems on the show, tried to make them see how they could help themselves. Over the course of her career, she’d done a few shows tackling the issue of being overweight in modern America- regardless of flattering herself that this format was new to her, its contents were not. She’d thought, therefore she knew the types: the men and women who turned up to earnestly argue that they were no more lazy or food-obsessed than most people and just had unfortunate genes (sometimes accurately, sometimes not), those who came on wanting help for a deep psychological trauma that caused their overeating (sometimes, the show actually had to send them to a paid psychiatrist after live-on-air breakdowns , but Melonie had long ago decided that the viewing figures more than made up for that) and the occasional ‘jolly fat man’, who’d decided to present his weight as wholesome and amusing. The woman on the couch was none of these. She seemed to be revelling in her weight- everything about the chocolate-stained shirt, too-tight jeans and overhanging belly seemed to be calculated to physically alarm anybody standing by with genteel sensibilities. More fascinatingly, she didn’t look like she was about to offer any excuse or explanation for her behaviour.

Melonie’s thoughts were interrupted by her cameraman.

“The live audience are in, the cameras are set up and we’re ready to roll when you are!” he told her brightly.

“Okay,” Melonie said. “Get ready to start filming.”

The cameraman gave her time to settle her body and features into a neutral, TV-audience-greeting arrangement, then counted down from ten so the cameras could start running at zero.

“Good morning, America, and welcome to ‘Melonie’ with me, your host, Melonie D’flin,” she said, launching into the familiar spiel with ease. “Today, for the first episode of the new series, we’re going to be talking about obesity and how it has affected the lives of three ordinary women, who are with me here today- give ‘em a big hand!” She let the applause damp down to its minimum before turning to the first of her guests and saying,

“Okay! Now we know why you’re here, so why don’t you start by telling us your name, your weight and a little bit about yourself?”

The woman’s name was Filla Dermit, she’d prefer not to say her weight, and she was 32-year old accountant from New England who had been yo-yo dieting since she was 21 increasing difficulty and progressively less positive results. Melonie addressed herself to the second woman, who also declined to give her exact weight, whose name was Yoline O’Duppy and who was a 23-year old ex-housewife whose husband had left her when she started putting on a few pounds.

“Well he sounds like a cunt,” said the third woman.

“And what about you?” asked Melonie. “Why don’t you tell us who you are- introduce yourself?”

The shifted her absurdly voluptuous frame from lounging to sitting postion, swigged down the last of her beer and introduced herself.

“I don’t know how much I weigh, to be honest. I haven’t bothered with the scales in a few weeks...” she began.

“And why is that?” Melonie asked.

“Because they only go up to 400lb. If you wanted me to take a guess, I’d say I’m probably about 450lb.” She gave the audience a winning, somewhat mischievous smile “But then, I’ve been pitchin’ that estimate for the past three days, so I can’t guarantee that it hasn’t gone up since then!” She patted her belly.

“As for telling you a bit about myself... well, I’m from over the pond in England originally, but I’ve not long moved here to the states with my boyfriend Polygon. I spend most of my time playing videogames and watching zombie movies, partly to help my man review them- that’s what he does for a living- but mostly because, well, fuck it, that’s what I’d be doing anyway!”

“And is your weight an issue with your man?” Melonie asked, hoping to unveil some emotional tension in her guest’s home life- that always made for great TV.

“Only in bed,” said the woman with a flippant shrug.

“Polygon finds you less physically attractive because of your size?”

“Oh good grief no! It’s not that- it’s just that if I’m too vigorous when I go on top... well, I once broke a couple of his ribs.” The woman blushed. “Mind you, he didn’t mention it until we were done, so I guess that aside from that, I must be pretty hot between the sheets.”

There was a stunned silence.

“And... you never told us your name...” Melonie said, trying to find her footing after the unexpected glimpse into her guest’s sex life.

“Oh right- sorry. I’m Egress!”