She didn't have to knock at the door, because Elinor's friend was coming out onto the deck with a tray of glassware as Lisha approached the beach stairs. "Well, I won't say, 'You must be Lisha,'" he said, "because why bother with all that false politeness stuff when I KNOW you're Lisha!" He put the tray down and extended his hand, saying, "I'm Simon, and I must tell you that your films do your beauty no justice." He barely paused before motioning to indicate her body and blurting out, "Elinor and I just rented 'Guileless' last weekend and you look nothing like that practically anorectic creature on the screen. You look healthy and vibrant and lusciously ripe in person and --" Just then, we noticed Elinor standing in the doorway; she had a huge grin on her perfectly made-up face when she said, "I've really got to rein this boy in! I mean, gushing about your beauty is one thing, but 'lusciously ripe!' Really, Simon! Get a grip, or you risk sounding like all the teenage boys whose letters probably fill her agents' office from floor to ceiling!"

"Actually," Lisha said, feeling strangely comfortable among these strangers, "I don't think most of them know enough syllables to say 'lusciously.' Now, 'ripe' -- well that's a four-letter word, and they're usually pretty good at those." They all laughed and Lisha thought to herself, Usually, I fumble so at these first meetings and I come off as such a dimwitted stereotype. Maybe I just need to stare at people through binoculars for a couple of days before I meet them...

Elinor suggested that Lisha and Simon hang out on the deck for a couple of minutes while she finished up in the kitchen, then directed Simon to pour some drinks before she disappeared. They made some small-talk while sipping at their beers and picking at the hors d'ouevres. Elinor had taken small cubes of fresh mozzarella, wrapped each one in a basil leaf, then skewered each one together with a chunk of tomato, a slice of pimiento, and a sliver of oil-cured olive, then dressed the whole thing in a garlic-infused olive oil. Lisha and Simon couldn't help but let out a long "Mmmmmmm" as they popped their first ones into their mouths. There were so many strong flavors, yet the minty earthiness of the basil didn't overpower the sweet acidity of the tomato, nor did the rich smokiness of the pimiento drown out the rich complexity of the olive. They must've each had a dozen before Elinor finally came outside to sit down with them, carrying a basket filled with several loaves of hot and buttery garlic bread. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, hon," Simon said, when he realized that there were only about six skewers left on the platter. She laughed, saying, "Don't worry: there's still another couple of dozen in the fridge, and -- as for me -- I must've had two dozen myself already!" "They're absolutely perfect," Lisha said, and Elinor looked back at her, batted her eyes and replied, "Thanks, honey -- flattery'll get you EVERYwhere!"

Simon brought out the rest of the appetizer treasures and, along with the yeasty bread, they seemed to disappear in no time as they talked about Stephen and Amy and some of the other people they knew. Simon refilled their glasses twice while Lisha found out that Elinor was the senior editor at Farhquar, Strassen and Gerard, one of the most respected literary fiction houses in Manhattan and Simon taught Cultural Studies at the New College for Social Sciences, a couple of dozen blocks away from her. Between the two of them, they seemed to know just about every important or notorious person on the East Coast. Day-to-day Hollywood was still pretty foreign to them, though, and Lisha soon discovered that they had pretty much the same misconceptions as most people about the supposedly degraded moral climate, the frequency of partying and the availability of various illicit substances.

"I'd always heard about that kind of stuff, too," Lisha said, "and if you know where I can find it, I'd sure like to try some of it for a while! Most of the time, I'm either working like crazy or I'm pretty bored." "Well, I hope we're not boring you," Simon said. Lisha smiled, shook her straight blonde hair and said, "Actually, you saved me from a night of leftover Chinese take-out, a half-gallon of ice cream and reruns until the wee hours of the morning!" "Ouch!" Elinor said as she motioned them all inside for the main course, "you make it sound pretty bleak." "Well, I've been kind of getting used to it, since I've been doing it nearly every night." Elinor held the door open for her, then followed her into the dining room, with Simon bringing up the rear. Lisha glanced around and through the pleasantly drunken buzz, noticed that the two of them were having some kind of significant conversation -- about her, she was certain -- with just glances and eyebrow motions.

"I must say, you're certainly none the worse for it," Simon said, opening the window-wall, then sitting in his seat at the head of the table. "Well, that's not what the tabloids say," Lisha replied. "About all they can talk about is the twenty pounds I've gained." Elinor came in, carrying three huge platters piled high with pasta and shrimp, and the wonderful aroma followed immediately after her, teasing their noses with hints of basil and garlic and rich, ripe tomatoes. No one said a word as they all busily twirled or cut their linguine and placed that first wonderful forkful in their waiting mouths, echoing each other's moans of delight.

"Oh, shit!" Elinor suddenly exclaimed, "I forgot the most important part!" She ran into the kitchen, all of her bulk rippling sensuously beneath her clothes, then came back a moment later with a small cheese grater, and grated a layer of fine, white cheese on each plate. "Local sheep's-milk romano," she said, as they all tasted and agreed that the tangy, rich and velevety cheese was the crowning glory of the dish. "There's this little place on the North Fork," Elinor explained, "where they make all of their own cheeses -- especially sheep cheeses. I made a special trip up there this morning. I also got the mozzarella and the sheep's milk that's in the sauce, and the ricotta that'll come later from that place. That mozzarella is so fresh, that I swear -- it seems like they milk the cow in the morning and make the cheese that afternoon!" "And where did you get these tomatoes?" Simon asked. "They're amazing! Like the ones you used to be able to get, until they started all the gene-alteration stuff so a tomato would last six months on the store shelves." "Oh, I got those at one of the farmstands near Riverhead -- and the basil, too. They even picked the basil for me, right there. And what a difference it makes!"

Lisha was almost too entranced by the marvelous flavors, enhanced by her concentration on Elinor's every bite and swallow, to participate in the conversation. She finished her first plate ahead of the others and, despite the pressure of her already swollen stomach, she said, "Absolutely!" when asked if she wanted seconds. Elinor brought out three more plates, each just as full as the first round, and Simon refilled their glasses with some of the spicy Long Island Merlot. About halfway through that plateful, Lisha had to slow down and take a little break, including a trip to the bathroom, where she gave her belly some respite from the stranglehold placed on it by the suddenly tight skirt. When she came back she saw that Simon had been ready for a pause as well, but Elinor had just kept on going. "So, you were saying before about the tabloids..." Simon asked. "Well, there's not too much to say about them at all," Lisha answered.

"Oh, that's not true at all," Simon said. "In fact, I did my doctoral thesis on Jackie Bok -- that's how I met Elinor, coincidentally -- and about her importance as a cultural icon: wife of a slain president, widow of one of the first international tycoons, fiercely independent and publicity-avoiding career editor, mother of a lawyer/author and a lawyer/magazine-publisher. While doing that research, I found the tabloids to be a valuable source for tracking a celebrity's importance and influence on the culture." He talked for a while about the former First Lady and his long-time fascination with her; while he enlightened them with little facts and tidbits, Lisha and Simon both seemed to find their second appetite and continued working on their dishes, while Elinor leaned back and rested her fork on her napkin next to her empty plate.

"We found an apparent correlation," Simon continued "-- one we couldn't systematize statistically enough for publication -- which seemed to show that the 'respectable' media's trends follow the tabloid media at a remove of nearly three to six months. So, what the rags are talking about today, will be on everyone's minds and lips this winter."

"Great!" Lisha said, taking the last forkful of her second serving. "Well, then, this winter, 'Perfect Vision' is going to be doing a feature on my expanding waistline. My own survey showed that all six of the tabs had me on the cover last week with articles about my incredible new 'bulkiness'!" Elinor laughed as she stood up and took their plates, then spoke very loudly from the kitchen, "If Sesame Street were looking at this room and talking about the word 'bulk' they'd be pointing at the three of us and singing, 'One of these things is not like the others...'" She came back in just then with another round of pasta, just as big as the other two. "Ohhhh. I don't think so," Lisha said.

"Well, how about a little guilt, then?" Elinor asked. "Does that work on you? Because I don't do well with leftovers, and if we don't finish it, this incredible creation is going to be spoiling in the dump!" Something is going on here, Lisha thought as she realized that both Simon and Elinor were looking at her expectantly; the wine and the company conspired to entice her with the thrill of a challenge. "Since you put it that way..." Lisha said and fed herself a jaw-stretching forkful of the sweet and creamy pasta, and was rewarded by a hearty round of applause.

"So, do any of the rags have anything positive to say about your weight?" Elinor asked In between mouthfuls. "Are you kidding? That won't happen unless I endorse some diet and drop ten pounds." "Well, then I must say that these papers are totally missing the truth," Simon offered. "-- and believe it or not, that's not something they usually do. But, in this instance -- you look so much more beautiful now than you did in that last movie. And that, I assume was those twenty pounds ago?" Lisha's mouth was full as she forced herself to keep up with Elinor's flashing fork, so all she could do was nod her head. "Let me tell you this, then: I think you'll just be approaching your full potential of beauty with another twenty -- maybe even fifty pounds!"

Lisha finished the last forkful just then, and fought off the total immobility that was threatening to possess her just long enough to push her chair back from the table; then with glazed eyes, fumbling fingers, and no concern about the people who were watching her every move, she reached under her long shirt and totally undid the knot which was pressing on her gorged stomach like a boulder. The skirt flapped open, and for a moment, reality peeked through the haze in her brain and forced her to look and determine that -- thank goodness! -- she'd remembered to wear panties.

"I hope you don't mind but, what a good idea," Elinor said, lifting up her shirt and revealing that the elastic waistband of her skintight capri pants was so completely extended, that the fabric was emitting little ripping noises; the threat of total garment destruction didn't faze her, however, as she forced her pudgy hands beneath the top and pulled them down until the entire vast expanse of her massive stomach was on proud display. Simon, sensing some kind of competition, stood up and lifted his shirt, demonstrating the way a big man's furry belly cantilevers over the belt buckle. He made a big show of taking off his belt, and unbuttoning his jeans, then he belched and patted his yard-deep gut to Elinor's obvious admiration, before plopping himself down in the protesting chair.

If you've got any comments or criticisms, you can post them on the WeightBoard or e-mail me at: melaniebel@aol.com.

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