The plot:
Tawny McKay starred in the hit sitcom Brittany and the Billionaire for six years. Now she’s twenty-nine, single, unemployed, and overweight. Follow her adventures with a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, a talking bathroom scale, and a prima donna weight loss guru as she fights her way to a comeback and discovers true love.
A novella by author Carrie Wexford.
Fab or Flab
by Carrie Wexford
by Carrie Wexford
Copyright © 2014 by Carrie Wexford.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual businesses, places, events, or incidents is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual businesses, places, events, or incidents is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress
Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wexford, Carrie.
Fab or Flab / Carrie Wexford
1. Contemporary Fiction 1. Title
TXu 1-945-358 2014
Second Edition November 2016
Printed in the United States of America
Also by
Carrie Wexford
Your Every Word
The Cappalletti Saga:
The Queen of Shebas
Wolves Behind You
A Cliff Before You
Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wexford, Carrie.
Fab or Flab / Carrie Wexford
1. Contemporary Fiction 1. Title
TXu 1-945-358 2014
Second Edition November 2016
Printed in the United States of America
Also by
Carrie Wexford
Your Every Word
The Cappalletti Saga:
The Queen of Shebas
Wolves Behind You
A Cliff Before You
The Girl From GALEOP and Other Stories
A curvaceous young woman in a pink velour jacket and snug, seven-hundred-dollar blue jeans exploded into the waiting room. Her brunette, shoulder-length hair snapped in the wind created when she slammed the door behind her.
A twenty-year-old man, photo shoot ready in a white silk shirt unbuttoned over his freshly waxed chest, looked up from last December’s issue of Edgy Fashion. “Isn’t that Tawny McKay?” he whispered.
“She’s certainly let herself go.” His girlfriend flipped her platinum dreadlocks over her shoulder.
Tawny disregarded the empty receptionist’s desk – her agent rarely kept an assistant more than a day – and stormed into the private office without knocking. “Liz! This time they’ve gone too far!”
The petite, white-haired woman in the jet-black leather skirt suit scowled across her smoked glass desk. “Tawny, you’ll need to make an appointment. Can’t you see that I’m with a client?”
The willowy redhead lounging in the high-backed armchair – she could not have been more than sixteen – crossed her bony knees, adjusted her neon green plaid miniskirt, and traded annoyed glances with Tawny. She pointedly returned her attention to the text messages on her wristband cell phone.
Her warm, honey brown eyes twitching with anger, Tawny thrust a folded copy of L.A. Scandals in Liz’s face. “I’ll sue them, I swear!”
“For what? Running a picture of you eating a double cheeseburger? When you make a pig of yourself in public, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Read the caption! ‘Celebrity chowhound Tawny McKay packs on the pounds.’”
“They must have needed to fill space. You barely made page ninety-seven. Your star isn’t twinkling very brightly, is it?”
“They’re destroying my career!”
“What career? You haven’t worked in ages.”
“Whose fault is that? The network canceled my show last May. You should have found me another role by now!”
“Easier said than done. Let’s face it, Tawny. You’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m only twenty-nine!”
“Look at Gemma.” Liz waved her manicured nails at the teenager seated before her. “This is what the studios want nowadays. Trendy. Fresh. Fun.”
Tawny’s classic, girl-next-door features – which once beamed down on Los Angeles drivers from a hundred billboards – twisted in frustration. “What about me? Brittany and the Billionaire was an international hit!”
“‘Was,’ Tawny. You’re yesterday’s news and today’s punch line.”
“I can do it again! I just need another chance.”
“I don’t know. It’s a long, winding road to the top, and longer the second time around.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes!”
The agent grudgingly pulled a glossy brochure from her side drawer. “Too bad your stepdad is a dentist instead of a plastic surgeon. Getting your looks back will cost you a fortune.” She tossed the advertisement across the desk. “I don’t want to see you again until you’ve dropped twenty pounds. And tell them to do something about this.” She wiggled her glittering fingernails under her own taut jawline.
Tawny did not know how she returned to her pastel pink Porsche Cayman, or how she navigated the heavy morning traffic on Wilshire Boulevard. When she came to her senses, she was pulling into the driveway of her mother’s quaint, five-bedroom starter house in Bel Air.
“Mom!” she howled as she opened the door.
She found her mother in the kitchen, carefully sorting a pile of small, ecru ovals on the dark green marble countertop.
Paulina McKay’s wavy hair was the same glossy brown as Tawny’s, except for the silver stripe cascading from her side part. She wore a flowery satin bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy slippers topped with smiling cat faces.
She held up a finger to hush her daughter while she counted the ovals into a crystal candy dish. “Fifteen, sixteen…wait, how many did I already…oh, that can’t be right…”
“Mom! Do I look fat?”
“What?”
“Liz said I need to lose twenty pounds.”
“What nerve! It’s time to get a new agent. Sweetie, you’re a pretty girl. I wish I had your high metabolism. If I even see food, I gain weight.” Paulina patted her daughter’s hair fondly. “You starred on that show for six years. You spent every waking minute on the set or on the promotional tours. You didn’t have time to eat. You didn’t have time to date, either. No wonder you’re still single.”
Her black-and-purple leopard print cell phone danced in place on the kitchen counter. Paulina snatched up a tiny oval, tore it apart, and popped its contents into her mouth. Her eyes relaxed; the corners of her lips curved upward.
“Mom, may I use your scale?”
“I can tell you right now that you haven’t gained an ounce.” Her mother pointed at the guest bathroom. “Go ahead. It’s in there.”
“You moved it downstairs?”
“Uh-huh. I check my weight every two hours.” She padded toward the bathroom in her furry slippers.
“That’s kind of…compulsive.”
“No, really! You can learn all kinds of things from weighing yourself throughout the day.” Paulina kicked off her slippers and stepped onto her scale, a white ceramic square with an old-fashioned rotary dial. She peeked down at the number, gasped, and jumped off. “That can’t be right. Oh, I drank two glasses of water. ‘A pint’s a pound, the world around.’ How many pints in a glass?”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Tawny set her fringed mini bag beside the sink.
“Take off your shoes. And your socks. Anything in your pockets? Wait! Your jacket must weigh at least a pound.”
At last, Tawny, in her lace-trimmed, raspberry camisole and curve-hugging blue jeans, placed her bare feet on the scale’s cold surface.
The dial’s red line swung to 134.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed.
Her mother edged closer to get a better view. “Lean to your right. Lift one foot.”
“It’s no use, Mom. On the first season of Brittany and the Billionaire, I weighed a hundred and sixteen.” She poked at her waistline in dismay. “I’ve gained eighteen pounds.”
“It’s probably water retention. Did you hear my phone?” Paulina hurried back to the kitchen.
Tawny felt like her world had collapsed into a black hole. She sank down on the edge of the bathtub and pulled on her sneakers. How did I gain this much weight? She picked up her jacket and her fringed bag, hurled angry thoughts at the scale, and then leaped upon it once more.
The dial flipped back and forth before resting on 138.
Terrified, she dropped her designer jacket and her expensive little purse on the floor. When she tried again, the scale revised the awful truth to 135.
“OK, fine,” she fumed. “But that extra pound is from my shoes!”
When she returned to the kitchen, she noticed her mother hovering over the crystal bowl.
“What are those things?” Tawny zipped her jacket self-consciously over her stomach.
“Pistachios.”
“They’re awfully fattening.”
“Only four calories each.”
“No kidding?”
“I’m on this great new diet.” Paulina chose a nut from the bowl and placed it on a fine china plate. “I can have one every thirty minutes.” She tilted her cell phone to read the time. “Nineteen minutes to go.”
“Is this the meal plan?” Tawny picked up a web page printout.
“Yup. Eight glasses of water with a quarter-spoonful each of honey and vinegar, one glass of carrot juice, a green salad with a slice of lemon, an apple – a small apple –” she clarified, “and a tofu burger, no bun.”
“When did you start this diet?”
“This morning.” Paulina pulled up a bar stool. She made herself comfortable for the day’s long vigil over the crystal bowl.
Tawny sighed. She searched inside her fringed purse for Liz’s brochure.
Thirty minutes later…
A curvaceous young woman in a pink velour jacket and snug, seven-hundred-dollar blue jeans exploded into the waiting room. Her brunette, shoulder-length hair snapped in the wind created when she slammed the door behind her.
A twenty-year-old man, photo shoot ready in a white silk shirt unbuttoned over his freshly waxed chest, looked up from last December’s issue of Edgy Fashion. “Isn’t that Tawny McKay?” he whispered.
“She’s certainly let herself go.” His girlfriend flipped her platinum dreadlocks over her shoulder.
Tawny disregarded the empty receptionist’s desk – her agent rarely kept an assistant more than a day – and stormed into the private office without knocking. “Liz! This time they’ve gone too far!”
The petite, white-haired woman in the jet-black leather skirt suit scowled across her smoked glass desk. “Tawny, you’ll need to make an appointment. Can’t you see that I’m with a client?”
The willowy redhead lounging in the high-backed armchair – she could not have been more than sixteen – crossed her bony knees, adjusted her neon green plaid miniskirt, and traded annoyed glances with Tawny. She pointedly returned her attention to the text messages on her wristband cell phone.
Her warm, honey brown eyes twitching with anger, Tawny thrust a folded copy of L.A. Scandals in Liz’s face. “I’ll sue them, I swear!”
“For what? Running a picture of you eating a double cheeseburger? When you make a pig of yourself in public, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Read the caption! ‘Celebrity chowhound Tawny McKay packs on the pounds.’”
“They must have needed to fill space. You barely made page ninety-seven. Your star isn’t twinkling very brightly, is it?”
“They’re destroying my career!”
“What career? You haven’t worked in ages.”
“Whose fault is that? The network canceled my show last May. You should have found me another role by now!”
“Easier said than done. Let’s face it, Tawny. You’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m only twenty-nine!”
“Look at Gemma.” Liz waved her manicured nails at the teenager seated before her. “This is what the studios want nowadays. Trendy. Fresh. Fun.”
Tawny’s classic, girl-next-door features – which once beamed down on Los Angeles drivers from a hundred billboards – twisted in frustration. “What about me? Brittany and the Billionaire was an international hit!”
“‘Was,’ Tawny. You’re yesterday’s news and today’s punch line.”
“I can do it again! I just need another chance.”
“I don’t know. It’s a long, winding road to the top, and longer the second time around.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes!”
The agent grudgingly pulled a glossy brochure from her side drawer. “Too bad your stepdad is a dentist instead of a plastic surgeon. Getting your looks back will cost you a fortune.” She tossed the advertisement across the desk. “I don’t want to see you again until you’ve dropped twenty pounds. And tell them to do something about this.” She wiggled her glittering fingernails under her own taut jawline.
Tawny did not know how she returned to her pastel pink Porsche Cayman, or how she navigated the heavy morning traffic on Wilshire Boulevard. When she came to her senses, she was pulling into the driveway of her mother’s quaint, five-bedroom starter house in Bel Air.
“Mom!” she howled as she opened the door.
She found her mother in the kitchen, carefully sorting a pile of small, ecru ovals on the dark green marble countertop.
Paulina McKay’s wavy hair was the same glossy brown as Tawny’s, except for the silver stripe cascading from her side part. She wore a flowery satin bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy slippers topped with smiling cat faces.
She held up a finger to hush her daughter while she counted the ovals into a crystal candy dish. “Fifteen, sixteen…wait, how many did I already…oh, that can’t be right…”
“Mom! Do I look fat?”
“What?”
“Liz said I need to lose twenty pounds.”
“What nerve! It’s time to get a new agent. Sweetie, you’re a pretty girl. I wish I had your high metabolism. If I even see food, I gain weight.” Paulina patted her daughter’s hair fondly. “You starred on that show for six years. You spent every waking minute on the set or on the promotional tours. You didn’t have time to eat. You didn’t have time to date, either. No wonder you’re still single.”
Her black-and-purple leopard print cell phone danced in place on the kitchen counter. Paulina snatched up a tiny oval, tore it apart, and popped its contents into her mouth. Her eyes relaxed; the corners of her lips curved upward.
“Mom, may I use your scale?”
“I can tell you right now that you haven’t gained an ounce.” Her mother pointed at the guest bathroom. “Go ahead. It’s in there.”
“You moved it downstairs?”
“Uh-huh. I check my weight every two hours.” She padded toward the bathroom in her furry slippers.
“That’s kind of…compulsive.”
“No, really! You can learn all kinds of things from weighing yourself throughout the day.” Paulina kicked off her slippers and stepped onto her scale, a white ceramic square with an old-fashioned rotary dial. She peeked down at the number, gasped, and jumped off. “That can’t be right. Oh, I drank two glasses of water. ‘A pint’s a pound, the world around.’ How many pints in a glass?”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Tawny set her fringed mini bag beside the sink.
“Take off your shoes. And your socks. Anything in your pockets? Wait! Your jacket must weigh at least a pound.”
At last, Tawny, in her lace-trimmed, raspberry camisole and curve-hugging blue jeans, placed her bare feet on the scale’s cold surface.
The dial’s red line swung to 134.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed.
Her mother edged closer to get a better view. “Lean to your right. Lift one foot.”
“It’s no use, Mom. On the first season of Brittany and the Billionaire, I weighed a hundred and sixteen.” She poked at her waistline in dismay. “I’ve gained eighteen pounds.”
“It’s probably water retention. Did you hear my phone?” Paulina hurried back to the kitchen.
Tawny felt like her world had collapsed into a black hole. She sank down on the edge of the bathtub and pulled on her sneakers. How did I gain this much weight? She picked up her jacket and her fringed bag, hurled angry thoughts at the scale, and then leaped upon it once more.
The dial flipped back and forth before resting on 138.
Terrified, she dropped her designer jacket and her expensive little purse on the floor. When she tried again, the scale revised the awful truth to 135.
“OK, fine,” she fumed. “But that extra pound is from my shoes!”
When she returned to the kitchen, she noticed her mother hovering over the crystal bowl.
“What are those things?” Tawny zipped her jacket self-consciously over her stomach.
“Pistachios.”
“They’re awfully fattening.”
“Only four calories each.”
“No kidding?”
“I’m on this great new diet.” Paulina chose a nut from the bowl and placed it on a fine china plate. “I can have one every thirty minutes.” She tilted her cell phone to read the time. “Nineteen minutes to go.”
“Is this the meal plan?” Tawny picked up a web page printout.
“Yup. Eight glasses of water with a quarter-spoonful each of honey and vinegar, one glass of carrot juice, a green salad with a slice of lemon, an apple – a small apple –” she clarified, “and a tofu burger, no bun.”
“When did you start this diet?”
“This morning.” Paulina pulled up a bar stool. She made herself comfortable for the day’s long vigil over the crystal bowl.
Tawny sighed. She searched inside her fringed purse for Liz’s brochure.
Thirty minutes later…
# # #
