"Even after her car hit the tree, she was still alive," he boasted. "I f.u.c.ked her right there. For old times' sake, just like I used to do when she was bleeding for different reasons." His eyes were as big as walnuts, and he hardly blinked. "She was hurting too bad to resist. h.e.l.l, what did it matter?"

Despite increasingly trembling hands, Mark managed to light a cigarette. Mesmerized by the glow of the lighter's flame, he took a deep draw, then exhaled a plume of smoke. "I used a rubber, though. She always made me use a rubber. When we were through, she wouldn't stop screaming. She wasn't hurt bad enough to die, so I smashed her face into the steering wheel as hard as I could." He stopped for another draw that filtered through his teeth. "I had to save her from that a.s.shole husband of hers. I had to spare her from any more misery." He stopped suddenly, c.o.c.king his head to one side as if straining to hear a voice.

Mr. Arvin fell forward, bracing himself against the floor with his hands and knees. Mrs. Arvin trembled.

Mark flashed a sickening grin. "It took years, but I finally got her back," he said. "We're together again." He dropped his cigarette b.u.t.t and ground it into the carpet. "She's waiting in the car. Would you like to see her before we leave?"

Mrs. Arvin bolted for the kitchen, where a telephone hung on the wall. "Go ahead. Call the f.u.c.kin' cops," Mark yelled at her. Then he turned his attention to Mr. Arvin on the floor, smiling as the grieving man gasped for air. "That expression on your face. It looks so painful. Beth looked just like that before she died."

Finally Mark stood and stretched, gazing out a window at a shovel visible in the back of his Jeep. With the brilliance of lightning Beth's face reappeared and he imagined her sizzling touch. "I know you're waiting for me," he said to her. "I'll be right there." With a deep breath and a high-pitched maniacal whine he dug into his soiled pocket in search of his keys. "I enjoyed our visit. It's been a blast."

At the sound of movement from behind, Mark turned to stare down the wavering barrel of a shotgun.

The wrinkled, tear-streaked face of Mrs. Arvin stared from the other end of the unsteady barrel, her finger poised at the trigger. "We're still having a blast," she mumbled.

With an explosive roar and a blinding flash, memories of Beth, as well as half of Mark's brain, were gone.

OVEREATERS OMINOUS.

Stephen R. George.

Agatha's mouth watered as the waitress wheeled up the dessert tray. A slice of Black Forest torte in the center of the spread caught her eye. Dark chocolate, rich cream, ripe cherries. She licked her lips.

"Get it out of your head," Nick said.

Agatha glared at him and blushed. Nick grinned up at the waitress, a slim, dark-haired girl, whose narrow face was made-up too heavily, just the way he liked it. He looked like he wanted to make love to her.

Agatha looked quickly away. Make love? Nick didn't make love anymore. At least, not to her. s.e.x between them had degenerated into a biweekly suck 'n' f.u.c.k. That's what Nick called it. Hey, Aggie, time for some suck 'n' f.u.c.k! They hadn't made love, real love, in years. They'd been married six, and the love had ended after two. After the miscarriage, after the depression, after the eating, after the weight. Love had turned into suck 'n' f.u.c.k.

"I'll have that one," Nick said, pointing to the torte.

The waitress picked up the plate with fingers tipped in long, pink, press-on nails, and slid it in front of Nick, then turned to Agatha with a questioning look.

"Does she look like she needs anything?" Nick said. "I don't think so."

The waitress smiled nervously. Agatha could not speak. She couldn't even breathe. Her flush intensified. She felt as if her face were on fire.

"You give her something off that tray, she'll never get out of her chair, right, Aggie?"

Agatha shook her head slowly, mortified, trying to avoid the waitress's eyes. What was the girl waiting for? Why didn't she leave? Agatha turned away and saw in horror that diners at neighboring tables had turned to look. Nick's voice was loud and carried well. A middle-aged woman to Agatha's left smiled at her and shook her head, then leaned toward the man beside her and whispered something. The man, who looked so much like Agatha's father it hurt, smiled, nodded. Nearby, two slim, attractive women, both spooning luxurious-looking desserts into their mouths, looked over at Agatha with frowns.

"Are you sure?" the waitress said to Agatha.

"Doesn't she look sure?" Nick said. "She eats anything else, she won't even fit in the d.a.m.ned car."

Now the waitress chuckled. Agatha found her voice.

"I'll just have coffee, please."

"And make it black," Nick said. "She's sweet enough as it is. Isn't that right, honey?"

"Black is fine."

Nick forked a piece of torte into his mouth. Cream and cherry sauce caught at the corners of his lips. The tip of his tongue darted out to catch the stray cream. Agatha's mouth watered.

"What's wrong with you?" he said, swallowing.

"You humiliated me."

"Look at you. I can't humiliate you any more than you humiliate yourself."

"I want to go home."

"I'm not finished with my dessert, or my coffee."

"Everybody is staring at me. I want to go. Please, Nick."

"Staring at you?" He raised his voice, as if astonished, and looked around. "What the h.e.l.l would anybody stare at? You're not all that much bigger than a bus."

Agatha lowered her face, fighting back tears. Nick sighed. He pushed away the remains of the torte. Half of it was still on the plate. He nudged it towards her.

"Go on, eat it."

"I don't want it."

"One more pound isn't going to make a difference, is it?"

Agatha lifted her face and glared at the torte. She could not help herself. Don't touch it, she said to herself. Don't demean yourself. Please, G.o.d, don't humiliate yourself further.

"I know you want it. What's stopping you?"

"Nick, don't."

"Jesus Christ. Take it!"

Heads turned again. Agatha's world shrank to the size of the plate in front of her.

"I hate you," she said softly, and did not know if she meant Nick or the torte.

"How many calories does hate burn?" Nick sneered.

"Don't, Nick."

"There should be a law. A guy should get to see what his wife is going to look like after six years. Save a lot of grief that way. I have to whiz. I'll be back in a minute. If you're going to eat that thing, do it while I'm gone. Watching you shovel it down would make me sick."

Nick stood and walked away. Agatha lowered her head, stared at the table, blushing so hard, it felt as if her skin were peeling. Everybody in the restaurant was staring at her. She could feel it.

"How are you doing?"

Agatha looked up, startled. One of the two slim, beautiful women who had been looking at her earlier was standing by the table. Her long blond hair was impeccably styled, hanging to her shoulders like a waterfall of gold. Her makeup, too, was perfect. Full lips, wide eyes, high cheekbones. Agatha felt gigantic, slothful.

"Pardon me?"

"Your husband was a bit of a brute."

Agatha blushed, tried to smile as if it had meant nothing.

"May I sit for a moment?"

Agatha wanted to say no, to make the woman leave, but something about her manner, the tone of her voice, breached her defenses and she nodded.

"Your name is Agatha? My name is Helen. Agatha, I'd like to give you something."

From her purse she removed an envelope and handed it to Agatha. Agatha took the envelope, looked up at Helen's eyes.

"What is it?"

"Open it."

Frowning, Agatha slipped her finger under the lip of the envelope and pulled it open. Inside she found a photograph. She took it out and looked at it. It was of a very large woman, larger even than Agatha herself, sitting on a sofa, smoking, arms bulging like gigantic sausages, neck a pale roll of fat, cheeks hanging in jowls. Something about the eyes was familiar.

"That's you," Agatha said in a small voice.

"Yes."

Agatha looked up at Helen. There could be no doubt that the person in the photograph was the person beside her. The eyes were identical. And yet, it couldn't be the same person.

"That was six months ago."

"No."

"Yes, Agatha."

Agatha's heart pounded. When Helen put her long-nailed hand on her arm, Agatha jumped, looked up into her eyes.

"The same thing can happen for you, if you want."

"How?"

Helen handed her a business card. On it was an address on Fourth Street South. One word. OVEREATERS.

"Diets don't work for me."

"This one will. Guaranteed, permanent results. Permanent. No cost to you unless it does."

Agatha shook her head.

"You want to lose the weight, don't you, Agatha?"

"Yes."

"Think of how you'll look. Think of how your husband will react. Think of what other men will think."

Other men.

"Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. We can help you."

Agatha could only nod, mouth locked shut.

Helen stood. "See you tomorrow, then."

As she walked away she winked at Agatha and smiled warmly. Agatha felt a flutter in her stomach and looked down at her hands.

Nick came back, adjusting his belt.

"Guess you didn't want this," he said, pulling the torte towards him. "Too bad. It's delicious."

There were six women in the meeting room on the third floor, sitting in a circle around a gla.s.s table. On the table was a lump of what looked like fat. The women were staring at it, concentrating. Positive thinking, Agatha thought. They're making themselves hate the fat. The women, each and every one, were strikingly slim and beautiful. Agatha's legs felt weak as she came through the door. A mistake, she thought. A big, big mistake.

Worse than the women in the room were the pictures on the walls. Huge pictures, poster-sized, of gigantic, obese women. Bulges and rippling flesh filled every open s.p.a.ce, eyes squeezed to slits by pockets of fat, ankles flowing like melted b.u.t.ter over sensible, ugly shoes, chins falling in cascades like fleshy necklaces.

Helen left the circle and came to the door. She took Agatha's hand.

"I'm so glad you could come," Helen said.

"I feel so ... out of place."

"You won't for long. I promise you that."

Helen led Agatha down a narrow hallway to a small office. In the office, Helen sat behind the desk. Agatha took the seat by the door. Helen put her hands under her chin and studied Agatha speculatively.

"This is always the hardest part," she said.

Agatha smiled nervously.

"How badly do you want to lose weight?"

"I do want to, but I haven't had much luck."

"We don't depend on luck here, Agatha. Our program works. It has never failed."

Agatha stared at her. "Those pictures on the walls in the other room ..."

"Us. Yes. Before the program."