Savanah's Swan Song (Part 23)

Savanah repeated the last part of Angelina’s story, trying to comprehend it. “So…if you didn’t get fat enough fast enough, Maggie did what?  Yelled at you?  Bullied you?” 

Angelina nodded, causing a delicate wattle of fat to ebb and flow beneath her chin.

“And you let her get away with it?  I would have called Concurrent Technologies.  Told them their robot had gone rogue.” 

“That’s not how it works.  She wasn’t a busted dishwasher.  Their creations are sentient.  They’re given a certain amount of autonomy.”

“Bullshit.  You paid for her.  She’s your property.”

“The contract we signed begs to differ.”

“I didn’t sign any contract.” 

“What do you mean?”

“My boyfriend surprised me with mine for my birthday.”

“You had to.  They utilize more than just your likeness. They use your entire life.  They access your phone, your texts, your emails.  And it’s more than just digital footprints they follow.  They gather everything from dental records to grade school progress reports.”

Savanah suddenly felt naked, numb, and violated.  But not by Concurrent Technologies.  They were just trying to build a better ‘bot.  Her boyfriend, Chad, on the other hand, was supposed to be looking out for her. 

When they first met six years ago, Chad had been an unassuming bookkeeper at Decca.  However, once their relationship matured beyond dinner dates and bedroom hook-ups, he began to wear a disparate array of professional hats for Savanah: manager, accountant, attorney, even psychiatrist.  Occasionally, he presented contracts and documents for the singer to sign.  “Perfunctory stuff,” he would say.  And it usually was. At least from what she could glean from quickly parsing through the legalese.  Eventually, she stopped perusing through them at all.

As Savanah stared at her empty salad bowl, she realized the hat she wore in their relationship was a dunce cap.

“I suggest you have a long talk with your boyfriend,” Angelina said.  

“Finish your story,” Savanah urged, eager to turn the spotlight of shame back on the corpulent actress.

“Ok,” Angelina said, taking a deep breath. “After I hit 300 pounds, I kind of gave up.  I never left the house.  I didn’t need to.  Maggie took care of everything domestically, and my doppelganger took care of everything professionally.” 

“Didn’t need to or didn’t want to?”

“Both, I suppose.  Of course, I couldn’t be in two places at one time.  It would’ve been the end of my career.  Maggie reminded me of that constantly.  One time, I mentioned going down to the cove for a quick dip, but Maggie stopped me.  Said it was ‘too risky.’  Then she brought me a plate of donuts.”

“It would take a military drone with a high-power zoom to spy on you here,” Savanah scoffed.

“I suppose I realized that.  But Maggie’s warnings seemed legitimate enough.  Probably because they weren’t warnings at all.  They were threats.”

“So, what happened?”

“I kept getting fatter.  Maggie was ordering me new clothes every week. Most of which I outgrew before I had time to wear.  My closet was a veritable department store of unused clothes.” 

Savanah nodded, remembering the actress’ overstuffed swimsuit drawer.  Most still had their tags affixed--including the borrowed size 12 currently pinching the singer’s crotch and clutching the pudge around her waist.      

“Most days, I didn’t bother dressing at all,” Angelina continued.  “What was the point?  We never went anywhere, and never did anything besides eat and fuck.  Clothes were just restrictions.”  

“You must have left the house at some point.  What about that photo of you and Maggie on your private jet?”

Angelina smiled.  “Ah, yes, the inciting incident.”

“I think we’re way past the inciting incident,” Savanah chuckled.

“My dear, in the play of life there are thousands of inciting incidents.  That's the one that finally opened my ignorant eyes and put me on the path to recovery.”

Savanah leaned forward and, after freeing the spandex pinched in the crease of her belly, listened with rapt attention.