Free A Self Made Monster by Steven Vivian Page A

Eventually, Holly became friendly with one of the trainers whose name, ironically, was Holly. Holly the Trainer had once been overweight herself, and she confided that she too had been the butt of jokes.
    At the first sign of Holly the Hippo’s tears, Holly the Trainer showed no sympathy.
    “You’re in the wrong class if you want people to feel sorry for you!” The trainer had just led the class though a half hour of jumping jacks, pushups, and stretches. “Anytime you feel sorry for yourself, stand naked in front of the mirror for one minute. Then tell yourself that you’re worth more than French fries or cookies or ice cream or whatever. Tell yourself that you’re worth about twenty sit-ups!”
    “I can’t do five sit-ups!”
    “Not yet. But in two months, you’ll be doing fifty.”
    When Holly Dish turned 18, she weighed 120 pounds. Three years of diet and exercise had transformed her. She could do one hundred sit-ups and one hundred pushups. She ran three miles daily. The boys liked her and the girls respected her. Her regime naturally rendered her athletic: she could have modeled for those swimwear magazines such as Clingy Tops and Bottoms , and Sunned American Buns . When she went running in her tee and slims, she gave boys a hormone high.
    Holly went away to college, and she retained her two personalities, the Trainer and the Hippo, as motivation. She also took the petition, which she had kept taped to her dresser mirror for three years. Once at college, Holly realized she could reinvent herself. She was not fat Holly. She was Holly Dish, a campus spool drool.
    Holly soon decided that the best part of college was the social life. She liked talking with people, and people liked talking with her. She discovered a gift of gab, and her advisor recommended public relations.
    “Why public relations?”
    “You’re good around people, and your best grades are in speech. Frankly, your grades aren’t so hot otherwise.” He paused, reconsidered his words. “And you’re an attractive and vibrant young woman. You have confidence, and confidence is what pub. rel. is all about.”
    “I was thinking of publishing.”
    “You’ve taken only a freshman English course, and you got a C minus. That won’t do at all.”
    “I don’t want to write.” Holly was by now an expert actress, adept at manipulation. She offered her sheepish grin. “I was thinking of being an agent, of representing authors in their deals and stuff.”
    “I see.”
    “I know my grades need to be better, but I do want to get into publishing because I want to live in New York.”
    “Why New York?”
    “It’s supposed to be…” Holly cocked her head. “Cosmopolitan. Glamorous.”
    “Why not?” Her advisor shrugged. “Perhaps publishing will be your niche. You’ll have to take more English courses. Both literature and writing.”
    Holly nodded firmly. “I’m prepared for that.”
    The bartender refilled Sandy’s glass. Sandy put the glass to her mouth, savoring the barley and malt, and finished half the beer in two gulps. With another two gulps, the glass was empty.
    The customers applauded as the jazz trio finished “Star Eyes”. She giggled into her empty glass, imagining that the applause was for her. Sandy imagined the bartender addressing the crowd: A round of applause and a round of drinks for the lady. She’s put down four straight beers and is not yet weaving in her seat.
    Sandy put down her glass, waited for another refill. She searched through her purse for a smoke. No luck. She tapped the shoulder of the man sitting to her left.
    “I’m sorry to bother you, but could I steal a cigarette from you?” Sandy hoped “sorry” and “steal” did not come out as “shorry” and “shteal.”
    The man kept her back to Sandy. “I don’t smoke.”
    “Oh.” Sandy looked over the man’s shoulder. The man’s companion raised her plucked brows at Sandy. The brows were as sharp as a saber.
    Sandy turned to her right.