Praise for
Fat Chance
“Food and men are two of Maggie O’Leary’s favorite pastimes…. To snag her star, she ignores her own antidieting dictates and sheds the pounds but eventually finds that you can get a man and eat your cake, too.”
—People, Spring’s Best Chick Lit, 2004
“Light as a cupcake and as fun to devour, Blumenthal’s debut novel (and Red Dress Ink’s second hardcover) will likely find many fans.”
—Booklist
“Maggie is likable throughout the story line, but especially when she tries to live life to the fullest without concern to her size, and the support cast adds insight into what makes Maggie tick. To learn whether she got her hunk—read the book.”
—Harriet Klausner on reviewcentre.com
“Deborah Blumenthal’s deliciously amusing novel offers a refreshing chick-lit twist: a heroine who embraces with gusto her inner—and generously proportioned outer—food-loving self. Zaftig Maggie O’Leary happily devours barbecued ribs rather than obsessing about whether her own will be visible to the naked eye—and builds a high-profile career encouraging fellow females to do the same. Fat Chance is as much sparkling, laid-back fun as good champagne sipped from a bottle!”
—Wendy Markham, author of Slightly Single and Slightly Settled
Fat Chance
Deborah Blumenthal
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
There are several people that I would like to thank for making this book possible: Claudia Cross, my agent at Sterling Lord, for her quick and spirited response to the book, and Sarah Walsh, her assistant, for handling business so quickly and efficiently, even when computer glitches threw themselves in our path. Renni Browne and Mary Costello are writing teachers extraordinaire, and I thank them both for their vision. My editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, deserves special thanks for being such a hearty supporter of the book from the start. She is a joy to work with. She is gracious, elegant, supportive, sensitive and always available. I would also like to offer deep-felt gratitude to Margaret Marbury and her associates at Red Dress Ink for their unswerving enthusiasm.
My husband, Ralph, my best friend and mentor, is always having drafts of my work dropped on him and, as ever, I am eternally grateful for all his guidance. Our daughter, Annie, is also a faithful reader and editor as well as an overall great kid, and much love and appreciation goes to her for her unflagging support. Our younger daughter, Sophie, also deserves thanks and love for putting up with seeing my back at the computer for as many years as she has been with us. Thanks to Connie Christopher for offering her wise counsel. To all my other friends and family who have been willing to listen to the whining all these years, thanks for staying on the line.
To Ralph
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Prologue
Chewing the Fat
How could I forget the way it started? We chewed the fat—on our filet mignons that were charred to blackened perfection outside, bloodred inside, topped with a pebbly crust of crushed green peppercorns. We were having lunch at Gallagher’s, Bill’s favorite steak restaurant, and the more excited he got about the idea, the more he waved his fork through the air like a conductor’s baton, never mind that the end of it held a wedge of baked potato enveloped in sour cream that I feared he might inadvertently fling down on my head.
“The entire planet is fat, Maggie,” Bill said, shaking his head. “Between 1991 and 1998 alone, the incidence of obesity almost doubled, and you know better than I do that the only people who benefit from bestselling diet books are the people who publish them.” I opened my mouth to answer, but he went on.
“So here’s my thought,” he said, pausing just long enough to reach for the salt sticks. “Why not cover it in a regular space? But not the pap weight loss stuff—”
“A counterculture perspective,” I said, finishing Bill’s sentence.
“That’s right, that’s right,” he said, the fork alighting once again, this time precariously freighted with a dollop of creamed spinach. “Your audience is bigger than ever—one out of every four adults is fat—and they’re crying out for compassion.”
“Bill, it’s time for someone in the media to stand up and offer America an alternative vision about their overweight: ‘Live with it and love it.’” I could almost hear the first stirring strains of “America the Beautiful.”
“Exactly! You’ll be their counselor, Maggie, you’re perfect for the job.”
I put down my fork and pressed my hand to my fluttering heart, as if to recite the pledge. “I’m speechless, Bill, it’s brilliant. I’m behind it a hundred percent.”
“We’ll move you into a new office,” he said with mounting excitement, “and you’ll have carte blanche to indulge yourself at the city’s finest restaurants.”
With a fine stroke of the knife, I teased off a sliver of beef. “I can’t wait to get my teeth into it.”
Within a week of my lunch with the managing
