CHAPTER

Forty-eight

Countless attempts at escape later, Mildred finally surrendered to Miriam, Chevy, and the program.

By the first week in December, Mildred was fifty pounds lighter and Chevy said, “You look like a different person.”

Even though Mildred's clothes hung limply from her body, whenever she looked in the mirror the same person she'd known her entire life looked back at her.

There was a beautician on the property, and Chevy had suggested she go.

“Why?” Mildred had whined.

“Because that ponytail is so tired, it's dead!”

Mildred succumbed, and when she emerged she had a new bronze hair color and a mass of shiny twists. She wasn't too happy about the new style. She thought it made her face look fat.

But then one day as she was sitting out in the garden, Mike, the hotel custodian, walked past her, doubled back, and announced with a big, broad grin on his face: “You look very nice today, Ms. Mildred.”

Mildred looked over her shoulder. Surely he was referring to some other Mildred? But his eyes were locked on her, and then he winked before turning and walking away.

Mildred was stunned and she sat there on the lounge chair for a good twenty minutes before rushing off to her room and the mirror that hung on the wall. It was still Mildred looking back at her. She squinted and pushed her head closer to her image, looking deeper into the eyes that looked back at her.

She did kind of look cute, didn't she?

From then on, her confidence level began to rise. She made it a point to walk with her head up and back straight. And she'd also begun chanting to herself: “I am beautiful. I am gorgeous.”

And damned if she didn't start to believe it!

Three weeks into her stay, she'd met Dr. Heath and had spent an entire evening listening to him explain, over dinner, the reason that Chimbarosa was run the way it was.

Gestapo-like.

“Most people want the best for themselves—really, they do—but we are human and we are fundamentally weak beings, failing time in and time out to achieve the thing we want most for ourselves.”

Mildred didn't know if she believed in all of that, but she continued to listen.

“I want Chimbarosa to be a place to challenge that weak side. This particular property focuses on those with food issues.” He paused then and stared at her over his wire-frame glasses. “People like yourself, Mildred.”

Mildred had bristled at his comment but said nothing.

“When you walk out of here,” he continued, “you'll walk out a new woman from the inside out.”

Mildred supposed that that last statement was true, because upon his return two months later he was introducing himself to Mildred as if they'd never met.

Mildred took his hand in hers and said, “Dr. Heath, it's me. Mildred Johnson.”

Dr. Heath's mouth dropped open and he took three steps backward. “You're not!”

Mildred blushed. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“My God, you look fabulous!”

Mildred had never in her life been referred to as fabulous or any other adjective that would fall in the same category.

Mildred uttered a nervous “Thank you” as she fiddled with the bridge of her glasses.

“I don't think any of my guests have had the results you've achieved in such a short amount of time,” Heath gushed. “I think you need to be our spokesperson!”

Surely he was kidding?

Wasn't a spokesperson something like a spokesmodel?

The word reverberated in her mind:

Model. Model. Model. Model.

Mildred gave her head a violent shake.

“Tell me, Mildred: did Chevy take any before pictures of you?”

This man was serious. Mildred slowly nodded.

“Good. I'm going to get on this right away.” Dr. Heath's voice was filled with excitement.

“Congratulations, Mildred. You've found your better self.”

She wasn't thin by any means, but she was now a perfect size twelve. That was a long way from a size twenty-four.

And now Mildred found that she couldn't stop looking at her butt. She'd always had a butt—well, she'd had a double-wide trailer type of behind—but this new ass was round and tight and evidently mesmerizing, because the men who worked on the property couldn't seem to concentrate on their work whenever she was around.

And she had a walk too.

Well, that's what Chevy said.

A walk that had been hidden for years beneath the weight.

And Mildred had cheekbones! Native American type cheekbones. High and striking. And between the lack of junk food and the increase in her fruit, vegetable, and water consumption, her skin tone had taken on a healthy glow that was complemented by the suntan she sported.

She was feeling really good about herself. The best she'd ever felt about herself, actually. Well, until she met with Chevy and Dr. Heath for her exit interview.

“Those tits! Those tits have got to go. They're like hot water bottles,” Chevy said, pointing to them. “And those glasses . . . those awful glasses have got to go, as well!”

Mildred pushed her glasses back up her nose and then folded her arms protectively across her sagging breasts.

“Your breasts belong to the body you used to have,” Dr. Heath explained. “And, well, it's 2007—I'm sure you're ready for contacts by now, hmmm?” Dr. Heath reached for Mildred's bifocals and removed them. “What big beautiful eyes you have, Mildred!”

Mildred blinked at Dr. Heath's blurry image before reaching for her glasses.

“Contacts are fine I suppose, but an operation?” she said after she'd put on her glasses.

Dr. Heath leaned forward and rested those fatherly eyes on Mildred. “It's a practically painless procedure.”

“You said practically painless—” Mildred started.

“Aw, c'mon,” Chevy erupted, banging her hands down on the table. “No pain, no fucking gain!”

Dr. Heath sighed. “Mildred, darling, there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. I will handle the procedure myself.” And then he looked calmly over at Chevy and said, “Dear, I think you need to take some time off.”