Maybe the Moon

casting.”
    “No. It’s more than that.”
    “Like what?”
    “They’d have to insure you, Cady.”
    “So? They have to insure everybody.”
    “Well…I’m not sure if they would now.”
    “Why the hell not?”
    Another tortured pause and then: “How much weight have you gained?”
    I couldn’t believe my ears. “Excuse me?”
    “I don’t wanna get personal, Cady.”
    “Go ahead. Be my guest.”
    “Look…”
    “What is this, Leonard? You haven’t laid eyes on me for two years. Do I sound fat?”
    “People talk, OK?”
    I had a brief, delicious fantasy in which Bruce Willis and Demi Moore, or maybe the Redgrave sisters, were gossiping over dinner at Spago: Have you seen Cadence Roth lately? Is she a porker or what ? Coming back down to earth, I decided that one of Leonard’s lovepuppies must’ve seen me at brunch in West Hollywood one Sunday. “And what do these people tell you?” I asked him glacially.
    “It’s not that I don’t sympathize,” he said, avoiding the question. “God knows, the weight thing is a constant struggle for me.”
    “Fuck you. You’re practically anorexic.”
    “Well, it’s all the same thing. You can’t afford to gain a pound,doll. It’s too much pressure on your system. It’s just not healthy. And this is what they’ll say.”
    “This is what who’ll say?”
    “The studios.”
    “Oh.” I waited a beat. “So let me get this straight: A—I’m too short, and B—I’m too fat.”
    “Don’t do this, Cady. You know I think you’re special.”
    “Is that why you call me so much?”
    Silence.
    “Don’t listen to me,” I said, suddenly fearful of losing him altogether. “It’s my hormones raging. I could drown kittens right now.”
    “Can I give you Arnie Green’s number?”
    “No,” I said. “Thanks. I know how to reach him.”
    “He’s a decent guy, really.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “I’ll still keep my eyes open, doll.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Take care now.”
    “You too.” I hung up, perilously close to tears and more confused than ever. I couldn’t decide if “still keep my eyes open” was just one more hollow promise or Leonard’s backhanded way of making the divorce final. Either way, I didn’t like the sound of it. Either way, I was sure I was toast.

    That night Renee and I ordered a large pepperoni pizza from Domino’s and ate it on the living room floor. “This is it for me,” I told her, playing cat’s cradle with a loop of mozzarella. “Tomorrow it’s diet time.”
    Renee giggled. “Sure.”
    “No. I mean it, Renee.”
    “OK.” She shrugged and gave me a sheepish look. I knew she didn’t believe me.
    “What’s that one you were telling me about last week?”
    “One what?”
    “That diet,” I said. “The one with the protein shakes.”
    “Oh. The Cher Diet.”
    I winced. “Is it in a book or something?”
    “Yeah. I’ve got it at work.”
    “Could you bring it home?”
    “Sure.” She picked a pepperoni off the pizza and popped it into her mouth. “What brought this on?”
    “Nothing. It’s just time for me to get my shit together.”
    Renee nodded absently.
    “I’ve got a few ideas about work, and I wanna look my best.” By this I meant Arnie Green, of course, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her yet. Renee relies on me for glamour. I dreaded worse than anything the thought of letting her down.
    “Oh,” she said, brightening. “Did you talk to your agent today?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What does he have in mind?” She had that movie-mad gleam in her eye again.
    “Oh, just…various possibilities.”
    “Great!”
    “It’s nothing definite, Renee.”
    “Still…if you’re dieting…” She gave me a look that said I was just being coy, concealing something truly fabulous. I felt like a total fraud. Frankly, the diet is for my own comfort more than anything. I haven’t gained that much, really, but the extra weight has begun to leave me breathless after short walks. My self-esteem has always been pretty good, but lately, when I look in the mirror, the person who looks back reminds me of a beach ball with legs.
    Renee wanted to take a drive after dinner, so we piled into her clunker convertible and cruised off down Ventura. It was a pearly pink evening, scrubbed clean by the rain, and the air seemed especially warm for April. With her streaming yellow hair and blue angora sweater, Renee played havoc with the teenage boys loitering along our route. Since the little horn-dogs couldn’t