"C'mon girl! Why do you spend so much time putting make-up

 

on? It don't make no difference anyhow, you know that.”

 

Frannie’s mother yells at her through the bathroom door.

 

"She's right" Frannie speaks aloud to the mirror "it really

 

doesn't make a difference."

 

The mirror reflects the hurt felt by her mother’s comment.

 

Frannie would give anything to look like her mother, Sarah. A

 

thirtysomething woman with that emancipated anorexic binge and

 

purge body to die for, with 38 double d's to boot. The type that

 

the most educated men turn to slobbering slack-jawed knuckle

 

dragging cavemen when she enters a room. The one that always

 

gets the most tips at the bar. Many times Frannie has wondered

 

how she ended up with the fat gene.

 

“It's my turn to open up the bar and you're making me late!

 

You wanna get me fired? Someone's gotta keep this family in the

 

lap of luxury. Get a move on."

 

Lap of luxury. Right. Frannie thought. A two bedroom, one

 

bath, roach infested dump with a refrigerator empty save last

 

night's pizza and three day old Chinese leftovers, cupboards

 

stacked full of Cup O' Noodles, and a 13 inch TV with a coat

 

hanger for an antenna. She stares at herself in the bathroom

 

mirror, hooker red lipstick poised in midair, staring intently

 

at her face. She begins to see certain porcine qualities start

to emerge. With a sigh Frannie puts her make-up away.

 

"Alright, alright. I’m ready, okay? You don’t have to drive

 

me to school, you know.”

 

“Shut up and get in the car.”

 

Frannie hates being driven to school by her mother. It’s

 

only a five-minute walk from the apartment. As soon as they

 

enter the parking lot the jockos and pimply-faced dweebs do the

 

double take so fast one would think whiplash would be an

 

epidemic, and say pretty much the same thing:

 

"Get a load of those tits! Jeeesus! I can't believe she is

 

Fat Frannie’s mom"

 

Sarah pretends not to hear but the attention she gets is

 

the only reason she insists on driving Frannie to school. "Fat

 

Frannie" is the creative label Frannie is known as throughout

 

the school. Every once in a while "Chunky Chick" and "Fat Bitch"

 

pop up, but "Fat Frannie" seemed to have had a pair of legs all

 

it's own since elementary school. No one knows her birth name.

 

It's been a rumor since she was a freshman that if you brought a

 

box of Twinkies on your first date she would suck your dick.

 

When Frannie first heard this she was totally insulted. She

 

hated Twinkies. Frannie said would only accept a box of Ho Ho's

 

for a blowjob. No pun intended. But then she is kidding. Frannie

 

is still a virgin in all areas except a kiss courtesy of one

 

Stuey Steinberg in the 8th grade that paid her $1 to see what it

would feel like. He never did tell her if he liked it.

 

A therapist once told Frannie her pain was self-chosen.

 

Frannie told her she wanted to stab her in the neck and ask her

 

if the pain she was feeling was self chosen as a consequence of

 

saying such a thing to an obese patient with self loathing and

 

low self-esteem. She is not Frannie’s therapist anymore. The

 

doctor decided further therapy visits would be unproductive.

 

"Oh . . .My. . .God!... Donnie's been looking for you."

 

Frannie turned to face her fair weather friend Maureen.

 

Frannie characterizes her as a fellow fat chick but without the

 

intelligence to realize how unappealing she is. Maureen’s

 

favorite past time is shopping at swap meets and buying second

 

hand clothes ten sizes too small for her fat ass thinking

 

someday she will fit into them. Everyone should have a goal,

 

right?

 

"You heard wrong. Why would Donnie be looking for me? You

 

really need to learn the fine art of filtering information

 

through the bullshit radar, Mar Mar."

 

Barely out of the car and she’s telling me the jocko I’ve

 

had a major crush on since 4th grade is looking for me. This day

 

is not going well. Frannie thought.

 

"No really, he asked me himself if you had come to school

 

yet."

 

The 1st period bell rings and Frannie and Maureen start

walking to class. They are about to walk in when they hear:

 

"Hey Frannie."

 

Frannie turns around and there is Donnie in all his toe

 

headed sleepy blue-eyed letterman jacketed glory. She feels like

 

she is going to faint. Is this what they mean by getting the

 

"vapors"? Frannie thinks.

 

"Uh, hey. I was wonderin' if you would like to uh, go get a

 

burger or somethin' Saturday night?"

 

Frannie is stunned. She didn’t know what to say. The only

 

thing she could think of was:

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah I’m good.” Donnie says “Uh, do you want to or not?"

 

"Okay."

 

"Cool, I’ll pick you up at 7. Where do you live?"

 

"That's okay, just meet me at the 7-Eleven on the corner of

 

Wyatt and 6th."

 

"It’s a date. See you then."

 

She is frozen, standing there watching Donnie’s retreating

 

back.

 

"FRANNIE! Are you going to stand there all period or are

 

you going to come in and join the rest of us?"

 

Mr. Mathis, Frannie’s homeroom teacher, startles her making

 

her jump an inch or two in the air and causing her to piss her

 

panties a little.

"Okay, okay I’m coming in! Jeeez! You like scaring people

 

like that Mathis?"

 

"No my dear Frannie, only you...heh heh."

 

Asshole, Frannie thought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday Night

 

Once again Frannie is in the bathroom standing in front of

 

the mirror thinking if this is really happening.

 

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fattest of them

 

all?"

 

The mirror is a silent un-blinking eye staring back at her.

 

“Its okay.” Frannie sighs, “We both know the answer.”

 

Running late, Frannie rushes out the door.

 

The 7-Eleven parking lot is the usual hang out place for

 

guys who can't get dates. Of course if you ask them why they are

 

downing slurpees instead of swapping spit, and other biological

 

fluids, with a girl on Black Hills Point, the response would be

 

they are there by choice. Yeah right. Losers. Tonight is no

 

exception. The parking lot is packed. Frannie resists the urge

 

to get some comfort food. A couple of moon pies sounds good

 

right now. The decision is made for her when Donnie's tricked

 

out Trans-Am rumbles into the parking lot. Donnie’s family is

 

more upper middle class than most in this town. All conversation

 

stops and heads follow his car to where Frannie is standing. He

 

leans over and opens the passenger side door.

 

"Get in."

 

As they drive out of the parking lot everyone is looking at

 

them. The windows are up and she can't hear what they are saying

 

but she can read their lips:

"What the fuck is HE doing with HER?"

 

"They are all losers." Donnie says. "Don't worry about

 

them."

 

Frannie settles back into the car seat. Iron Maiden's "Die

 

With Your Boots On" blasts from the cassette player. He turns

 

down the music and looks at her.

 

"How are you doing? Is your mother working tonight?"

 

"I'm okay. Yeah, she is working tonight. She works every

 

Saturday night. It's her biggest tip night."

 

"I bet with all those drunks wanting to cop a feel of her

 

tits. Oh, uh her assets. Sorry."

 

"It's okay. I know what she is."

 

He glances over at her, turns up the music, turns his head

 

back and concentrates on driving. A veritable fountain of

 

conversation, Donnie is. The trans-am pulls into the crowded

 

parking lot of Athens Burgers, the local greasy spoon. The kind

 

of place one would walk into and half expect to see John Belushi

 

behind the counter screaming "Cheeburger, cheeburger, chips,

 

chips". Saturday Night Live was so much better back in the

 

'70's.

 

They stop at the drive though menu. Before Donnie can open

 

his mouth the menu board speaker spews out:

 

"My God! It's Fat Frannie with Donnie! Someone please tell

 

me I’m on shrooms."

A faceless voice from the back says:

 

"He's slummin' He just wants to get his dick wet tonight."

 

Frannie leans over to Donnie and says:

 

"So Donnie, are you just . . .slummin' tonight?"

 

"They're stupid." He says. "Don't listen to those idiots,

 

they are just mad they have to work on a Saturday night.

 

So, what do you want?"

 

Looking at the menu board Frannie decides, what the hell?

 

"I want a triple cheeseburger, a large order of chili-

 

cheese fries, and a super size chocolate shake"

 

Donnie stares at her for a second, turns his head, tells

 

them what she wants and orders a hamburger, fries, and a small

 

soda for himself. They pull up to the window. Brianna, the

 

school head cheerleader, takes Donnie's money, hands him his

 

drink, and says:

 

"Are you that desperate? Dude, spanking your monkey and

 

cumming in a sock is better than her. What are you thinking?

 

Well . . .if you must, here is some advice. Just roll her in

 

flour and look for the wet spot. Heh heh. Look for the wet spot.

 

Heh heh. I crack myself up sometimes."

 

“Shut up, Brianna.” Donny says.

 

Frannie leans over and tells Brianna through Donnie’s

 

window:

 

"Hey Brianna, how does it feel going though life with a

strippers name? I bet you got a pole in your bedroom to practice

 

your moves.”

 

“Good one, Fat Frannie. Is that all you can come up with?”

 

“Yeah well, good luck in explaining to your bastard

 

children how spreading your ass cheeks for a $1 put them through

 

private school, you stupid twat."

 

Donnie blows soda through his nose onto his custom steering

 

wheel. Brianna is stunned at the insult. Laughter from her co-

 

workers filter out the take-out window.

 

"Jesus, you go for the throat, I’ll give you that. God that

 

was funny. Score one for Fat Frannie. Oh . . .uh . . .sorry."

 

"It's okay” Frannie says, “I'm used to it."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Black Hills Point

 

How did I end up here? We ate our food and started driving

 

and the next thing I know we are parked on a ledge overlooking

 

the town. Frannie thought.

 

The car is parked in the hill area surrounding the

 

exclusive Black Hills Golf Course. Cars to the left and right of

 

them with steamed up windows and squeaking springs keeping time

 

with the tempo of Saturday night adolescent bliss.

 

"The view from here is amazing. Hard to believe all those

 

lights below is where we live." Donnie says. "But I can't wait

 

leave for college and play football. How about you?"

 

"I feel the same." Frannie says "You can't help but feel

 

underneath the freshly mowed manicured lawns there is this

 

undercurrent of decay, just under the surface, corrupting and

 

sucking the life out of the people who live here."

 

"Wow Frannie, that's deep."

 

Suddenly she feels his hand rest on her thigh. High up.

 

Like, pussy hair high up. She stiffens and closes up her legs a

 

bit.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing" Frannie says.

 

Donnie removes his hand from her thigh, grabs her hand and

 

places it on his crotch. She can feel his erection through his

 

501's and can tell he is a helmet not an anteater. She starts to

pull away but he grips her hand firmly and keeps it in place.

 

"So . . .Frannie. Fat Frannie that is, are you going to

 

live up to your rep?"

 

She looks at his face and sees all pretenses are gone. This

 

"date" was about one thing and one thing only.

 

“C'mon Frannie, don't look so disappointed. You knew what I

 

wanted. Oh please, do you actually think I would have any more

 

interest in you than a one off back seat fuck?"

 

Frannie just stares at him. "No" she says, "I guess not"

 

She silently starts to cry.

 

"Stop it! Stop crying!"

 

Frannie continues to cry because she knows he is right and

 

yet she still went along on this "date" even though she pretty

 

much knew how it would end. Why did I do this? What is wrong

 

with me? Frannie thought.

 

"Goddammit, I said stop it!"

 

The next thing Frannie feels is Donnie’s hand backslapping

 

her across the face. The salty taste of blood fills her mouth.

 

"You cockteasing bitch, why did you make me do that? Why

 

can't you just shut the fuck up?"

 

"I am sorry I disappointed you. Don't hit me anymore. Take

 

me home. Please."

 

"Nope, not until I get what I want. If you're not up to it

 

you can get out and walk home"

Frannie gets out of the car. It backs up and speeds off.

 

“Fucking bitch!” She hears Donnie yell as the taillights

 

disappear. Sobbing, Frannie starts to walk home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Graduation Day

 

Capped and gowned students fill the football field. Some

 

look hopeful, some look scared, and most look bored. The

 

football field is a sea of blue with seniors milling about with

 

cameras taking pictures of each other. Overtures and promises of

 

staying in touch fill the air. By the end of the summer the

 

promises will be broken with everyone going their separate ways.

 

Just like the graduating class before them, and before that.

 

Nothing ever changes.

 

Donnie and a buddy are hanging out by the field entrance.

 

"Fat Frannie's the valedictorian.” He says. “I wonder what

 

she is going to say in her speech"

 

"Dude, like, who cares." The buddy says.

 

“This sucks, man. I was supposed to go to college and play

 

football. Now look at me, my leg in a cast and my football days

 

are over.”

 

“Shit man, that does suck. At least you went out a

 

champion. Got a big trophy”

 

“Yeah like that will get me a job.”

 

Principal Lumley walks to the podium and addresses the

 

crowd:

 

"Okay class of'85, find your seats."

 

A massive blue procession starts moving towards the fold up

 

chairs in the middle of the football field. They are herded

through a single line in the guise of "security." Mooing cow

 

sounds erupt from a bold few spreading out among the graduates.

 

Light laughter comes from the bleachers reserved for friends and

 

family.

 

"Thank you all for coming out and supporting our senior

 

graduating class. Just some announcements: Summer school starts

 

in two weeks. Registration for incoming freshmen starts August

 

31st. Okay, well without further ado I present our class of 1985

 

valedictorian: Frannie Hewson."

 

The applause was almost non-existent. Frannie approaches

 

the microphone, squares off, scans the crowd left to right and

 

says:

 

"I hate this school, and everyone in it. I hate this town,

 

and everyone in it. Everyone can kiss my fat fucking ass.

 

Goodbye."

 

Rumor has it Fat Frannie boarded a greyhound bus still

 

dressed in full cap and gown for parts unknown. No one has seen

 

or heard of her since.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty-Five Years Later

 

Welcome to Good Eats

“Haute Cuisine In A Diner Atmosphere”

 

Menu De Jour

 

Appetizers

 

Sautéed' Mushroom Caps with Capers $9.95

Deep Fried Calamari with Marinara Dipping Sauce $11.95

 

Entrees

 

Crown Roast of Lamb with Mint Jelly $17.95

Cornish Game Hen with Orange Butter Saffron Glaze $14.95

 

Sides

 

Sautéed' Fresh Green Beans with Parmesan Cheese $7.95

Shitake Mushroom Wild Rice $8.95

 

Desert

 

Cinnamon Poached Bosc Pear in a

Fresh Strawberry Glase' $7.95

 

Sommelier Wine Suggestions

 

2006 Napa Valley Robert Mondavi Unfiltered Pinot Noir $46.00

2007 Sonoma Bonny Doon Chardonnay $34.00

Corkage Fee: $15.00

 

Reservations Encouraged

 

Bon Appétit'

 

Catering Available

 

Owner/Manager: Ms. LaCharite

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donnie and his wife are outside the entrance to the newest

 

restaurant in town. They look over the posted menu.

 

"Oh wow, everything looks so good. I can't believe a nice

 

place like this would come here. Although I think this place is

 

sort of pricey. Don't you think?” Donnie says.

 

"Yeah, maybe.” His wife says. “But I’ve heard the food is

 

worth it"

 

"Well I guess I should support our new local business.

 

Being a pillar of the community and all, I have an obligation,

 

you know."

 

"Oh stop it Donnie, you are a mediocre insurance salesman,

 

at best. You print on your business cards you were the High

 

School CIF All Star Quarterback for 1985. How pathetic is that?"

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing my loving and supportive

 

wife of 23 years . . .Maureen."

 

"Stop it. You know I love you. But I’m not ignorant of the

 

fact you and your ex-high school jock beer buddies are pussy

 

whipped over the rumors of Ms. LaCharite's supposed beauty and

 

flirtations."

 

"Uh . . .uh moi? With such a beautiful and loving wife to

 

come home to?"

 

"You can be such an asshole Donnie. C'mon, lets get

 

something to eat."

 

"Yes, dear."

The Croaking Frog

 

I hate this town and everyone in it.

 

Those words still invade Donnie’s mind when he’s had a few

 

drinks. He still has dreams of leaving this town in spite of his

 

marriage and kids. Does that make me a bad person? Donnie

 

wonders. Big plans and dreams unrealized because he knocked up a

 

local fat chick. His life thrown away because of a simple moment

 

of weakness. How stupid is that? He hates his wife, his

 

children, his friends, and most of all, himself. Is it any

 

wonder he spends most of his waking hours planted on a barstool

 

in The Croaking Frog, the local pub, three steps from his

 

insurance agency? Jack and coke is his drug of choice. Isn't

 

life sweet? He thinks.

 

"Hey Donnie! Man, that Hail Mary pass to Nelson to win that

 

CIF championship was sweet. You were at the top of your game.

 

Too bad you got sacked on the next play and blew out your knee.

 

Bad luck that was. But hey, we were still champions, right?"

 

"Yeah, we were."

 

That would be Slim Jim Tim reminding Donnie for the

 

umpteenth time of his injury that derailed any college or pro

 

football prospects. Slim Jim's nickname is a reference to his

 

sordid addiction to those grease infused mystery meat bar

 

snacks. His continued existence should be the subject of a

 

science experiment. Slim Jim Tim and cockroaches will be the

only forms of life surviving the big one.

 

“Hey, have you heard about that new restaurant in town?

 

GoodEats? I hear the owner is a hottie."

 

"Yeah, I heard that too” Donnie says, “Me and the Missus

 

ate there the other night. No sign of Ms. Hottie though.

 

LaCharite. Interesting name."

 

"It's French I think."

 

"French. Really. I would have never guessed. Thanks for the

 

clarification Slim Jim."

 

"No problem, dude. Oh wait, you were being sarcastic. Okay

 

I get it."

 

"Yeah I was. No one can put anything past you."

 

"Nope, nobody can...uh . . .oh damn, were you being

 

sarcastic again?"

 

"Yeah Slim Jim, I was."

 

"Hey, speaking of GoodEats, did ya hear it's hosting our

 

25th anniversary reunion?"

 

"Really? Wow. Well at least the food will be good. Our 20th

 

anniversary at that pizza place sucked ass."

 

The door to the bar opens. The patrons shield their eyes at

 

the offending daylight. They see an hourglass silhouette in the

 

doorway. The form pauses, as if for effect, before entering the

 

bar. No one recognizes her but everyone knows she is Ms.

 

LaCharite, owner of GoodEats.

"So Bartender is a well made lemon drop martini out of the

 

question, or is this dump strictly beer and wine?"

 

"Uh . . .no Miss I think we can handle that order." The

 

bartender replies.

 

Ms. LaCharite slips onto a barstool two away from Donnie.

 

"Well, you’re new" Donnie says "Have we met?"

 

"Is that the only pick up line you can come up with? Wow,

 

are you the slick one. What’s next? Do you come here often? What

 

would your wife say, Romeo?"

 

"Who, Maureen? Oh please, the old ball and chain probably

 

has her fat ass parked on the sofa watching her soaps and

 

stuffing her piehole with crunchy cheetos as we speak."

 

"Your wife's name is Maureen?"

 

Ms. LaCharite's smile disappears and she quickly looks up

 

at the Lotto monitor over the bar.

 

"What? Is something wrong?"

 

Her eyes drop from the Lotto screen and lock onto Donnie’s.

 

"No, not at all. Your love and respect for your wife is

 

inspiring."

 

"Aw, I care for her and all I guess. We got married very

 

young. I never thought my life would turn out like this."

 

"We all have regrets. What about Maureen? I wonder if she

 

thought her life would turn out like the way it has. Ever think

 

about that?"

"What's she got to complain about? She stays home and I

 

work. Hey, what do you say? There is a motel just a block away.

 

I know the owner. I can get a nice suite cheap. Wanna bump

 

uglies?"

 

"You sure know how to sweet talk a girl but, uh, I'll take

 

a rain check, lover boy."

 

The bartender serves up the lemon drop martini. Ms.

 

LaCharite sips cautiously.

 

"Not bad. Thank you."

 

"No problem, ma'am."

 

"Word has it GoodEats is hosting our 25th high school

 

reunion." Donnie says.

 

"Yes. I am looking forward to it. Very much so."

 

"Well, I hope you have a good menu planned."

 

"Oh yes. A very special one I am personally supervising."

 

"Oh wow, I can't wait."

 

"Neither can I. Well I would love to sit and chat with such

 

interesting men but I have a restaurant to run. Good afternoon

 

gentlemen."

 

Ms. LaCharite slips off the barstool and is out the door

 

seemingly in one graceful motion.

 

“She is a hottie.”

 

"Yeah" The bartender says as he pockets the $20 bill left

 

for the $6.50 lemon drop martini.

Reunion Night

 

Wilson High School 25^th Anniversary Reunion

 

Special Menu

 

Appetizers

 

Deep Fried Porcini Mushroom Stuffed Hush Puppies

Deep Fried Monterey Pepper Jack Cheese Sticks with Buffalo Ranch Dipping Sauce

 

Entree'

 

Buttermilk Marinated Fried Chicken

Deep Fried Tri-Pepper Seasoned Steak Fries

Sautéed Vermicelli and Rice Pilaf

 

Desert

 

Deep Fried Ice Cream Scoops in Fresh Waffle Cones

Choice of Flavors: Vanilla, Chocolate, or Strawberry

 

 

Open Bar

 

 

Welcome Alumni

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donnie and Maureen are standing outside GoodEats looking at the

 

menu for tonight’s dinner.

 

"What's so special about this menu?” Donnie says, “Man, she

 

sure likes to deep fry stuff."

 

"What do you mean the menu isn't special? What were you

 

expecting?" Maureen says.

 

"Oh . . .uh. . .nothing dear. Let's just go in."

 

"I wonder if Frannie will make an appearance this year."

 

"Fat Frannie? That would be a riot. She is probably 400

 

pounds by now."

 

"You are an ass, Donnie.'

 

"I love you too, Honey."

 

"Let's go in have something to eat and try to have a good

 

time."

 

"Yes, dear."

 

GoodEats was packed. Former classmates measuring their

 

success against one another, inwardly pleased others are not as

 

well off, and spending less time with the ones far more

 

successful. Donnie and Maureen find their table and sit down.

 

“Why is it I look forward to these get-togethers only to

 

hate them once I have to suffer through them?” Donnie says.

 

“Well dear, I am sure everyone else is thinking the same

 

thing.”

 

I hate this school and everyone in it.

Why do those words pop into my head? Donnie wonders. He

 

looks around the room and realizes it's because those words

 

express how he feels. His sports injury, guilt trip family, and

 

meaningless job, has made him a nobody. He had such promise and

 

fate took that away from him. Or was it Karma? No. Wait. Karma

 

is good. Dharma is bad. What did he ever do to anyone?

 

"Hey Donnie"

 

"Hey Kevin"

 

Kevin Matthison was Donnie’s defensive end in High School

 

football. For a time he was also his best friend.

 

"Missed you in college, man. We would have had so much

 

fun."

 

"Yeah, don't remind me"

 

"Hey I wonder if Fat Frannie is gonna make it this year?

 

That would be a hoot"

 

"It sure would. I'm going to get a drink."

 

"Okay, see ya."

 

Donnie goes to the bar and orders a jack and coke, downs

 

it, orders another and gets back to his table just as dinner was

 

being served. The food was excellent. Everyone else must have

 

thought so. Most conversations stopped as people just

 

concentrated on eating.

 

"The food is wonderful, Donnie."

 

"Yeah, I’m going to have to eat healthy for a month after eating this much fried food."

 

Dinner ends and the plates are picked up. Desert is now

 

being served. Maureen is served a plate but Donnie is not. He

 

starts to protest but a waiter seems to show up from nowhere.

 

"Ms. LaCharite enjoyed her conversation with you at the

 

Croaking Frog. Here is a special desert for you to enjoy."

 

"What?" Maureen says, "Are you kidding me? You had a

 

conversation with her?"

 

"Yeah, a short one"

 

"Anything I should be worried about? Did you offer to bone

 

her at the local motel?"

 

"What? How would . . .no of course not."

 

"Uh huh."

 

Donnie looks at his "special" desert. A puff pastry

 

sprinkled with powdered sugar. He slices into it and a red

 

filling oozes out. He tastes it and a heavenly combination of

 

flavors fills his mouth. It has just the right balance of

 

sweetness and tart. It is amazing. Donnie wonders what the

 

filling is made of. Passion fruit?

 

Suddenly the din of the crowd lowers. All the guests look

 

up as Ms. LaCharite enters the dining room. You could hear a pin

 

drop.

 

"Thank you all, class of '85, for having your reunion party

 

at my restaurant. I hope the food was enjoyable and everyone is

having a good time.”

 

A person starts clapping. The other guests join in.

 

“Thank you. I know there's been speculation about me. Well,

 

my name is Francine LaCharite. But I think most, if not all of

 

you, would know me as Frannie Hewson, or Fat Frannie."

 

An audible gasp fills the room. Donnie is stunned. He is

 

glued to the chair. Fat Frannie's eyes lock onto his.

 

"As you can see I am not the “fat” Frannie you remember. I

 

once said I hated this town and everyone in it. I still do. This

 

is why it gives me great personal pleasure to inform you all

 

everything you all have eaten tonight was cooked, sautéed', and

 

deep fried, in my liposucted fat. Bon Appétit'."

 

The sound of scraping chairs and gagging fill the room as

 

the diners make a mad rush to the bathrooms. Retching and

 

vomiting sounds are audible through the swinging bathroom doors.

 

Frannie walks toward Donnie’s table and stops at his side. Her

 

eyes locked onto his the whole time. Why can't I look away?

 

Donnie thinks.

 

"Did you enjoy my special desert?" Frannie says "I made it

 

especially for you Donnie my dear. Want to know the

 

ingredients?"

 

Donnie nods. His face is pale. Beads of sweat appear on his

 

brow.

 

"Your puff pastry was filled with a cancerous tumor removed

from my lower intestine. It took a lot of red food dye and sugar

 

cover up the black color and foul taste. Oh and a dash of

 

passion fruit puree"

 

Donnie starts to feel nauseous and starts to gag.

 

"Can one get cancer from ingesting a disease ridden tumor?

 

I guess we shall see . . .won't we? My dear Donnie."

 

Bile fills Donnie’s mouth. He swallows it down but the

 

gorge comes back up. He rushes to the men's room. As he door

 

closes behind him he hears:

 

"Ah yes, revenge really IS a dish best served piping hot"