What’s Inside

The profile said “heavyset” and 5’ 10”. Agatha translated that into 5’ 8” and fat. Men always lied about their height the way women always lied about their weight. But his photo—a tight head shot—showed thick, wavy brown hair, big green eyes and a perfect ready for a close-up smile. Who was she to reject him just because of weight? It was just a glass of wine with a guy. Not a life-long commitment. She had to get back into dating and stop feeling like a dairy product with an expiration date. A glass of wine with a stranger, in a public place—what did she have to lose?

            What’s inside is what counts, right? She’d felt tortured by those words for the first twenty years of her life, but it was true. Real love wasn’t about appearances. It was deep. And her handsome ex was a great example of a shallow, nearly hollow, man. He looked like the smart, cute guy from central casting, but he had the emotional depth of a goldfish and the intellect to go along with it.

Her parents assured their chubby daughter that outward appearances were just a candy coating over the real person. They told her real love finds a way to see the beauty beneath. But being a fat child was tough at school. Outsides did count. The pretty girls were popular from kindergarten on. The teachers liked them, the other girls liked them, the boys liked them… they got the opportunities and the extra help. They got what they wanted without apparent effort, without apparent need, and without asking.

Agatha saw how appearances paved their way, but her family insisted that looks were superficial and unworthy of her attention. The conflicting messages preyed on her. In principle, she knew her parents were right. In reality, they were wrong. It was as simple as that.

She came home from her junior year at college thirty pounds lighter, with a stylish haircut and a new wardrobe. Her parents worried that her new focus on fashion and being thin might have taken her focus away from her studies. It did. And it didn’t. She kept her GPA up, but she spent more time on stage and less time backstage in the theater department. Her grandmother squeezed her now slender arm, “You were always beautiful on the inside. Now the outsides match! I’m so proud of you. But remember, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

Who was she to reject a man on the basis of weight? She’d find out what was inside and then she’d make a decision. She walked slowly toward the restaurant. As it was a strangely warm day for late March, all the outdoor tables were filled. She spotted him at a corner table in consultation with the waiter. It was worse than she’d imagined. He was tremendous—a soft-pillowed mountain of a man. And his hair, even from a distance, was an obvious toupee. He looked toward her and smiled. The perfect teeth were too perfect, obvious implants.

Fake smile. Fake hair. What else could be wrong?

Agatha smacked a fake smile on her own face and walked toward him. He rose—five foot six or seven, not even five foot eight! The smile accompanied a cheerfully lustful leer in his too-green eyes. Was he wearing colored contacts? Well, it was just a glass of wine. Just a glass of wine in a public place. She could be gone in an hour—even less.

“I’m so happy to meet you!” He cooed. His voice was higher and softer than his girth promised. It wasn’t an unpleasant voice, just one that seemed misplaced or disconnected from his body. “I went ahead and ordered something to go with our wine—just a little nibble. But I didn’t want to guess your choice of wine, so…”

The waiter appeared at his side with a wide grin and a wine list.

“I’d like a glass of red,” Agatha said. “The house red, I guess…”

“Oh, no… get a good one. They have some superior wines by the glass—not your typical bar wine… What’s your favorite?”

“I um, I usually like a Rioja or a Montepulciano.”

“Excellent. They have a lovely Rioja—the Vina Cubillo Rioja Crianza… Isn’t that it?” He addressed the waiter.

“Yes, excellent choice. It’ll go very well with your charcuterie board.”

‘Oh no!’ Agatha said to herself. A platter of assorted meats and cheeses would extend the date and kill her diet for the day—or the week. Staying actress-thin wasn’t as easy as it looked in magazines. Now she knew what was inside him and it was fat and salt, lots and lots of fat and salt.

The wine was fabulous and the selection of jamón ibérico, Cabra al Vino, Manchego, olives, and crusty bread with chopped tomatoes—all elegantly laid out on a big wooden plank—was wonderful. It was all perfectly Spanish. Agatha wondered if she’d opted for the Montepulciano, would an Italian spread have magically appeared?

He was a gentleman. He asked as many questions about her in the first 30 minutes than her former boyfriend had asked in the two-years they were together. This was another kind of man. He seemed genuinely interested in her opinions, experiences and ambitions. He knew a great deal about the theater and had an impressive knowledge of music. He told funny stories about himself and was self-deprecating without eliciting sympathy.

She laughed at his jokes; found his stories intriguing; and enjoyed the attention he paid. But she was still having trouble getting past his outsides. They were simply too far outside what she found attractive. On the inside, he was erudite and elegant. But on the outside, he was unwieldly and awkward. She simply couldn’t see herself with him. Couldn’t imagine kissing the mouth full of too-perfect, manufactured teeth. Couldn’t stroke the wavy toupee—or what lay beneath it. Couldn’t imagine looking into his fake green eyes.

She feigned a text message.

“I’ve got to call my friend back. Might be important.”

“Of course, of course…”

She stood up and walked toward the sidewalk. Holding her phone and checking her voicemail, as if she had an important message. She then mimed making a call and listening intently to a friend with a serious story to tell. It was then, when she glanced up from her phone, that she saw him in an unguarded moment. A fly buzzed in circles around the goat cheese and, instead of waving it away with his hand, a thin black thing sprang out of his mouth, captured the fly and ferried it back.

He looked up toward her and smiled. Obviously unaware of what she’d seen.

She smiled back and pointed to her phone, as if her friend were blathering on.

He called the waiter over and asked for another round—manzanilla sherry for him and the premium Rioja for her.

Something caught her eye, a subtle movement beneath their corner table. She saw his foot outside its shoe. But it wasn’t a foot at all. It was something like a hoof, but not really, something strange and mysterious and black and furry or maybe not furry but something else entirely. She as mystified. She was intrigued.

Now, she really wanted to know what’s inside.

She pretended to say good-bye to her friend and returned to her date.