Beautiful You by Chuck Palahniuk Read Free Book Online Page A

Esperanza watching her expectantly. But every time the message was from her mom or dad. Or it was the sales associate at Bonwit Teller announcing that she’d scored some dazzling Alexander McQueen gown or pair of Stella McCartney heels for Penny’s next night as Cinderella.
    In the checkout line at the grocery store, she stood waiting to buy her ice cream, trying to ignore the tabloid headlines that glared out at her. “Cinderella Gets the Brush-Off!” Another front page showed a huge picture of her buying ice cream, under the headline, “Rejected Cinderella Stuffing Herself!” It was surreal. Here she was buying butter brickle ice cream while she looked at a photo of herself, taken the day before, buying ice cream. To make matters worse, in the more recent photos she already looked fatter! Everyone in the store recognized her and stood ready to pat her on the shoulder and console her. The cashier waved her through without paying, telling her, “No charge, honey.” To be an object of pity in New York—the city without pity—that’s how far she had fallen.
    A few days later she could barely get her pants to button. Too much free comfort food. That’s why she was taken aback when Tad asked her to lunch at the Russian Tea Room. There, seated at an intimate corner booth in that swank setting, he made her laugh with his rollicking stories about Yale panty raids. Tad recited his curriculum vitae in its entirety, obviously insecure about how he’d compare with her recent billionaire beau. He boasted about rowing as captain for the Yale team. As proof, he wore a bright green Yale sweatshirt. Boring as he was, Penny was still pathetically grateful. Tad’s prattle and bluster distractedher from her current public humiliation and crushing woes. Tad was passably handsome—better looking than bland, blond Max—and there was the possibility that a roving
Post
photojournalist would snap a pic of the pair of them and run it under the heading, “Cinderella Bounces Back!”
    To her own surprise, Penny found herself holding Tad’s hand across the white linen tablecloth. She’d only wanted to give onlookers the impression that she and Tad were canoodling, but … something magical was happening. Vibes. Mojo. Juju. Her fingers and his were already entwined, deeply. She wondered whether she could get to the bank, to access her safety-deposit box before closing time.
    Penny wasn’t a prude. She wasn’t some prim, tongue-clucking schoolmarm type. To her, intimacy outside of marriage wasn’t sinful … she’d simply never seen the margin in casual sex. During her coursework in gender studies she’d learned that roughly 30 percent of women are entirely nonorgasmic, and that seemed to be the case with her. Fortunately, there were other pleasures in life. Salsa music, for example. Ice cream. Tom Berenger movies. It made little sense to court herpes, venereal warts, viral hepatitis, HIV, and unwanted pregnancy in pursuit of unattainable sexual fulfillment.
    Nonetheless, Tad’s fingers smelled so good. She’d been wrong about him. So wrong. The ambitious young lawyer had wanted her, not Monique. His eyes said as much. Maybe she was also wrong about sex. With the right guy, maybe she could find pulse-pounding release.
    “Penny,” he stammered.
    “Yes.” She swallowed. To calm herself, she rested her gaze demurely on the basket of cheesy bread sticks. When she dared look back at him, she repeated, “Yes, Tad?”
    His grip tightened.
The Tadpole
. Their simple lunch was becoming everything that her fabled dinner at Chez Romainehad not been: passionate … sultry … freighted with erotic suggestion.
    Stashed deep in her handbag, Penny’s phone chimed. The sound caught her off guard.
    “Penny,” Tad continued, “I’ve always loved …”
    Her phone chimed again. Penny tried to ignore it. Her whole body stiffened.
    Tad rallied his courage. “If you’re no longer dating …” His lips puckered and he leaned close.