“Surely they won’t?”
I heard him stub his cigarette out. “I hope not.”
I checked my laptop for train times while he was on the line. Nothing ideal. Too early. “He might not even want to see me.”
“He’ll want to see you. He just might not know it yet.”
I smiled. “Why are you doing this, Steve? He might kick your ass for interfering.”
“Maybe,” he laughed. “I’m his mate, always have been. Do what’s best for your mates, don’t you?”
Guess he’d never had a friend like Chelsea.
Lucky him.
The pole was a wobbly, creaky mess in my living room, even though Cara assured me it was perfectly safe. I took her word for it, and with a bit of grumbling it stayed upright long enough for me to practice. I had to admit it felt good to be dancing again, even if it was in a cramped room on a fluffy cream carpet.
We ran through our little performance over and over, highlighting a spin here, a twirl there. Cara slowed it right down, suggesting more of a sultry feel. Sexier, hotter. I finished up with a decent burn in my limbs, my cheeks a healthy shade of pink.
“You were great!” she said. “Fantastic.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, flopping onto the sofa to catch my breath.
She sat down with a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “You’re either super good at keeping a poker face, or you haven’t been on Facebook. Which is it? Christ, I’m bursting over here!”
I shook my head. “No poker face for me. I haven’t been on Facebook since all hell broke loose. Don’t have the stomach for it.”
“I think it’s time you went back online.” There was a sparkle in her eye, the same mischievous sparkle that gave me shivers.
“Why?” I asked. “You’re weirding me out.”
“The world’s not full of assholes, Gemma, it just takes the nicer ones longer to amass a voice. They’re finding their voice now, finally. The Daily Times went all-out on the fat-hating last week, you read that, right?”
“Scanned it.” It was a cursory scan as well. The thing had turned my stomach. They’d called that Casey Hopkins bitch in for a guest column, and she’d ranted about plus size like it was a war crime or something. They’d picked on Jason more than me, in fairness, but it was a pretty brutal attack on both of us.
“The bitch asked the world a question. Should we introduce an eyeball bleach tax for those fatties who can’t stop scoffing, and the men who convince them fat is sexy? Who are worse? Chubby eaters or chubby chasers?”
I flinched. “Yeah, I saw that bit. Horrible cow.” They’d stuck mine and Jason’s faces over the poll options, and mine let out an oink whenever someone selected chubby eaters. I’d nearly cried over it, but I didn’t want to give the stuck-up cow the satisfaction.
“Well, the people have spoken. Turns out another poll sprung up. Who are worse? Chubby eaters, chubby chasers, or spiteful bitches who can’t help but fat-shame? She came in at 98% of the vote. Her next article Why hot men should never date ugly women got annihilated in the comments, it was a full-on freak-out, everyone and their mother posted.”
I smiled. “I haven’t seen that one.”
“What about the Twitter trend?”
I shook my head. “Last thing I saw trending was #chubbychaser, it was all over Jason’s feed.”
“Not anymore. There’s a new hashtag kicking off. #loveyourcurves. It was trending worldwide last night!”
I bloomed, happy. “That’s amazing.”
“Not as amazing as the latest variation this morning.” Cara grinned. “#SupportGemma.”
I laughed. “Surely not, that’s crazy. Ridiculous.”
She pulled out her phone to demonstrate, and sure enough the hashtags were trending. It felt so weird to see my name there, and weirder still to read all the positive comments. Not everyone hated. Not everyone judged. It welled me up, and Cara put an arm around my shoulder. “Hey, Figi, you’re famous, in a good way this time! This is awesome!”
“I thought everyone hated me.”
“Only the idiots ready to gore anyone who doesn’t fit the mould. It seems April Redfern isn’t so clean cut as it first appeared, apparently there are rumours of her fucking her stylist, her agent, too. Apparently there’s a sex tape buried somewhere online.”
My eyes must have been like saucers. “Are you for real?”
She nodded. “Too right I’m for real.”
I gripped my knees, steadying myself as I thought it all out. “Jason’s in a bad way, his friend Steve called me earlier.”