FAT CHANCE: Lindsey Michaels goes undercover to learn the real scoop on a new weight reduction program. Hal Randall is in danger of losing his funding and ready to do anything to keep that from happening. The stage is set and the romp begins in a contest of wills between Lindsey, who gains weight despite her rabbit food diet, and Hal, who can't follow a simple train of thought every time he's faced with his voluptuous and gorgeous patient.
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FAT CHANCE
By
Terry Campbell
Copyright by Bobbye Terry & Linda Campbell
Published by Terry Campbell
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Art by Linda Campbell
Copyright 2000 All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-1-4524897-9-7
Chapter 1
“So long, good-bye, it’s been fun, and you can forget ever getting between my legs again.” Lindsey Michaels said, her voice bursting with self-confidence.
“Hey, that Thigh-Grasper will bring good money in the Trading Post.” Sam Davis lunged for the cardboard box. “You could make a fortune off this stuff. Why’re you giving it to the Salvation Army?”
Lindsey tossed her Crunch and Win Ab-aciser into the box next to the discarded Thigh-Grasper. “Get real, if I sold this stuff, I’d end up in court charged as an accessory to murder. And I’d deserve it, too.”
Her gaze drifted over Sam’s body. “You have no concept what I’ve endured. You haven’t gasped, grasped, crunched, and pumped all in an attempt to lose extra pounds.” She glowered at her best friend. “While I arched to Classics for Calves, you visited the Golden Arches. While I crunched out sit-ups, you crunched bags of potato chips. And what do I have to show for it? Saddlebags and a big butt. What do you, Samantha Davis, have to show for being a junk-food junkie? A tiny waist and a model-thin body.”
She sighed and flopped down onto the floor. “There’s no justice in the world.”
“Then why are you, a paralegal, leaving the office and acting like some PI?”
“Not funny, Sam. This is serious. I’m going to be undercover, so I can help trap a bunch of scheming, conniving crooks.”
“Sure.” She sat next to the box full of videos. “Like you’ve ever been able to keep a secret in your life.”
Lindsey picked up the paper and pointed at the ad. “Look at what this promises. I may be naive, but this time’s different. This scam has me ready to do battle. Believe me, Sam, this is one thing I can keep secret.”
“Bull. You’re doing this because Kenny asked you, all the while praying it isn’t a scam.”
She cringed, hating that Sam read her like a book. She forced a nonchalant shrug. “There’s always a chance Kenny’s wrong. After all, FRAT, International has been in business over ten years.” She grinned. “Besides, what’s wrong with losing twenty pounds while trying to prove whether Kenny’s on to something? It’s a win-win situation.”
“You don’t need to lose any weight.” Sam picked up one of the discarded videos. “Did this Yoga for Youth tape do anything for you?”
She shook her head. “None of this stuff did any good. I’d lose five pounds, then pow. It was right back plus some.” Of course, that was after two or three sessions with the Colonel and a half-gallon of cookie dough ice cream. Not that she would ever admit to pigging out on fat-laden junk food.
She tossed the paper across the room to Sam. “Read this and tell me FRAT doesn’t sound like a reputable company.”
Sam fished her Ben Franklin-style reading glasses from her purse and pushed them up onto the bridge of her nose. “Have you tried everything on the market to get the body you want, and failed? Are you still overweight? Or are you one of those who would do anything to gain weight—to get rid of stick-thin ‘chicken’ legs? We have the answer. After ten years of research, the Fat Removal & Transplant Institute, Inc. (FRAT) is ready to conduct clinical trials on a new fat inversion process. You may qualify as either a donor or recipient of healthy fat. ‘Trust Your Fat to FRAT.”
She threw the paper onto the floor and started laughing. “Trust your fat to FRAT? Oh, come on, Lindsey, you can’t be serious. This sounds like the biggest scam on the planet.”
Lindsey stuck her nose up in the air. She wanted to believe the whole thing would work, and by golly, she’d make it work. “I’m sure Kenny will be so happy you agree with him.”
Sam plopped down on the ground next to the box of discarded exercise equipment. “It’ll be the first time I agree with him. Why do you keep dating such a loser? Kenny Kramer’s a jerk. How can you let him use you this way? You’re the one who will be in danger, and he’ll get all the laurels and be on his way to political office.”
“He’s a reputable lawyer.” She thought of Kenny Kramer in his Armani suit and his starched white shirt and smiled. “A mite stuck up, but reputable.”
“Yeah. He’d never enter a fast food hamburger place, or go to Water World, or even barbecue on the back patio.”
“Well, he asks me out.” She looked at the carpet. “For God’s sake, I’m thirty. I’m not getting any younger, and with my figure, you take the men you can get, especially if you want a sex life.”
“Come on, Lindsey. You’ve told me he’s the ‘ninety-second man.’”
“At least he’s honest. Besides, ninety seconds is better than no seconds at all.”
“Now that’s a romantic notion.”
“I’m too old for a romantic notion. As for questioning his motives, you can’t blame him for trying to improve himself. If we ever take our relationship one step further, it’ll benefit me, too.” She stared at the box of diet junk and sighed. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Kenny wouldn’t ever benefit anything or anyone except himself.
Glancing out the window, she spotted the first star of the evening and sent a silent wish heavenward. Just once she’d like to find a man who was serious but occasionally reckless. Intelligent and cautious, but ready for adventure. Someone who wanted her and could make her forget herself in the throes of passion.
It would never happen. She was asking for too much.
###
“Too much?” You think I’m asking for too much?” Hal Randall yelled into the telephone receiver.
“Yes. Another hundred grand is out of the question,” Jeff growled. “This is a government project that’s stayed hidden so far because it’s buried in the military budget. Ask for another cent, and Congress will be all over my ass, and yours. I can just see the Washington Post headlines now, ‘Secret Military Brainwashing Experiment on Civilians.’ Forget the money. We’ll be lucky if we didn’t end-up doing time.”
“It isn’t brainwashing. It’s behavior modification.”
“Do you think the Post will care? They won’t. They’ll do everything possible to discredit the program. Behavior modification?” He snorted. “Yeah, right. Why is the military into behavior modification?”
“Hell, the military’s nothing but one big behavior modification experiment.” Hal collapsed in his chair. “If they want the experiment to succeed, it’s critical we make the operation look legit. How can we do that on a shoestring? We’ve almost shot our entire budget on the set-up. Construction on this building, alone, cost a mint. Of course, if you hadn’t stuck us out in Dickens, Texas, the middle of nowhere, we might have some money left.”
“We put the project out there to avoid attention.”
“Yeah, well it worked. Why do you think the natives’ town motto is ‘Where in the dickens is Dickens?’” He glanced down at his wingtips and frowned at the dull spot near the toe. Had to polish that, he thought and then refocused on the conversation, feeling a brief spurt of guilt at Jeff’s sigh. He knew his boss meant well, but this budget thing was driving Hal to distraction. He refused to allow ten years’ worth of work to go down the drain without a fight.
“Look, Jeff, screw the original plan. We have to give the institute a ‘spa-like’ atmosphere. Otherwise, we’ll never attract the right subjects.”
“Do you honestly think the pigeons will care, especially if we’re successful and they lose weight?”
“They’re test subjects, Jeff, not pigeons. Now, back to the problem. Aside from the large whirlpool, we need a decent low-cal chef. And it isn’t like I can place an ad in the local paper and get someone who can do creative things with tofu and bamboo shoots. We’re in the middle of friggin’ ‘refried-beans-and-beef-brisket-with-plenty-of-fat country.’”
Jeff sighed, again. “I’ll try to scrounge up another fifty thousand, but that’s it. If there isn’t a chef out there who’ll work for thirty-five grand, learn to make those cute little flower vegetables yourself.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Make it work. Otherwise, the Defense guys will have both our heads for blowing ten million down the tubes.”
“It’ll work. This is my chance for a ‘Lone Star Award.’ Aside from the fact every scientist and physician from Texas dreams about winning it; it’s one of the only prizes you can win, other than the Nobel, and still be running a government project.”
“The ‘Lone Star Award’? Shit, Hal, we’ll be lucky if CNN doesn’t use the project in one of their ‘This is Your Money At Work’ segments.”
“If you think it’s a waste of money, why did you go to bat for the project?”
“It project’s a good one. What’ll get our tits in a wringer is that DOD is funding it.”
“I told you to go to FDA or one of the science endowment agencies. But no, you had to get it from defense.”
“I didn’t notice you refusing when it was the only frigging department with the cash.”
With a grimace, Hal snapped his cell phone shut and rose from his chair. Pacing the office, he mulled over his options. There weren’t many. The institute was supposed to be open for business in a week. The whirlpool was a cakewalk. But how in hell was he was suppose to find a four-star chef and talk him or her into coming out to Dickens, Texas? The yellow pages?
With a growl, he glanced at the stack of folders on his desk. He had to get the subjects categorized in the limited time left before they arrived on his doorstep.
An hour later, Hal flipped open Lindsey Michaels’ file. He stared, open-mouthed at her picture. “My, God, she’s gorgeous.” This woman could bring a man to his knees. He sure hoped the photo was an old one, because this Aphrodite didn’t need to lose an ounce.
As he reviewed Marie’s comments, he noted Lindsey Michaels only fault, aside from overeating, seemed to be her acidic wit.
Orphaned at fourteen, she moved in with her over-weight Aunt Sadie. Lindsey’s main goal was to please the aging woman. To that end, she studied hard, making straight A’s, and tried to participate in a variety of extra-curricular activities.
Cheerleading was out. She was too heavy and suffered from “innate klutzitis.” Her Aunt Sadie suggested the band, but was also out, too. Lindsey doesn’t play an instrument. Then the aunt begged her to join the chorus.
Since she loved to sing, Lindsey immediately tried out. She was told by the choral director, “Your voice is your fortune. People would pay a lot of money not to hear it.”
Spotting a star by this paragraph, Hal flipped to the back of the file to read Marie’s side note.
I asked Lindsey to sing a song.
She chose her favorite “Summertime.” In fact, she sang it twice, because the first time her voice “wasn’t loose.”
To call her tone-deaf would be a kindness.
Hal, whatever you do, never ask her to sing. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who gets worse with each practice session.
Chuckling, Hal returned to the interview. Moments later, he frowned at the notation that Lindsey had joined her high school Latin and Debate Clubs. He had also. In fact, he credited the debate club with helping him overcome his stutter.
“What a shame,” he muttered as he read how between her aunt’s death during Lindsey’s first year of law school. Faced with a mountain of debt, she was forced to leave school and become a paralegal.
Hal quickly scanned the rest of the interview, pausing only at the section dealing with Lindsey’s sex-life. This, he knew, as did all therapists, was important to a woman’s self-image.
Her sex life is almost non-existent. In thirty years she’s had three encounters. The first in college with an “arrogant jock” who stole her virginity as part of a bet with the football team that he could get the “ice princess.” The second was an unconsummated infatuation with a married man, who had said he was single.
By this time, Michaels worked for an attorney and no longer took men at face value. (Wise woman.) She investigated the jerk and dumped him.
Her third relationship (?) involved a mysterious, nameless person, who, “is true to his profession, mother, and lack of carnal desire.”
He shook his head. How could Marie have approved her? What had happened to his partner. She always found the chink in a person’s armor. Lindsey Michaels needed intensive one-on-one therapy, not their program, yet she’d given the woman her seal of approval.
“This better be good.” He turned to her justification for Michaels’ participation in the project.
“This woman proves the nurture over nature theory. She’s passed all psychological examinations. She’s one of the most well adjusted humans I’ve ever interviewed. She is openly caring, affectionate in tone, and protective of those close to her.”
He finger caressed Lindsey’s lips. “Where were you ten years ago?”
Too bad they hadn’t met while he still believed in love and before he became a cynic. From the file, he’d say she was the woman of his dreams. Well, that is, if she were twenty pounds lighter from her stated weight and looked like her picture. As he set the file aside, his office door opened slowly and Marie eased into the room.
“You can’t procrastinate any longer, Hal. Sign the letters.” She slapped a stack of mail in front of him. “It’s past the deadline we when we said we’d respond to the applicants.”
“Maybe tomorrow, Marie.”
“No. Now.” She handed him a pen.
He grabbed it with a growl and sped through the letters. As he reached the last one, Lindsey Michaels’ name jumped out at him. “I’m not sure about her,” he said, tapping the name.
“Why?”
“She’s too good too be true.”
“Are you talking as a man or a doctor?”
With gritted teeth, he scrawled his name on Lindsey’s letter of approval. “There.” He shoved the stack toward her and stood. Crossing to the window, he stared out at the flat dry landscape as sand blasted the window and a stray tumbleweed flew the across the open countryside. “I’ve got less than a week to make this place into a spa.”
Marie pushed her glasses back up her straight narrow nose. “Good luck. It’s more likely to be a mirage out here than an oasis.”
He gaze narrowed as another tumbleweed rolled past. “The west Texas countryside is our best asset. Next to it, our interior will look lush.”
“Once our female clients get a look at you, they won’t care about anything else.” Marie’s gaze drifted from his face down his body and back up to his face. “Although, I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what they see in you.”
“I hate it when you're right.”
“Of course you do. Between the number your former wife and then those two so-called lovers did on you, you’ve retreated behind a wall that screams come near me at your own peril.”
“Sure I have. That’s why women still come on to me.” He winced at Marie’s look of disgust.
“God save me from the male species, especially shrinks. Don’t you know anything? It’s your air of emotional detachment that gets to women.”
“Emotional detachment?”
“You’re a human Mr. Spock. You know from Star Trek, all logic, no emotion. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t want to be the one to make him feel. The situation’s no different with you,” she said with a small shrug.
“They’re doomed to failure. I’m not interesting in having a women in my life. I refuse to deal with the whining when I get involved in a—”
“Obsessed.”
He sighed. “Okay, obsessed by a project. Then there’re the killer tears they turn on when I’m gone for a month or two. God, I hate tears.”
She chuckled. “Your problem isn’t women. It’s meeting the right woman, as I have.”
“Shrink I may be, but I still don’t understand how two women can—”
“They—”
He held up his hand in protest. “I don’t want to know.” His gaze narrowed on his Marie and he snapped his fingers. “You can run interference for me. Be my decoy.” He grimaced at her narrowed gaze.
“What do you mean, decoy?”
Hal grinned. “You want to be my girlfriend?”
“Forget it. That’s a disaster in the making.”
“Wrong. You’ll keep me out of trouble.”
She shook her head. “Leave me out of it. I have all the confidence in the world that you can handle a roomful of panting women on your own. You’re a big boy,” she said seconds before bursting out in gales of laughter.
“Stow it. This experiment,” he pointed his finger at her, “is as much yours as it is mine.” At her scowl, he bit back a grin. He knew just which buttons to push, too. Her work consumed her.
Marie stepped sideways and sank onto the oversized leather sofa. “I may love my work, but I'm going to have to burst your bubble on this one, old boy. Wanda has a black belt in karate. Do anything she doesn’t like and there be enough of you to put into a Trash Compacter.”
Hal had a momentary vision of a riled Wanda and self-consciously crossed his legs. “You’re right, it was a lousy idea.”
###
Lindsey bit back a sigh as her erstwhile lover, Kenny Kramer, better known as the ninety-second wonder, stomped his Italian loafer.
“That isn’t fair. It was my suggestion that you expose FRAT. I should be the one to take you to orientation.”
“Stop being such a big baby.” She placed the last few articles in her suitcase and zipped it shut. “Make yourself useful. Carry this.” She shoved the luggage at him.
He grabbed the case and stumbled backwards. “My, God, Lindsey. Do you have a dead body in here? It weighs a ton.”
“I don’t believe in traveling light.” She lifted her chin. “According to FRAT, I need casual clothes: jeans, sweat suits, bathing suits, and a robe. But I believe in being prepared.” She grinned. “Who knows whom I’ll meet there?” She walked to the door of the bedroom.
“There you go again, making jokes.”
Without looking, she knew he’d be doing his usual chicken imitation, flailing his arms, the as he always did when he didn’t get his way.
“That’s why I should take you to the Institute. It’s not just a matter of getting you back on track, but of protecting my interests.”
“Interests?” Lindsey stopped short, spun on her heel and stared up at Kenny. Acid rose her throat. Please Lord, no. She couldn’t handle him demanding a commitment, marriage, when she was trapped in the car with him. She just wasn’t up to the emotional outburst when she told him she’d never marry him. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him, she did. She just wanted more. She deserved more and so did he.
“You’re my only hope, Lin. You’re the only one smart enough to catch these creeps and expose their con.”
“Oh, now I get it. You want to protect your business interests. Your political future.” Her stomach calmed. Turning, she headed toward the hall.
“Well, it’ll be good for you, too. Talk about the prestige. Think about the money. And then there’s the power when you work for me as Aide to the Attorney General.”
As they reached the living room, she plopped onto her grandmother’s old rocking chair. “Gee, and I’ve lived my whole life for such an honor, too.”
His eyes widened as if the light bulb had suddenly flickered on. “Of course, I want you next to me for other reasons, too.”
“Naturally, what else could it be? Put the bag down next to the door, come over here, and sit.” Lindsey gestured toward the sofa. She watched, amused, as he followed her directions like a trained puppy.
Once he’d settled, she leaned forward. “I’d love for you to take me to FRAT.” She held up one hand and he closed his mouth as if on command. “But I don’t want anyone getting wise to our plan. You’re a well-known attorney. Someone may put two-and-two together. Once I’m there for a week or two, you can visit on the weekend. You’ll be less visible to the powers that be.”
Lindsey watched as Kenny absorbed her words.
“You have a point.” He stood, his chest puffed out. “Everyone in this part of Texas knows me on sight or has heard of me. I wouldn’t want to spoil this whole thing because I’m so popular.”
Kenny smoothed his sandy hair back with his palm and stood with his other hand inside his jacket. Lindsey stifled the snicker. Taller he might be, but Kenny still had the Napoleon impersonation down pat.
“You’re absolutely right, Kenny. Sam can attend orientation with me. Then, when you show up, you can pose as Sam’s boyfriend.” Lindsey smiled. With luck, she’d manipulate the staff at FRAT as well as she did Kenny. “I have everything under control.”
###
“Control. That’s the key.” Hal looked at his reflection in the mirror as he finished shaving his lower chin. The project implementation phase had almost done him in. He stared at the dark circles. “You look like you’re in charge, all right. Of a morgue.”
He splashed water on his face. Now he had to go out there to the auditorium and convince fifty hopeful fatties that he had the key to their future. He’d become a psychiatrist because he wanted to learn people’s motivations for lying, for loving, and a thousand different emotions. Too bad lying was something he did with the same level of success as maintaining a loving relationship. As he opened the door to his office bathroom, he straightened his shoulders. “Everything can be explained by Freud and Jung.”
He continued to repeat the words as he walked down the hall. As he passed a woman near the front doors to the auditorium, she dropped her orientation packet on the floor. Suppressing a chuckle, Hal turned to help her retrieve her scattered papers and swallowed hard as she squatted and leaned forward to scoop up the sheets. His gaze locked on the tops of her thigh-highs peeking out from under her short black skirt.
“Everything can be explained by Freud and Jung,” he muttered yet again. At the sound of his voice, the woman twisted and glanced up at him.
His jaw clamped shut. Lindsey Michaels. Damn. The picture hadn't done her justice. One look at her reddening face told him his staring embarrassed her. Yet he couldn’t stop. At least his mouth wasn’t hanging open with drool falling onto the floor.
“Excuse me; I didn't know anyone was behind me.”
Hal mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and shoved it back into the pocket of suit. Forcing himself to project a calm he didn’t feel, he held out his hand to help her up. “I'm Doctor Randall.”
“Lindsey Michaels.”
He was in trouble. Big trouble. The moment they’d touched, he’d just seen electricity arc between their fingers. In fact, he could still smell the ozone and hear the energy crackling around them. Her golden brown eyes widen. Yup, this woman could destroy everything. Worse, he was on the verge of blowing the experiment of a lifetime.
“Hal, are you okay?”
He dropped Lindsey’s hand and spun toward Marie’s voice.
Saved.
He nodded to Lindsey. “I believe you've met?”
“Yes, we have,” Marie said with a smile.
He watched as Lindsey raised her hand to brush her hair from her face and didn’t know whether to feel relieved that her hand shook or more unnerved.
She stood, her packet clutched to her chest. “Nice to see you again, Doctor Poppokowsky.”
Hal almost groaned. In desperation, he grabbed Marie and pulled her against his side and draped his arm around her shoulders. “I'm lucky to have Marie. Both as my partner and wife.”
As Marie's body tensed against his, he refused to look at her and kept his gaze on Lindsey.
At her shocked expression, he wished he'd never blurted out such an outlandish lie. He knew for a fact that after Marie got though with him, he'd want to walk off the caprock and never be seen again.
“I didn't know you were married.”
“The world is full of surprises,” Marie muttered through clinched teeth.
Hal jammed his fisted hand into the pocket of his slacks and tightened his grip on Marie, afraid he'd confess the truth if Lindsey kept up her intense gaze.
“Excuse us, Ms. Michaels, but I need to discuss a few things with my husband.” Marie dug her fingernails into his arm through his jacket as she towed him toward his office.
“Of course,” Lindsey said before walking into the auditorium.
“We need to talk. Now.”
“After the opening session.” He struggled to free himself from Marie's ironclad grasp. “Can you believe it, Marie? That Michaels woman just proved one of Murphy’s Laws: When everything’s going well, a woman will screw it up every time.”
“You ain't seen nothin’, yet,” she hissed.
###
“What happened to you?” Sam asked as Lindsey sat down beside her on the front row. “You were right behind me and poof, you disappeared.”
“I dropped my packet on the floor. Suddenly, there was this to-die-for, all-male with jet-black hair and deep blue eyes staring at me. He’s Mr. Perfect, except for one thing. He's Doctor Randall.”
“Wow. You weren't kidding.” Sam nodded at the man on stage. “That him?”
“Hmm um.”
“He's dynamite. Why’s his being Doctor Randall a problem?”
Lindsey sighed as Doctor Poppokowsky joined Randall on the stage. “You’ll find out. And believe me, it’s a major blow.” Doctor Randall tapped the microphone and she licked her lips. “This adventure may be more than I bargained for. I’ll never make it. Hell, Sam,” She glanced at her friend, “I’ll be lucky if I last the day. No way can I see him every day and not reach for a candy bar. And now that I know he's—”
“Shush. Be quiet.” Sam reached out as if she were going to throttle her. “I’m here as your family support. I want to hear what Doctor To-die-for has to say.” Then with a wicked grin, she whispered, “He isn’t my type.”
“Hmm, how did I forget tall, dark and dangerous turns you off?”
“Knock it off, Lin. Make one mistake and no one ever lets you forget it.”
“One? You wish.”
“Keep it up and I’ll—”
“May I please have your attention?”
Lindsey stared up at the stage and sighed. She’d died and gone to hell. Yup, that was the only explanation for being at a fat farm where the head man was someone who made her dream the impossible dream and, failing that, crave a candy bar so badly she’d sell out Kenny.
“For those of you who didn’t see me during your pre-acceptance interview, my name is Doctor Halloran Randall. Please feel free to call me Hal.”
“And you can call him, Hunk.” Sam muttered.
“About twenty of you were interviewed by Doctor Marie Poppokowsky. For those of you who might not know, she’s my wife.”
Sam gasped. “How could that man be married to that mousy woman?”
Lindsey shook her head. “I don't know.” She slanted Sam a glance. “That was my point. Wait, you’ll see.”
“So much for Doctor Gorgeous. Wouldn’t you know someone’s already snapped him up.”