"Mama, I want to sleep around promiscuously". By some fluke, Mr. and Mrs. Zemlinsky are at home two consecutive days. Mrs. Zemlinsky sits in her office, pounding away on her MacBook.
Mrs. Zemlinsky does not miss a keystroke. "That's nice dear. Try not to get pregnant. It will just make your weight problem worse, and abortions are so messy."
Natasha does not actually plan to sleep around promiscuously, she's just testing. In truth, there are only two boys in Beauneville she would consider, ahem, partnering with -- Henry, who makes her heart go pit-a-pat when he stands there in the buff, and Roderick, who she has not seen in the buff, but who is warm and friendly, and makes her heart go pit-a-pat in a different way.
To be honest, Natasha would not mind snuggling with Molly, either, but that's another story.
She certainly does not plan to snuggle with Donny Clapper. A couple of Fridays ago, while Mr. Bellini was out of the school studio for a smoke, Donny approached her from behind and asked if he could critique her work. Before she could respond, Natasha felt one hand slither around to cup her left breast, and another hand planted firmly on her left buttock. Startled, Natasha blurted out the first thing that came to mind -- something about how Donny should check out Megan Cupcake, she's really hot for him -- and quickly followed with a sharp left elbow jab to the solar plexus, which left Donny flailing on the studio floor gasping for breath.
To clarify one other point, the reader might infer from Natasha's shyness about disrobing and her mother's comment that she has a weight problem. A few weeks ago, the First Lady sent a letter reminding the Zemlinskys that as of November last year Natasha's BPI stands at 126. The letter went on to describe the horror of childhood obesity and global warming, and that parents can do their part by re-electing the President. Donations to the party welcome, major credit cards gladly accepted.
The Zemlinskys were shocked and appalled -- more shocked than appalled at first, but then increasingly less shocked and more appalled. Shocked, appalled and disturbed that they had failed the First Lady. They briefly considered putting Natasha on a diet, but since they had to leave for Tokyo Mr. Zemlinsky went online and bought some fat offsets instead. They left, satisfied they were doing their part.
Natasha feels she has a parent problem and not a weight problem. When Natasha disrobes before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, she sees Mohini, the beautiful avatar of Vishnu -- dark-haired, voluptuous, hourglass-figured. If you happen to look in the window at these moments -- which is easy to do, because Natasha rarely remembers to close the curtains -- you might consider her to be ever so slightly zaftig, but hardly Rubenesque.
No, Natasha's shyness about disrobing is not about body fat. There is something else that Natasha wants to keep secret, something dark and dreadful, something that explains her aversion to very short skirts, bikini bottoms, thongs and modeling au naturel. If you look carefully, you can see a blemish on the inside of the fleshy part of her left thigh; just a small blemish, no more than a quarter-inch in circumference, hardly noticeable, a mole, perhaps, or a beauty mark, or...a tattoo, possibly? On very close inspection, though -- for example, if you are an artist, a dermatologist or...an admirer -- you can clearly make out the letters: "KP".
The Zemlinskys left for London around mid-day. Natasha threw on the yellow silken sari she bought last year in Bhagalpur. Wearing nothing but sari and ankle bracelets, she padded out to the studio and contemplated her partly completed drawing of Henry Witherspoon.
Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat.
