Running Through the Words, 15

Fifteen.

Lucy had opted for the highest-loft batting she could find when shopping for supplies at Creative, Inc. She’d splurged, purchasing multiple rolls of the inch-thick wadding, and then spent the next two weeks layering it around a mannequin dressed in a stretchy unitard that she’d found online for cheap. Thick thighs, wide hips, a full bottom, full breasts, and a belly that rivaled Santa’s were the end result, thanks to her inventive use of pillowcase pouches filled with styrofoam peanuts. She’d managed to smooth everything out with a final layer of batting, this one much thinner, and then covered the buxom form with an enormous shirt and an equally enormous pair of supple leggings, stitched together at the waist with a slit down the back. Five simple ties, each constructed of an old shoelace, would secure the suit, ensuring a good fit but making it impossible to get into or out of alone. She doubted Bert would mind, though, and was not at all surprised when he volunteered to model it while she fitted him for Penelope’s outerwear.

“Is it comfortable?” she asks now, tying a bow at the base of his neck and thus fixing the fat suit firmly in place. “Can you move around in it? Try sitting down.”

Bert walks over to the full-length mirror mounted behind the bedroom door and studies his new, portly physique. “Fuck, Lucy! This is amazing!” He dons a comical grin and extends his arms, bouncing once or twice on the balls of his feet before spinning around and racing across the room to wrap Lucy in a plush hug. “I love it!”

“I’m glad!” she laughs, weaseling out of his vice-like grip. “But do me a favor and sit down in it, okay? I wanna make sure the packing peanuts aren’t too restrictive. I used ‘em to build those big hips, your belly, and your bum,” she explains, gently patting his backside, “but now I’m worried I’ve overdone it. Do you feel like you’re sitting too high? Like you’re propped up by a booster seat or something?”

Bert dutifully lumbers out of the spare bedroom and down the hall to the office, where he pulls a wooden chair away from the desk and perches on it, resting his hands on his ballooning belly. “I’m definitely sitting higher than usual, but it doesn’t feel bad or uncomfortable or anything. I think it’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like it. I feel like a queen!” He hops up, bounces around a bit more, and decides, “Let’s make some clothes for Penelope. What d’you need me to do?”

“I mostly just need you to stand there while I take measurements and pin fabric to you. We need to go back to the spare bedroom because that’s where all my sewing stuff is. And hey… do you care if I take a picture of you and send it to Kathryn? She was with me when I bought the supplies and asked to see a photo when I finished the fat suit’s construction.”

Bert shrugs, allowing his arms to fall at his sides and rest against his broad hips. “Sure. Does she want to come over and see it in person? I don’t mind.”

The suggestion is unexpected, but Lucy isn’t opposed to it, and as Rex so astutely pointed out just recently, his mother could benefit from a friend. Aren’t two friends better than one? Not that Bert has ever been especially interested in a companionship with Kathryn, but… “We are practically neighbors now,” he observes, seemingly reading Lucy’s thoughts. “Maybe she’ll wanna hang out from time to time.”

So Lucy texts a photo of Bert, pairs it with the caption “We’re outfitting Penelope! Come over,” and Kathryn arrives twenty minutes later. “It seriously turned out so well, Lucy!” she gushes, her tone rich with awe. “How many hours do you think you’ve put into it?”

“Oh… a good thirty at least,” she answers around the pins pressed between her lips. A substantial pair of bloomers and several frilled petticoats are crucial to the clown’s persona and that’s what she’s working on now, creating pleats and ruffles that will flounce with each step. Bert stands obligingly on a stepstool in front of her, periodically patting his rounded belly or cupping his unfamiliar breasts. “The thing I’m most worried about,” Lucy says, smiling wryly as she catches him in this latter position, “is what’s going to happen if you have to pee. I wanted to make a slit in the front—for easy access, you know?—but the amount of batting made it impossible. You might have to fast before getting into your costume.”

“Or I could get myself an adult diaper,” he muses amiably. “Just in case of an emergency.”

“Or you could do that,” Lucy concedes with a roll of her eyes, but Kathryn, perched on the bed, goes so far as to validate the proposal by saying, “That’s not such a bad idea, actually. I’ve read that some celebrities wear diapers on the red carpet because it’s next to impossible to go to the bathroom while decked out in one of those crazy dresses. This is sort of like that, right?”

“Right,” Bert agrees. “Penelope’s dress is gonna be fuckin’ fancy. I’ll do a little research and find something that’ll work. Old people wear diapers all the time; I don’t mind wearing one for a few hours if it’ll keep Penelope dry.”

This statement warrants a second eye roll from Lucy, but she’s laughing despite herself.

“Can you think of a better solution?” he wonders, peering down at the top of her head. Her hair, now close to an inch in length, is so blonde it looks almost white. A tuft of it sticks up in the back causing her to vaguely resemble Dennis the Menace. “Because I can’t. And it’s not like I’m gonna go into it planning to wet my pants. The diaper’ll merely be a precaution.”

“It’s not a completely terrible idea,” Lucy amends.

“I think it’s an easy solution to a difficult problem,” Kathryn deems. “Besides, how long do you expect to be portraying Penelope anyway? A few hours?”

“Maybe all day,” Bert says, grinning goofily. “I’m so fuckin’ excited!”

Kathryn chuckles and flops back on the mattress, resting her hands behind her head and peering at Bert. “Fill me in on the Pink Pumpkin Plunge specifics, wouldja? When does it start? How long will it last? Tell me the details.”

Lucy wraps a third tier of pale pink tulle around Bert’s waist and pins it in place. “How poofy do you want her skirt to be?” she wonders, even though she’s already accurately predicted his response of “The poofier, the better!”

Beaming, Bert turns his attention to Kathryn and rattles off, “Registration will begin at eight and the actual plunge is scheduled for nine. If we have a lot of participants, we’ll run a couple different waves.” He shares other details as well, explaining that the Marina has not only promised to host the event, but has also agreed to orchestrate a bonfire so folks can get warm again after a chilly dip in the lake. Bottomless Joe’s will be there with its coffee cart; Piping Hot has promised to prepare special pink-hued pastries and scones, along with pumpkin muffins; and the hospital will have a stand to educate the public about breast cancer. “I’d hand out balloon animals if I knew how to make ‘em,” Bert laments. “Maybe I should come up with something else to pass around.”

“For the kids?” Lucy confirms. “How about some candy? It’ll be Halloween after all.” She examines the petticoat, which now has five flouncy layers of tulle, and raises her eyebrows. “Poofy enough?”

Bert glances down at himself and pats his wide hips, smoothing the scratchy fabric. “It’s perfect,” he praises. “What’s next? Is it time for the funny pants that go underneath?”

“The bloomers? Yes. What do you think of this fabric?” She walks to a length of cotton draped over her sewing machine and picks it up, displaying it for her friends. The pattern consists of a white background with magenta polka dots the size of silver dollars. “I’ll put ruffles around the leg openings. I thought I’d have them fall around your knees. Oh! And I also found these!” She rummages through a plastic bag looped over the back of her chair and unearths a long pair of striped socks. “They’re thigh-highs,” she explains. “We’ll pin them to the fat suit to make sure they stay up.”

Bert hops off the stool and swishes his way over to take a closer look at both the fabric and the footwear. “I approve,” he says simply, and then asks, “What’re the patterns you got for the dress? Can I see those as well?”

“Sure. Kathryn helped me pick everything out. We had a pretty good time.”

“We did,” Kathryn reinforces from where she’s sprawled on the mattress. “I chose the plaid and the swirls and the teeny, tiny jack-o-lantern prints.”

“And I chose everything else,” Lucy says, pulling several yards of fabric from yet another bag and handing them one at a time to Bert. Some of the prints are big, others are small, and still others are solid blocks in varying shades of orange and pink. The pudgy man in his flirtatious skirt examines each one before stacking it on the bed. “I think,” he eventually says after viewing all of the possibilities, “that Penelope’s dress is going to be the prettiest patchwork dress on the planet. Will it be hard to make, d’you think?”

“Compared to the fat suit you’re wearing? No. It’ll seem like a piece of cake. I just hope Halloween doesn’t end up being unseasonably warm this year because if you’re wearing that much insulation, you’re gonna be hot.”

“I’d rather high temps than rain.”

Kathryn props herself up on her elbows and glances over at him. “That would suck.”

Bert nods vigorously.

“It’s not going to rain,” Lucy adamantly declares. “The weather is going to be cool and dry and everything will go off without a hitch. Just wait. It’ll be perfect!”